ManoJob
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The city slept under a blanket of stars, its distant hum a mere whisper against the frantic rhythm of my heart. His gaze was a tangible warmth, a slow, deliberate caress that started at my temple and traveled down to my lips. He moved closer, the space between us dissolving into the charged silence, his scent of sandalwood and rain enveloping me completely. His fingers, when they finally brushed a stray lock of hair from my cheek, were not tentative but achingly sure, a promise written in a language only my skin could understand. A soft sigh escaped me, not of surrender, but of a long-awaited homecoming, as his thumb traced the delicate line of my jaw. I felt myself leaning into his solid strength, my hand coming to rest upon his chest, where a matching heartbeat thrummed a wild, syncopated song. The world narrowed to this single point of contact, a universe contained within the warmth of his palm cradling the nape of my neck. Every breath I took was filled with him, every shuddering inhale a silent plea for this suspended moment to never end. In the profound quiet, our foreheads touched, a sacred communion more intimate than any kiss could ever be. This was not a conquest, but a mutual unraveling, a beautiful, terrifying freefall into a feeling I never wanted to name.
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