He Can Only Hold Her Novels & Stories

Not now. Instead, I tighten my hold around her just slightly, anchoring both of us in something real. No one takes her again. No one even tries.

She turned back, "You..." But before she could finish her sentence, he pulled her with force, causing her to fall into his arms. In an extremely suggestive position, she ended up sitting on his lap. She quickly tried to get up. But he wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her tightly in his embrace. She frowned. Why did he want to watch TV while holding her like this? Besides, she didn't like watching it anyway. She struggled a bit, but he only tightened his hold on her. "Be good, don't move."

I ask, cutting my pancakes and eating them. "I'll hold her." he says, putting his hands out to grab her, eating as he bounces his leg softly with her head in his hand and her butt on his thigh. Inseparable already. I couldn't be any happier.

She leans her head against his shoulder and he holds her head in his hands. She is a trophy, but he will cherish her, unlike his father and brother. The end.

However, it was the scent of her blood and the view of it running down her one leg, and more of it coating her soles that had him shifting despite his fatigue. With quick strides, he came up alongside her, and swung her into his arms-where she belonged. Fuck, the tingling awareness that shot through him almost had him stumbling in shock. If he'd harbored any doubt, it disappeared. No two ways about it, she's mine. "What the fuck are you doing?" Trent asked, still holding her hand. "She's injured and can't keep up."

His body burned for her day and night. She reached out and brushed her fingertips over his fingers, trailing it up to his arm. She squeezed the muscle of his bicep and lifted her head to hold his gaze. He stared at her with a strange yet calming look. Was he trying to hold himself back? Wait a minute, why wasn't he pouncing on her and lifting her shirt? He wasn't even touching her. She knew he wanted it. He had always had a problem with keeping his hands to himself. Why was he holding back now?

When Em collapsed at my side, he reached for my chin, turning it toward him. “Better?” “The best.” He kissed my nose. “What if I told you it will keep getting better?” “I’d say you’re setting a high bar.” He pulled me into his arms. I listened to the sound of his heartbeat as he stroked my hair. “I love you, Isabella. I want to have and hold you forever.” I rolled in his arms. “I like the sound of that.” I lifted my left hand and wiggled my finger. You didn’t need to get me a diamond.”

he says quietly. And then— he moves. Fast. Faster than before. No hesitation. No warning. A direct strike. Precise. Calculated. Deadly. I shift— barely— enough to avoid the worst of it— but not enough to counter fully. Because I’m holding her. And he knows it. That’s the weakness. That’s what he’s targeting. “Put her down,” he repeats. “Or you die holding her.” No. That’s not happening. I adjust.

"I'm your husband, Anne! How could you get discharged from the hospital without even telling me?" When I was finally able to get used to the light and open my eyes fully, I saw Charles standing there at the doorway, panting as he held a bunch of cupcakes in his hand. His expression was cold and filled with blame. There, peeking out behind him, was Sue, wearing a men's hoodie that was obviously a few sizes too large for her, her pale face framed by her long, black hair. Notably, she didn't seem to be wearing any pants under the hoodie, her legs slender, pale, and impossible to miss.

She held his hand. She waited.