Hands Pinned Above Head Novels & Stories

Summer’s Point of View My eyes darted back and forth like a ping-pong ball between the two men. Their tall, looming figures towered over me, casting a dark shadow on my petite frame. Their grip on my wrist was like a vice, cutting off my circulation. I could feel my pulse racing as I struggled to break free. Suddenly, I shook my hands vigorously, causing Harvey to release his hold on me. But Steven’s grip remained unyielding, and I let out a frustrated sigh.

The instant my fingertips grazed my own skin, his hand snapped around both my wrists like a steel trap. “Wrong move, baby.” In one brutal, seamless motion he wrenched my arms high up my back, folding them tight between my shoulder blades, pinning them there with a single massive hand. My chest slammed forward into the couch, tits crushed against the leather, back arched so sharply my ass lifted even higher, completely exposed, dripping, helpless. My fingers curled uselessly in the air, trapped, trembling.

Intending to land her a hot slap. But the moment his hand came down, it never landed. Because Aisha’s hand shot up even faster as she caught his wrist midair. Perfectly. The movement was so quick it took James a second to even process what had happened. His hand hung there. Suspended. Held tightly by her grip. Aisha tilted her head slightly. “Ah, ah, ah… ah,” she said slowly, shaking her head. Her fingers tightened around his wrist. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

"Now let's see if you'll try something like that again." He carried me harshly up, hoisting my body while he air swipes something, I don't see the hologram for I'm not wearing the contact lenses. when suddenly two carbon ropes dangles out from the ceiling. He cuffs my hands above my head and air swipes two more chain on the floor locking me in an X position.

She finally stood up from her chair and placed her arms in her chest. “I-I don’t have it! I don’t!” he said raising his arms like he was somehow trying to surrender. “Sed! Your face seemed so peculiar this dinner, I know you have it.” “Fine! You learned how to control it so bloody fast, I was confused!” he waved his hand in his front and fire started to build up in his fingers.

Who are these people? My eyes lazily dart on the back side, and here is where all the mystery lies. There is definitely a man seated there, but his face and upper body are all hidden. The only things I can make out of his blood are his red suit, which is bleeding pure danger, and the shiny Hurricane Freedom edition walking stake. Both hands are resting on the cane with the fingers in motion, moving up and down like a devil putting a plan in motion. Both hands have red gloves.

"Who gave you this freedom? Who pulled you from your gilded cage?" Before Lynn could react, Marcus's hand shot out with shocking speed. He grabbed Lynn by the throat, slamming him back against the rough wooden wall. The impact knocked the air from Lynn's lungs. He gasped, clawing at the iron grip around his neck. Marcus's fingers tightened, cutting off his air supply.

I gasp, my hands flying up to brace myself against the peeling wallpaper. "Hands behind your back," Kir orders. I hesitate. That's all the invitation he needs. His foot nudges mine apart, stealing my balance, and my wrist disappears behind my back. His grip is firm and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world and knows exactly how this ends. "Yes, Sir," I choke out. I bring my right hand back to join the left. "Good." He keeps one heavy hand pressed flat between my shoulder blades, pinning me to the wall.

Having Master Handerson deal with this kind of trash would be a compliment for Jonathan. Nick reached out to stop all his subordinates and shook his head calmly. "No, you don't need to. Master Handerson is furious! Let him do it by himself. If he doesn't vent his anger, he will have internal injuries. We just need to watch." "Yes." Callan stood up. He first unbuttoned his suit and then slowly took off it and threw it to Nick. Then, he untied his shirt cuffs, rolled up his sleeves, and exposed half of his solid forearms. His hands crossed in front of his body and pressed down hard. In the big old house, there was a bone click immediately.

Promising. “Hands above your head,” he said. His voice was low, calm, but the command in it made my stomach flip. I lifted my arms without thinking. My heart was already racing again. He moved fast but careful. He looped the rope around my wrists, then tied the ends to the thick branch that formed the top of our little shelter. Not so tight it hurt, but tight enough that I couldn’t pull free. My arms were stretched up, body open, breasts lifted, back slightly arched. I felt exposed. Vulnerable. And so turned on I could barely breathe.