Knuckles X Sticks Novels & Stories

His knuckles were white around the shaft. He still had enough fight left. For now. I dropped the puck between us. It hit the ice with a sharp crack.

Orion's POV Leon handed me a pair of brass knuckles without a word, his face expressionless as he placed the cold metal in my palm. I looked down at them for a moment—heavy and solid, the metal gleaming dully in the warehouse's dim lighting. Then I slipped them onto my right hand, flexing my fingers to get used to the weight. The brass knuckles fit perfectly, like they'd been made for this exact purpose. Like they'd been waiting for this moment.

I shook my head, my throat dry. “It's a studded paddle.” He turned it over in his hands, letting me see both sides. One side was smooth leather, and the other was studded, the metal bumps rising like the nodes on a medieval mace. “The smooth side will leave a deep, thudding impact. The studded side will leave marks. Small, precise circles, each one a different point of pain.” I glared, and he smirked. “This is my favourite toy.” I raised a brow. “Have you used it before?”

Then I was completely wrong. Not even giving me time to breathe, Xander pushed his large cock inside me. " I will fucking kill everyman, that even try laying his eyes on you." Saying he increased the pace of his thrusts. Fucking me ruthlessly. "Aah. Alex..." I moaned. My Knuckles turned white due to gripping the edges tightly, but the pleasure made me ignore all the discomforts. "Don't ever try making me jealous." His groans missed with possessiveness were like music to my ears.

I remembered the bleeding, stitches, the bruising, the way he winced when he thought I wasn’t looking. “Fuck!” Misha gasped, and his knees hit the floor again. The crowd roared in approval. “Right there! That’s the soft spot!” “Break his ribs, Knuckles!” “Split him open!” Knuckles didn’t waste the moment. He reared back and delivered a savage kick straight to Misha’s ribs. Misha collapsed onto his back with a strangled sound. And another. And another. The sound of foot-on-flesh filled the pit, over and over, as Knuckles stomped down with all the power of a man who knew he’d already won.

“You want to go a few rounds?” “How stupid do you think I am? And do not feel obligated to answer that. I’ll hold the heavy bag for you.” “I’ll take it.” She rolled off the mat and went over to her locker. Taz pulled on some wrist braces and weights on her arms and legs. “What’s up with the weights?” Spider asked. “The harder I can hit with the weights; the harder I can hit without them.” Knuckles took his place behind the heavy bag and hoped that he would not regret this. After the first few hits and kicks, he decided he was an idiot. He was already regretting his decision to help.

“Alright, let’s start with how to throw a punch,” Bryan said after we stretched and warmed up. “It’s all about technique, not strength. Make a tight fist with the thumb curled on the outside of the fingers. You’re going to hit with the first two big knuckles. Never hit with the fingers. They’ll break.” He demonstrated, pointing out the knuckles with his other hand, and I copied him. “Good,” he continued. “Now, spread your feet apart, one foot in front, one in back. Press your feet into the ground, and keep the knees slightly bent and flexible.”

With a hair flip I laugh, and Maggie and I head off to stretch. Tonight we are working with the sticks from Tahtib. My sticks had a titanium core for strength, but to look at the art work etched into the sides one would think they were just decorations. Every individual had sticks made to fit their personality, and mine were covered with gymnasts and lightning bolts. I still loved to sketch storms, the more voracious the better. Only now I could just watch them on my phone to get inspired. Much to Dak's surprise I was able to conjure a blade on the end of one of one, turning this beautiful work of art into a lethal weapon. I took a few blows in the legs before I realized that crushes ca

His stance was good, solid, he was athletic, thus his punch would definitely sting. Now the punch was coming, his knuckles were protruding as he clenched his fist hard. For a split second, I took a quick sidestep and saw the punch almost hitting my gut. It went past my stomach and landed on the concrete wall behind me. I heard a faint cracking sound as his knuckles connected to the wall.

"We don't wrap at the academy. If you're in a fight, you don't have time to protect your hands. Better to toughen the knuckles in training." Xander's brows lift. A slow grin spreads. "You're so hardcore now." He steps behind the bag, palms flat to steady it. I bounce on my toes once, twice, then let the punches roll. Jab. Cross. Hook. Elbow. Leather thuds under my fists and the chain creaks. Xander takes the drive of each hit in his shoulders without a word. He just holds for me, bracing when I switch angles, adjusting when I change tempo. My wrists sting in a good way. Heat blooms across my shoulders and down my back. I know he came down here for his own session, but he stays put.