ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The city lights blurred beyond the rain-streaked window, a distant galaxy of gold and white that could not compete with the universe we were creating in this quiet room. His gaze held mine, a silent question I answered with the slightest tilt of my chin, my breath catching as his knuckles gently grazed the line of my jaw. The scent of his cologne, warm sandalwood and rain, filled the space between us, a dizzying perfume that made my heart flutter like a trapped bird. I felt the solid warmth of his chest beneath my palm, a steady anchor in the rising tide of my emotions, as his other hand settled on the small of my back. A soft sigh escaped my lips, not of surrender, but of a long-awaited homecoming, a feeling of rightness that settled deep in my bones. His thumb traced the curve of my bottom lip, a touch so reverent it felt like a whispered prayer against my skin. The world narrowed to this single point of contact, to the electric hum of anticipation that made the air itself feel thick and sweet. I leaned into him, my forehead resting against his, our shared breath a silent language more eloquent than any words we could ever speak. In that suspended moment, every fear and doubt melted away, replaced by a profound, trembling vulnerability. This was not a beginning or an end, but a perfect, breathless eternity woven from a single, tender touch.
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