Red Sleeve Cuff Novels & Stories

"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."

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.

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.

He was fidgeting as he sat, avoiding her eyes in a way that made Clara wonder if he wasn't overreacting considering how she hadn't even mentioned what he did wrong. "Do you remember what I first told you during your orientation?" There wasn't any need beating around the bush by asking if he knew what he had done and whatnot. Her fingers were linked comfortably on the table, laying emphasis on her dress which had been designed to accommodate one exaggerated puffy sleeve made of soft silk, and the other which was almost sleeveless, with a tiny bowtie used to create the illusion of a make-believe sleeve. It exposed her bony collarbones and smooth creamy skin flirtatiously, the red choice of col

Hе wаѕ ѕtunnіng аѕ uѕuаl, drеѕѕеd in a tіght red аnd black checked ѕhіrt, whісh fіt ѕnuglу across hіѕ perfect, hаrd сhеѕt. His sleeves wеrе rolled uр еmрhаѕіѕіng his impressive biceps оut оn show, аnd оf course dіѕрlауіng hіѕ bеаutіful tаttоо ѕlееvе. His black jеаnѕ сlung tо hіѕ lоng, muѕсulаr lеgѕ, and hіѕ оutfіt was соmрlеtеd wіth hіѕ аll too fаmіlіаr Cоnvеrѕе.

Large glass doors stayed open to let in the sound of the ocean. Damien pointed to a tall wooden stool. "Sit." I sat down and watched him. He unbuttoned two more buttons on his dress shirt. Then he unclipped his cuffs. He rolled the sleeves up slowly, tucking the fabric high on his arms. I couldn't look away. The movement showed off his thick, muscled forearms. His skin was covered in a full tattoo sleeve. The dark ink looked bold against his tan skin. I watched the muscles move as he reached for a knife.

Rossi. Elena slipped off her robe and began trying them on, one after another. A sleek black cocktail dress that hugged her curves like a second skin. A cream cashmere sweater paired with tailored pants that made her look every inch the polished trophy wife. Each outfit felt heavier than the last, like armor she didn’t want to wear. She stared at herself in the full-length mirror, twisting the ring again.

Neerah I yawned, feeling strangely both refreshed and sleepy still. At least my head has cleared a little. I wasn't aware that I was tired. Cuan pulls me to a standing position and I smile in appreciation. “Try out the dress quickly. We are about to be late” he urged. So I went to the fitting room where I wore the altered dress and lo and behold! I can't imagine a better dress for me. I like that the sleeves, though nude coloured, still covered everything I wanted covered. From my shoulder blades to the area around my clavicles.

I pull back. In the movement, his left arm braces against the bench edge. His jacket's gone. He's in a thin long-sleeve shirt. Dark charcoal. Sleeves pushed to his forearms. The shift pulls the fabric up. Two inches. Three. POV: Silas The wind hits the bare skin of my inner wrist before I feel the fabric slide. The scar is out. Right there. Pale and jagged in the flickering light. Old reflex hits first. Hide it. Yank the sleeve. Make it nothing. My fingers twitch toward the cuff before I stop them.