ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The evening air was thick with the scent of blooming jasmine, clinging to our skin like a delicate promise. His fingers, tracing idle patterns on my wrist, sent a cascade of shivers up my arm, a silent language only my body understood. I leaned into the solid warmth of his shoulder, my breath catching as his thumb brushed the sensitive hollow of my throat. A slow, knowing smile touched his lips, his eyes holding mine with an intensity that made the world shrink to this single, breathless moment. Every whisper of his touch was a deliberate, agonizingly slow exploration, building a current of anticipation that hummed just beneath my skin. The low light gilded the curve of his jaw, and I found myself mesmerized by the steady, reassuring rhythm of his pulse. My own heart was a frantic drum against my ribs, a wild counterpoint to his calm, controlled movements. He shifted closer, his breath a warm caress against my temple, and a soft sigh escaped me, unbidden and utterly vulnerable. In that suspended silence, the space between our lips felt like an entire universe, charged with unspoken yearning and a sweet, aching tension. This was a delicious torment, a dance of nearness that left me trembling with a need as profound as it was unvoiced.
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