ManoJob
Manojob Pic(s)
The fading sun cast long, golden shadows across the room, painting your skin in hues of warmth and anticipation. His gaze, heavy with unspoken longing, traced the delicate line of your collarbone as you drew a slow, steadying breath. Your fingers, trembling slightly, found the solid warmth of his chest, feeling the frantic rhythm beneath your palm echo your own. He leaned in, his forehead gently resting against yours, a silent question hanging in the space between your lips. The air grew thick with the scent of rain and his faint, familiar cologne, a dizzying perfume of promise. A soft sigh escaped you as his hand came to cradle the nape of your neck, his thumb stroking slow, soothing circles into your skin. In that suspended moment, the entire world narrowed to the electric charge of that single, tender point of contact. You felt yourself yielding, not in surrender, but in a profound and willing unraveling of every guarded thought. The first brush of his lips was impossibly soft, a tentative exploration that spoke of reverence and a deep, aching need. It was a silent conversation, a perfect, wordless understanding that this was only the beautiful beginning.
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