ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The moon cast long, silver shadows across the room, illuminating the delicate curve of her neck as his hand, calloused and warm, came to rest there. Her breath hitched, a soft sound swallowed by the heavy silence, and she leaned into the solid strength of his frame. His fingers traced the line of her jaw with a reverence that made her heart flutter wildly against her ribs, a captive bird. She could feel the steady, powerful beat of his heart through the thin fabric of her dress, a rhythm that promised both safety and surrender. A sigh escaped her lips as he gently guided her backward, his gaze holding hers with an intensity that stripped away all pretense. The world narrowed to this single point of contact, to the heat of his palm splayed against the small of her back. Every nerve ending sang with a heightened awareness, from the whisper of his breath against her temple to the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the night air. He was an anchor in the storm of her emotions, and she was willingly, completely adrift. In his arms, she felt both fragile and immensely powerful, a paradox that brought a sheen of tears to her eyes. This was not a conquest, but a slow, deliberate unraveling of two souls in the quiet dark.
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