ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The fading sun cast long, golden shadows across the room, gilding the dust motes dancing in the still air. His gaze was a tangible warmth that traveled over my skin, leaving a trail of invisible fire in its wake. My breath hitched as his fingers, feather-light, traced the line from my wrist to the curve of my elbow. A soft sigh escaped my lips, a sound lost to the intimate silence wrapping around us like a velvet cloak. He leaned in, and the world narrowed to the space where our foreheads gently touched, sharing the same air. I could feel the frantic rhythm of his heart echoing the wild pulse in my own veins. Every nerve ending sang with a desperate, aching awareness of his nearness. His thumb brushed my lower lip, a question and a promise held in that single, trembling point of contact. The scent of his skin, clean and faintly of sandalwood, filled my senses, intoxicating and uniquely him. In that suspended moment, we were the only two people left in a universe burning down to embers.
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