ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The late afternoon sun cast long, golden fingers through the window, illuminating dust motes that danced like tiny fairies around her. She sat curled on the plush velvet sofa, a secret smile playing upon her lips as she watched him approach. His shadow fell over her first, a cool contrast to the sun's warm caress on her skin. He knelt before her, his eyes holding a soft, unspoken question that made her heart flutter like a captive bird. His fingertips, whisper-soft, first traced the delicate line of her jaw, then drifted down to the vulnerable hollow of her throat. A breathless laugh escaped her as his touch found that sensitive spot just above her collarbone, a tremor of pure, unadulterated joy shaking her frame. She arched into his hand, a silent plea for more of this delicious, dizzying sensation that blurred the world around them. His own laughter was a low, warm rumble that vibrated through the quiet room, a sound that felt like home. In that suspended moment, there was only the shared language of touch, the intoxicating warmth of his nearness, and the overwhelming tenderness swelling within her chest. This was their private sanctuary, a world built not on words, but on the breathtaking precipice of a shared, ticklish temptation.
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