Red Sleeve Cuff Novels & Stories

It smelled of heavy dye and chemical starch. "The cuff is wrong," I muttered, jerking my left wrist. "It is rubbing the bone." The girl with the chalk spat it into her palm. "You are moving too much, Alpha. Keep your arm straight or the needle will catch you." She did not wait for me to agree. She yanked my sleeve down. The tip of a brass pin scraped my skin, leaving a sharp, stinging line. I did not flinch. I kept my arm out like wood. The second girl dropped three silk ties onto the table. They hit the dark timber with soft, heavy thuds. One navy. One blood red. One a dead, flat silver.

Of course. I sat down. Two cuffs. One collar. Two days. My late shift still ahead of me. I laid the old-gold thread across the left cuff again. Two lines. Beginning together near the inner wrist, then opening as they traveled outward. I bent the sleeve. The space between them widened with the movement. Oh. I bent it again. There. That was better. Not decoration placed on a cuff. Decoration using what the cuff already did. I moved one line farther outward.

We talked about tea for a while before I took out Hola’s design draft and handed it to Christine. Christine glanced over and said, “It’s not your design.” I nodded. “However, this design is not bad. Although it is only a common windbreaker. It is more ingenious and concise. Especially this pair of sleeves. The red plum on the sleeve is very charming. The sleeves are the lantern sleeves. They can keep hands warm in winter, and they are very practical.” Christine’s evaluation of the design was also very high. “I am truly honored to see such a compliment from you.” I said.

She'd seen Chandler in casual clothes and even then he'd looked incredibly hot, but staring at him now, impeccably dressed in office attire, he exuded an aura of confidence and sophistication. The crisp, white shirt hugged his broad shoulders, perfectly tailored to accentuate his toned physique. Each button strained subtly against the fabric, hinting at the strength beneath. The sleeves, which he'd expertly rolled up at some point during the day, revealed just a glimpse of his well-defined tattooed forearms, adding a touch of casual elegance to the formal attire.

Selena's gentle voice interrupted his thoughts just then. She wore an elaborate Luna robe as she slowly walked down the aisle toward him while being escorted by her maid of honor. Carlson instinctively reached out to steady her. The fabric brushed against his palm, and he lowered his gaze, his eyes landing on the buttons on her cuffs. His fingers then froze at once. This wasn't my handiwork. I once told him that the buttons on sleeve cuffs were too troublesome and cumbersome, and I would always make alterations to the sleeves every time I made him something.

“You don’t get to watch. You get to feel.” I reached into my jacket. The cuffs were in the inner pocket, it was leather, and lined, the ones I’d bought the week she turned nineteen and wore that powder-blue camisole. I caught her left wrist, pulled it above her head, clicked the cuff to the sofa frame. Then the right. She pulled, testing it, and the leather held. Good. “Rafe—” she breathed, using my name for the first time since this started.

Griffin had no choice but to bluff his way through. "Ah, of course. Are you feeling better now?" My smile deepened, and I raised both hands. Norman immediately caught on. He carefully unfastened the diamond cufflinks from my sleeves and slowly rolled my shirt cuffs up to my elbows. Under the lights, the skin of my arms was smooth, the muscle lines lean and flawless.

With my perfumes, makeup, clothes, shoes, bags, you name it, and I have it. It didn’t take me long to find what I wanted to wear. I chose a burgundy ribbed knit top. It’s slim, body-hugging, with a wide scoop neckline trimmed in soft cream. The ribbons at the front run vertically down my chest, leaving space between each one so my skin showed, and so did parts of my breast since I decided to go braless for this. The sleeves were long and dramatic with a flare at the wrist.

Harley I was feeling the effects of the wine when we got back to my apartment. I flicked on the lights and poured myself a glass of water from the tap while Rick shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the coatrack by the door. Then he rolled up the sleeves of his button-up shirt, revealing his forearms which were corded with muscle and lined with a thick vein that, for some reason, always made me feel like a damsel in distress at the sight of them.

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.