ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The storm’s rhythm against the windowpane was a frantic drum, matching the wild beat of her heart as his gaze held hers. A slow, knowing smile curved his lips, a silent question that made her breath catch in her throat. His fingers, warm and sure, traced a path from her temple down the line of her jaw, leaving a trail of fire on her rain-cooled skin. She leaned into his touch, her own hands finding the damp cotton of his shirt, feeling the solid strength of him beneath the fabric. The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with the scent of petrichor and the faint, clean fragrance of his skin. When his forehead gently rested against hers, she closed her eyes, drowning in the simple, profound intimacy of the moment. Every whispered word was a caress, a promise spoken so softly it was felt more than heard. The world outside, with its driving rain and howling wind, faded into a distant, irrelevant hum. In that suspended silence, there was only the shared warmth of their breath and the thrilling, terrifying surrender she saw reflected in his dark eyes. This was not a beginning or an end, but a perfect, breathless eternity found in a single, stolen glance.
Comments
Post a Comment