ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The afternoon sun bled through the gauzy curtains, casting the room in a honeyed, molten glow that seemed to slow time itself. His breath hitched as her fingers, cool and deliberate, began a slow exploration along the line of his jaw. Every whisper of her skin against his sent a shiver cascading down his spine, a silent tremor of pure anticipation. She traced the delicate shell of his ear, her touch as light as a falling petal, yet it ignited a fire deep within his core. A soft sigh escaped his lips, a sound of complete surrender to the exquisite tension building between them. Her gaze remained locked with his, a universe of unspoken promises swirling in the depths of her dark eyes. He could feel the frantic rhythm of his own heart answering the gentle pressure of her palm against his chest. The world outside ceased to exist, narrowed to this single, breathless point of contact where nerve endings sang. It was a language spoken not with words, but with the lingering heat of a caress and the quiet understanding in a shared glance. In that suspended moment, he felt utterly known, every guarded part of his soul tenderly unfolded beneath her patient, worshipful hands.
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