Firmly Grasp It Novels & Stories

“I should go.” But his hand at my waist didn’t loosen in the slightest; it held firm, unyielding, like a lock that had already decided it would not open, no matter how gently—or insistently—I tried to push against it. I had no choice but to add a bit more force, pressing harder this time in an attempt to break free.

His touch was firm, possessive. His jaw clenched, his grip tightening as though he were barely holding himself back. The room was silent except for our uneven breaths. "you don't know what is your mistake?" he said with serious expression. "no, I haven't done anything" I said ,squirming in his death grip on my hands & shoulder.

My mouth quietly exhales a breath of true relief, sharing in their beautiful joy. Suddenly, my bare wrist is seized in a super firm, crushing grip.

This was definitely not the way I was planning my day to end. Noah was the last person I expected to see and the way his eyes lit up with desire as his gaze roamed below my face reminded me of - Fuck! I was bare below my neck. My heart raced as I tried to find my footing. My feeble attempts only seemed to make the situation worse as I slipped again, which forced him to tighten his hold around me, pulling me flush against his chest, only the thin material of his T-shirt preventing any direct contact.

I made a stronger effort to break free from his firm grip, but I failed as he was clutching me tightly, not enough to hurt me, but enough to put me in my place. He didn't respond to my questions as he continued to lock the door behind him with one hand still gripping me. I wriggled my arms to be free, but that attempt was futile again. As he turned his attention back to me after locking the door, I looked up to face him, as I was now still in my place by his firm grip on my wrist. And I eventually got to see the face of the man I had been trying so hard to get the attention of.

His hold is a major area of strength for excessively, and presently in addition to the fact that I feel like a numbskull, however, I additionally feel like a canine. "I couldn't care less assuming that you lost your recollections, I couldn't care less about me or Elijah," he announces amazingly, meanwhile centered around my lower leg. "I'm taking you for myself." "I'm not something to be owned, "I snap, yanking my lower leg as hard as possible. It does no decent, his tight clamp-like grasp prohibitive in the most obviously terrible manner conceivable.

Not an inch. My chest heaved with fury as I turned away, storming toward the stick lying nearby—long, thick, just the right weight to leave a lasting mark. But before I could reach it, Nathan’s hand shot out and grabbed mine. His grip was firm. Steady. Refusing to let go. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I snapped, jerking my arm, but he held on. My glare shot to his face, seething with rage. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Let. Me. Go!” But instead, his grip tightened even more, fingers digging into my skin hard enough to bruise. His face was a mask of cold control again, though I could see the strain in his arm and the way his muscles flexed to hold me steady. I didn’t wait for him to answer.

“Yes?” He swallowed, weak but steady. “Don’t let go.” Her heart squeezed. “I won’t.” She tightened her grip around him And didn’t let go. Not for a single step.

Like something wild had come to the surface and hadn't decided yet whether to go back down. His grip tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to make clear I wasn't going anywhere until he was ready to let me. "Who the hell are you?"