ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The world outside our window dissolved into a blur of distant city lights, soft as scattered stardust. His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path along the curve of my shoulder, a whisper of contact that made my breath catch. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the gentle pressure of his palm resting against the small of my back, a silent anchor in the rising tide of feeling. Every nerve ending seemed to awaken, humming with a quiet anticipation that built with the steady rhythm of our hearts. A soft sigh escaped my lips, not of sound, but of pure, unfiltered emotion, as his forehead came to rest against mine. The air grew thick with the scent of rain-kissed night and the faint, clean fragrance of his skin. In that suspended moment, there was no past or future, only the exquisite present unfolding between us like a rare, nocturnal flower. A tremor began deep within, a delicate fluttering that slowly spread, warming me from my core to the very tips of my fingers. It was not a storm, but a sunrise, a radiant wave of warmth that crested and broke in a silent, shimmering release. Tears, sweet and unbidden, welled in my eyes, not from sorrow, but from the overwhelming beauty of being so completely known. We remained there, entwined in the quiet aftermath, two souls woven together in the profound language of shared, wordless pleasure.
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