Holding Hands Aesthetic Novels & Stories

I started taking high breaths , filling my lungs with the air. I am staring at him, while I'm taking bigger gulps of air. He is starting me back with a blank face, again that staring contest has came. He is leaning over the wall, Broad shoulders create a strong contrast to the fragile way he’s holding his hands. I love his hands, I love it how his hands roam on my body. I love it how his hands do the things on my body. Chemistry is touching his hands, setting fire to my brain and body. Actually he is doing that, he is actually doing things with the mixture of physics and chemistry.

I instantly flinched and tried to pull away but she tightened her grasp. “People are watching us, Finn. We have to make it look authentic. If you were out shopping with Sarah, would you hold her hand?” She hissed under her breath. “Fine. I’ll hold your hand, but don’t try anything else.” I cautioned her. She grunted in aggravation but thankfully complied with my request. I looked for every excuse to drop her hand, from holding Mason to pretending to want to see something on the other side of the store. Her hand didn’t feel soft and warm like Sarah’s or rough and strong like Zayne’s and there were no sparks between us. It irked me. Callum bristled in my head, threatening to rip her hands off

I offer mine to the two partners, dry and brief. Then comes his turn. He extends his hand. I offer mine, aiming for the requisite, polite limpness. His fingers close around it. The warmth is immediate, crushing. His grip is not firm. It is… possessive. He doesn't shake my hand. He holds it. His thumb strokes, once, slowly, across my knuckle. A deliberate, meaningful touch. A contact that says: I am touching you. Here. In front of them all. And you can do nothing.

He said with a smile. We walked slowly, holding each other’s hands in the process. As we walked hand in hand, I felt a sense of warmth and connection flowing through our arms. His firm, but gentle hands cradled mine, while our fingers intertwined softly. My body was overtaken by a calming sensation as the soft pressure of his palms pressed against mine. The deep caress of his finger on mine, gave me a feeling of safety and comfort. It was like our hands had come together to create our own safe world of intimacy and connection.

Feeling a little naughty but being a gentleman I held her hand, I wanted to see if she could withstand my touch with a single finger on her palm, thumb, and fingers. The touch was so slippery, her hands a bit pinched and they started to tremble, my nerve weakly jumped from her hand to her entire body causing a cold leap of blood to cover her entire body. I admired her beauty with lust; I felt that my hold was only gentle and not strong. Slowly I took my fingers, and as lightly as a feather gently caressed her face and lips, she placed her mind and body in my hands. We both enjoy what we do and it penetrates our hearts. I asked her if she wanted to go somewhere private.

She looked at them the way she looked at work she was trying to understand, with the full attention, the nothing managed. She recognized the style of one immediately. A study of hands, the left one, relaxed, palm upward, rendered in the particular way of someone who had been trying to understand weight and stillness simultaneously. The line quality was familiar in the way your own handwriting was familiar, known before it was identified. She looked more closely.

His eyes suddenly darted to the side,then in one smooth motion, he reached down and wrapped his fingers around my hand. The sudden skin-to-skin contact sent a jolt through me, and I stared at our joined hands in confusion. "A-Aiden?" I stammered, barely able to form words. Why was he suddenly holding my hand? "Isn't hand-holding normal between husband and wife?" he asked lazily, his voice smooth as silk. Well, when he put it that way... I instinctively interlaced our fingers, creating a more intimate grip. As our hands locked together, I caught the satisfied smile that spread across Aiden's lips. Something about that smile made my stomach flip in a way that had nothing to do with hunger.

And Aria did. Athena's hand slid between her thighs, confident but never demanding. Her fingers moved with focus, learning what made Aria gasp, what made her back arch. There was nothing mechanical in her touch — it was intuitive. Like she listened to every breath, every tremble. Her thumb circled gently, spreading warmth in slow, deliberate waves. Aria moaned softly, her hands reaching blindly for something to hold. She found Athena's wrist and clung there, grounding herself as sensation built inside her like a tide rising against the shore.

If I didn't then I wasn't helping, and I gulped down the nerves as I spared a gaze to Aaron. He was wildly attacking his plate, his attention focused only on the pasta I'd made. I watched in impressed shock as one of his hands held onto the fork, stabbing viciously at his food. His other hand was occupied...holding my hand. I felt awkward with my hand in his, like it wasn't meant to be there. His hand was rough but warm and significantly larger than mine. I couldn't help but appreciate the warmth it gave, and I now knew why people enjoyed hand-holding so much.

He reaches across the table and takes my hand. I almost flinch. His grip is gentle. Too gentle. The way you might handle a glass sculpture you want to own and lock away.