ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The city lights blurred into a soft, golden haze beyond the rain-streaked window, their distant hum a quiet accompaniment to the rhythm of our breathing. His fingers, warm and sure, traced a slow, deliberate path from my wrist to the curve of my shoulder, leaving a trail of delicate fire on my skin. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the sensation, feeling the solid, steady beat of his heart against my palm. The scent of his skin, clean and faintly of sandalwood, filled the air with every shared, shallow breath we took. A soft, whispered sigh escaped my lips as his forehead gently met mine, a silent conversation passing between our souls. The world narrowed to this single point of contact, this sanctuary of tangled limbs and shared warmth. Every nerve ending felt alive, hyper-aware of the slight shift of his body, the pressure of his thigh against mine. I felt a profound vulnerability, a beautiful, terrifying unraveling of my own defenses in the safety of his embrace. A deep, resonant longing bloomed within my chest, a flower opening to a sun it had only just discovered. In that suspended moment, we were not two separate beings, but a single, breathing entity, woven together by touch and trust.
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