ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The storm outside mirrored the tempest within our secluded sanctuary, the rain a frantic drumbeat against the windowpane. His fingers, trembling with a reverence I could feel in my own soul, traced the delicate line of my collarbone, a silent question whispered against my skin. My breath hitched, a soft gasp lost to the thunder’s roar as I leaned into his touch, my own hands finding the strong plane of his back, anchoring me to this dizzying moment. The air itself was thick with the scent of petrichor and our shared, racing heartbeats, a perfume of pure anticipation. I turned my face towards his, our foreheads gently meeting, a gesture of profound intimacy that spoke volumes in the quiet language we were creating. In the flicker of distant lightning, I saw the raw vulnerability in his eyes, a reflection of my own yearning laid completely bare. A single, warm tear escaped, tracing a path down my cheek that he caught with the softest brush of his thumb, his gaze holding mine with an unbearable tenderness. The world, with its chaos and noise, fell away until there was only the warmth of his body so close to mine, a shelter from the raging elements. Every slight shift, every shared sigh, was a new verse in this beautiful, unspoken poem we were writing together with our souls. In that suspended, breathless space, I felt not just wanted, but utterly and completely understood, a fragile star finding its constellation in the dark.
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