Hands Pinned Above Head Novels & Stories

“That’s exactly how I want you. Starkers and ready for me. But first things first.” He walked to the head of the table, trailing the tail of the sash up her body and smiling as she bit her lip to keep from giggling. “Raise your hands above your head,” he ordered, smiling as she obeyed without hesitation. “I’m going to restrain you a bit differently. I don’t want you to be able to lower your arms.”

They fell back into my lap, disappointed that they failed to catch their query. Long, strong fingers wrapped around my wrists and lifted them above my head, pressing the palms together. Holding them there myself, he released his grip. My breath caught for a second as the smooth satin of another ribbon wrapped around my wrists, the ends fed up between my hands instead of tying them off, draping down my arms freely.

Her legs, still weak from her orgasm, threaten to buckle beneath her, but he supports her, using his own body as an unyielding brace. His hands shoot up, catching her wrists, pinning her arms over her head. Her fingers splay against the wall, palms flat, a desperate, futile attempt to push away, to create a barrier. He holds them there, firm, unyielding, effectively rendering her helpless, exposed. She stares up at him, her eyes wide, her breath catching in her throat, a choked sound escaping her.

I whisper, my voice cracking. I place my palms against his chest, trying to shove him back, but it’s like trying to move a brick wall. He doesn't budge. Instead, he lets out a low, dark chuckle that vibrates under my fingers. He reaches up and takes hold of my wrists. His thumbs trace slow, rhythmic circles against the sensitive nerves of my inner wrists, a touch so deliberate it makes my skin prickle. He easily lifts my hands away from his chest, pinning them above my head.

The position of having his back to the door gave Moreau the prospect of only paying attention to the man's shoulders. Perhaps she needed to underline something; the whole thing revealed how the hand—dotted with veins that seemed to come to the surface was in a position to pull the lever back with both legs straight, then Abihirt would return to the front covered by the position of the legs bent near the chest.

He lifted a finger to point downward and rotate. I obediently turned. Nearly shaking with apprehension. He reached around my stomach. His broad chest pressing to my back as his hands slid over my round hips and along my stomach to cross over me. Linking with the fingers of my opposite hands. Pulling them around until my forearms crossed over my belly in a tight hug. Pinned.

The cuffs were attached to a thick silver chain, which was in turn attached to a heavy steel eyelet which was screwed into a thick 4x4 beam that crossed the ceiling from wall to wall. I could not move my hands more than one inch in any direction. Her eyes met mine again, and she stepped closer. Her turquoise teddy rubbed against my naked, trembling body. She reached her hand between my legs again, and cradled my balls, her warm palm surrounding them. "Did you mean what you said, Pete?" she cooed.

I couldn't fight it. I hung my hands in front of me, my throat working bitterly as the tin-armored guards clasped their metal chains around my wrists.

HAZEL In one swift movement, he pins both of my hands together in one of his, forcing them above my head and pressing them against the pillar behind me. My back collides with the cold surface, sending a shiver racing down my spine. Now I’m trapped. My hands are held above me … in the same position I was in upstairs. The air in the indoor sunroom is heavy with panes of glass that offer a view of the gardens.

Hades POV I study the two shifters who are restrained in separate cells, silver cuffs tight around their wrists, their arms above their head as they hang from a hook in the ceiling, silver shackles tying their legs together. There is fear in their eyes. They swallow nervously. I pick one, my hands wearing leather gloves, a silver blade in my hand. His eyes widen. I give him a malicious smile, twisting the knife in my hands. I wasn't known for being ruthless for nothing. They knew my reputation. They knew I wouldn't give them a single shred of mercy.