Red Sleeve Cuff Novels & Stories

The sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing forearms that were more defined than she remembered. Ava guessed she wasn't wrong after all.

Then, I saw him walking over to me. And for a second, I forgot how to breathe. He had washed the dirt off his hands, but he hadn't put his jacket back on. He was just in that white dress shirt, the fabric was thin enough that I could see the hard, rigid lines of his shoulders and the way his muscles moved underneath. He’d unbuttoned the top three buttons, leaving his collar open, and my eyes immediately tracked the golden skin of his throat down to where his chest started. He was rolling his sleeves up even higher as he walked. The white fabric was bunched up past his elbows, showing off his forearms. I watched the way his tattoos disappeared under his sleeves.

"Don't you want me to undress first, Master? Once the cuffs are in place…" He cants his head, eyelids drooping a little. "Do as you're told, Elizabeth." Nonplussed, I offer a wrist. Sliding the sleeve of my blouse up my arm, he slips the cuff into place, tightening the buckles, enclosing my wrist and lower arm. Heavy-duty leather, but soft and supple, smelling of new. A carabiner dangles, clinking against the steel of a buckle. "Comfortable?" "Yes, Master." "Wriggle your fingers."

I had not been distracted. I rubbed my sweaty palms against the slacks of my uniform as I met his gaze. He placed his glass down and slowly pushed his chair back. “Aurelia,” he called out. “Don,” I replied. He stood from his seat and unbuttoned his jacket. He removed it, revealing the matching dark vest to his suit and his pure white shirt. He walked to me slowly, as he undid his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. I swallowed as I watched the muscles and veins work beneath the skin of his forearms with every movement they made.

I pointed out, the way he can tell the difference between the designs is just so impressive. "Well I love well dressed ladies and I love taking off or ripping the dresses, so I know quite a bit." He said proudly. "I see Mr dress ripper." I teased him just as he unbuttoned the sleeves of his dress shirt and he rolled the sleeves up for comfort I guess but when my eyes landed on his forearm, my eyes went wide and I was overwhelmed with emotions, I don't know if I should be excited or sad about my latest discovery.

It was one of my golden rules. When all the staff was about to throw in the towel or kill me ( I was not sure about it), a dress appeared that could change the night. It was white, long, with a very long and wide cascading sleeve and the other side was bare. The chest was the only thing fitted, the rest fell and flowed through my body like a stream. She was going to go pretty to the funeral that was being organized.

According to me, Kelvin is more handsome than him. Now? In front of me sits a man wearing a navy blue shirt with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His long pants are still there, but the color choice is light brown. By Naomi's standards, I know that these two items are not random brands. Because besides fitting perfectly on Cedric's cool body—I admit it because my index finger has proven it several times—his appearance is not much different from Kelvin, who prioritizes his fashion sense.

Angelo did. And then I noticed it…The sleeves. “They’re wrong,” I said. He frowned. “What?” “The uniform.” I pointed at the screen. “Look at the cuffs.” All the kitchen staff wore short sleeves. This person didn’t. He wore long sleeves that were pulled down and tight at the wrists, therefore covering the skin completely. Angelo’s expression shifted. “He’s wearing gloves too. Thin black gloves that would go unnoticed against his shadow.” This person was not a cook. The cooks of this estate didn’t dress like that.

Marcelo’s tall stature and impressive physique meant he could make even the simplest attire look elegant. His wardrobe for formal events typically consisted of high-end, subtly stylish business wear, following a consistent theme. I focused on the finer details. I selected a silver-gray Armani suit, pairing it with a dark-printed, light-blue shirt and a dark-blue twill tie. The tie clip matched the suit's color, adding a refined touch. ********************* *MARCELO* From the doorway,I observed Renee choosing cufflinks. Her long, curled eyelashes cast a delicate charm as she concentrated on her task.

His Russian accent appears, curling around the words with smoky intent. In seconds he’s undone the cuff link for his right wrist, slipping it into his pocket, then begins rolling up the sleeve before doing the same for his left one. I’m trying not to stare at the tattoos running over his forearms. How had they been hiding just below the surface without any hint they were there? I shake my head—words won’t come. Anticipation is twisting in my stomach then spreading low, there at the apex of my thighs. This can’t be. No, not at the idea of him punishing me.