Man Without Ties Novels & Stories

“To show how strong I am.” “Strong?” “Yes. A figure-of-eight knot—the hardest to undo.” Slowly, he bent his head over, down to my ear. “There’s no knot too hard for me. Just by kissing their tattoos, girls loosen up.” I interrupted him immediately. “How can you be sure everyone likes you?” “Small details,” he replied. “Such as?” I asked. “You haven’t asked me to let go of you.” I scoffed, pushing him hard. “Obviously, I want you to go!”

It's Cathylene Durk after all. I am clad in this midi length linen dress with a flattering A-line silhouette. Its classic crisp white with delicate spaghetti straps and has this defined subtle tie waist. Chic? Absolutely but I'm about to freeze to death. I should have worn a better dress. If only Liam hadn't selected it himself. “This is a big night for me and I can't have my wife looking like a maid!” He'd slammed when he selected it. I stylishly scan around to spot Nathan. He and Lola have suddenly gotten close. I can't help but feel bitter.

I swallowed at the sight of his chest, damp with sweat that made his skin glisten. I was beginning to realize I'd seen this man shirtless more than clothed, and the thought made heat creep up my neck. He took a spring roll and bit into it, chewing thoughtfully. "It's nice." There was no smile on his face, no reaction in his eyes. I wondered if this was just how he was, always composed. I was about to set the rest of the plate down when he reached out. His thumb brushed across my cheek, and I froze completely.

Not to forget he would have cribbed for the title of best man at wedding. "Why so obsessed with white man?" Abhimanyu asked him while designer was fixing white bow on Manik's collar. He saw Manik being lost somewhere and he knew what he must be thinking. "Yeah even it's not Nandini's most fav colour then why?" Swaroop also asked while tying his own black tie around his neck. He was wearing a black blazer and pant with white shirt tucked inside. Manik just sighed at changed of the topic.

Except this is a faded white color, off-shoulder, and backless. “Wonderful,” Harlow says with a smirk strapped across his face. I stay still in my place, arms folded across my chest and eyes avoiding any form of eye contact. “The man that you’ll be flirting with will be wearing a black tie with this symbol on it,” Harlow shows me a picture of the symbol on his phone. It is a circle with the letter Y at the center. “He will play his part and he might be bold, but you’ll have to coordinate,” Harlow comes closer to me, “Even if you don’t like it.”

Hank Mancini bowed to no one, get the fuck outta here. I threw on my Armani gear. Today was businessman suave. Crisp white shirt, opened at the collar, under a steel grey suit, no tie, I hate those shits. I think the fuck who invented them had some type of auto erotic asphyxiation fetish, and found the perfect way to hang the fuck out of himself all day, getting his jollies, while fooling the world that his creation was the next best thing in fashion. I barely passed a comb through my unruly black curls, because the shit did its own thing anyway, no matter what I did, so why bother? Opening my watch safe, I perused my collection, before settling on a Breitling.

I breathe, patting him on the back. Brad grins in a manner that showcases his perfect dentition. With his sandy blonde hair and coffee-brown eyes, he manages the get the ladies without much effort. We're polar opposites but we complement each other so well. We've had each other’s backs since the first time I met him. "Yeah, sorry I'm a bit late. Traffic was horrendous. But no worries, man. Let's grab another drink. You look like you could use one." He orders two glasses of champagne, and I gratefully accept the flute he hands me. The bubbles dance in the glass, mirroring the excitement in the room. But for me, it feels more like a swirling vortex of pretense and artificial smiles.

These past few days have made me forget all about it but after what I witnessed tonight nothing will ever make me see Scott Mancini in good light. He is a disgusting womanizer and he will never be more than that. I wiped my face with a paper towel and then took off the heels—the heels I was admiring just a couple of moments ago now seemed like a shackle to me. I made my way out of the en suite and closed the door behind me. The second I faced the room, my eyes fell on him making my hands curl into fists. He was leaning against the far wall his hands, nonchalantly tucked in his pants pockets, as if he doesn't have a care in the world. And that dress shirt, crisp and white, wide open at the co

He was missing his jacket now and his tie as usual- the man never wore ties. The first two top buttons of his inner shirt were open and revealing a tantalising slash of flesh to her. Flesh, she's seen and touched, tasted explored and hungered for. He looked roughishly handsome even in his professional office wear and she wanted to help him loose more of that clothing for some reason.

The question scrapped against the air so abruptly that, while it was not loud, it pounded and reverberated across the hall. Everyone heard it. All at once, wandering eyes pooled over the source of the voice where a young man in a suit stood. His first button was undone and his tie was absent—a combination of fashion choices that made him appear charmingly cavalier and nonconformist. He had eschewed styling his hair, contrasting everyone else in the room, and let his mane assume its natural form. He did not bear the most handsome features in the room, but he had something else to him—an air of alternative duende—that made it hard to tear one’s attention away from him.