ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The evening air was thick with the scent of jasmine, clinging to our skin like a whispered promise. Her fingers, cool and deliberate, traced the line of my jaw, a silent question in their gentle pressure. I felt the world narrow to this single point of contact, a current of anticipation humming between us. A soft sigh escaped her lips as her hands drifted to my shoulders, kneading away the day’s tension with an almost magical precision. My own hands found the small of her back, pulling her closer until I could feel the frantic rhythm of her heart against my chest. Every brush of her skin against mine was a new verse in a poem I had waited a lifetime to read. She leaned her forehead against mine, her breath a warm, sweet caress on my face, and in the deep pools of her eyes, I saw entire constellations of desire. The room seemed to hold its breath with us, the only sound the rustle of fabric as we moved in a slow, wordless dance. It was an exquisite surrender, a feeling of coming home to a place I never knew existed. In that suspended moment, wrapped in her tender embrace, I was utterly and completely spellbound.
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