ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The afternoon sun slanted through the dusty window, catching the faint tremor in his hand as he brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek. Her breath hitched, a tiny, captured sound swallowed by the quiet hum of the city below. He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers, and in that suspended moment, the entire world narrowed to the space between their lips. She could feel the frantic, hopeful rhythm of his heart where her palm lay flat against his chest, a wild drum answering the unspoken question in her eyes. His thumb traced the line of her jaw, a touch so achingly slow it felt like a vow being written upon her skin. A soft sigh escaped her as she melted into him, the solid warmth of his embrace a sanctuary she never knew she craved. The air grew thick with the scent of his skin and the fading perfume on her neck, a dizzying fragrance of longing and home. Every fleeting second stretched into an eternity, each brush of his lips against hers a profound, silent conversation. Tears, born of overwhelming tenderness, pricked at the corners of her eyes, not of sadness, but of a joy so sharp it bordered on pain. And as they finally parted, breathless and changed, the lingering warmth on their lips was a promise that this fleeting instant would echo within them forever.
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