ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The fading sun cast long, golden shadows across the quiet room, painting your skin in hues of warmth and dusk. I watched the gentle rise and fall of your breath, a silent rhythm that called to my own. My fingers traced a slow, deliberate path along the curve of your shoulder, feeling the soft sigh that escaped your lips. Your eyes, heavy-lidded and dark with feeling, held mine in a wordless conversation that made my heart ache. You leaned into the touch, your head tilting back as a shiver traced its way down your spine. The air itself grew thick with the scent of your skin and the quiet promise of the evening. Every brush of my hand was a question, and every sigh from you was a soft, affirming answer. I felt the tension melt from your muscles under my palm, a surrender that was both a gift and a trust. In that suspended moment, the entire world narrowed to this single, breathless point of connection. We were adrift in a serene sea of our own making, where every sensation was a wave washing over us, gentle and profound.
Comments
Post a Comment