Firmly Grasp It Novels & Stories

"That I reject you?" His fingers dug into the flesh of my thigh, gripping hard. "Then listen, because I’m only going to say this once."

“Handle her carefully. No bruises. No scratches. Nothing at all. If anything happens to her, you will answer for it.” The tattooed man nodded firmly, his face serious as he stepped closer to me. Without saying anything, he reached out and grabbed my arm with a rough hand. His grip was strong and unyielding, holding me in place. It was tight enough to show control, though it did not hurt. At least not yet.

His grip tightened just enough to remind me. Who he was. Who held the power? “…What are you going to do about it?”

I’m as charged as I am edged with yet another thing slipping through my grasp. His long dark hair becomes the leash I grab on to. The control I need with it spiraling. Visual reminders, physical barriers that hold me back, and keep me in check. The flex isn’t rough, I don’t put an ounce of real pressure in the grip that tells him to get down to business before I lose my shit and obliterate his ass. Rather than down, he comes up from the soft points he’s been working on. Joining our mouths again with a hungry moan of excitement. Grimm’s grind so close to any female I’ve had; so wet and impatient for dick they can’t sit still.

Jordan's grip. “This is mine!”

After some hesitation, I finally took it. His grip was warm and firm, like he was afraid that I would run away.

The words hung in the air, a challenge, a declaration of war. With that, I spun on my heel, turning my back to him. But before I could take a step forward, he was there, his presence like a wall behind me. His hand shot out, grabbing my forearm, stopping me in my tracks. His grip was firm, unyielding. a hand that grips my arm and squeezes too tight. . He caught me and I felt an inmes pressure on my arm and had a vise-like grip on my arm. He could rip my arm out of my torso.My heart was pounding out of my chest. He could hear it.

My mind races, trying to understand, to reconcile with the man who holds me so tenderly with the one who speaks so harshly. As I stand here, caught in Efrem’s embrace, I’m acutely aware of every point where our bodies touch. The firm pressure of his arm around my waist, the gentle but insistent grip of his fingers on my chin. The moment stretches as I wait for him to explain, my brows furrowing.

Something addictive. I held his hand tighter, unable to let go. And he didn’t pull away.

His grip was possessive, scorching hot, and completely, terrifyingly final. That squeeze communicated everything his words didn't… that he'd already made his choice, that he wasn't backing down, that he would see this through no matter the cost. That he wanted this, wanted me, with a certainty I couldn't begin to comprehend. "We'll be ready."