ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The city lights blurred beyond the rain-streaked window, casting a soft, silver glow across the room. He stood there, a silhouette of quiet anticipation, his gaze holding mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. As I stepped closer, the scent of his cologne, warm and familiar, wrapped around me like a promise. His hand rose, his fingers gently tracing the line of my jaw, a touch so tender it felt like a whispered secret. I leaned into his palm, my eyes closing as a shiver traced its way down my spine, awakening every nerve. Our foreheads touched, and in that suspended moment, the entire noisy world fell into a hushed reverence. I could feel the steady, strong rhythm of his heart answering the frantic flutter of my own. His lips found mine not with hunger, but with a deep, reverent longing that spoke of patience and unspoken devotion. A soft sigh escaped me, lost in the warmth of his embrace as his arms encircled my waist, pulling me into the safety of his soul. In that perfect, silent language of touch, we confessed everything without uttering a single word.
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