Rough Hands Novels & Stories

His hands were utterly bloodied from the impact of the blows they traded and one could even make out the white of his bones. But as he shook his wrists, the tattoos in the area gave off a strange greenish glow and the wounds healed automatically. “I gotta admit, you’re powerful too, big guy,” Ding Hao grinned. His hands might look fine, but his hands were throbbing with pain too and he could barely lift up his arms.

I smiled and nodded and he took my hand, still very casually and walked in that direction. I luxuriated in the feel of his hand against mine. It had callouses and ridges, the hands of a man who worked with his hands. I love a man with strong hands. As we walked up to the booth Ryan stood to greet me. He wasn’t as tall or broad as Jacob but he was extremely fit. He definitely worked out often. His smile was more understated than Jacobs but still clench worthy. He wasn’t wearing cologne but I could smell a kind of floral soap thing going on. I smiled back and let Bryan hug me just like Jacob had.

“I called you Mr Montgomery in front of Mrs Collins and she questioned me. I don’t think I can handle this any better” “Even if you kept your mouth shut, she would question you. You flinch every time I touch you” “It’s… I’m having a hard time wrapping myself up in all of this! I’m so not used to physical contact and all of this seems like a dream, I don’t know… I’m just scared I screw everything up” “We’ll have to change that, then” he stated at me briefly before gabbing my hand and pull me against his chest. I tried to avoid eye contact but his hand in my neck made me lift my head on instinct.

His expression looked grim. The doctor stood across from him, sweat gathering on his forehead. "Prince, your wife's hand injuries are severe. Once they heal, she will manage daily life without much difficulty, and normal hand use should be fine. However… the kind of high-precision, fast-paced programming she used to perform will be impossible. The bones were crushed."

Suddenly, his hand was grabbed. His brows knit slightly. Claire didn't let go, her eyes bright. "They say men with good-looking hands always have good-looking faces. Turns out that saying is absolutely true. Your hands are perfectly shaped." A crack appeared in Murphy's composed expression. He quickly pulled his hand back and cleared his throat. "Thank you." Before the words had fully settled, Claire decisively grabbed his right hand again--the one he'd been keeping partially hidden in his sleeve. Sure enough, faint calluses covered his index finger and the web of his thumb. She looked at them with sympathy.

Emerald walked into the living room, carrying the flowers, and replaced the old ones in the vase. Griffin handed her a pair of scissors, encouraging her to trim the branches. His hands were beautifully delicate, flawless like works of art. His pale skin contrasted with the prominent wrist bones, and each slender knuckle, though delicate, held an underlying strength that made them seem far from fragile. Emerald couldn't help but glance at his hands again. She had seen short videos featuring close-up shots of hands before, but none of them compared to the ones in front of her now.

With his free hand, he touched his cheek and kept wiping the cream away. A constant current ran all over Rose’s body. Only a few hands had ever touched her. Piers and Seth both had soft hands as they never worked anything hard. Roger’s hands were a little rough as he used to fight and handle a gun. Ursa and Vanessa had the softest hands as they never did any physical labour in their lives. The toughest hand she had ever felt was Moira's. Moira had slapped her a few times, and she knew her bony fingers grew hard after working hard for so many years.

Instead, his fingers found the buckles at his wrists. The metal clattered as Luz pulled the bronze gauntlets off, one by one. He set them carefully on the barrel beside Amelia, the steel looking out of place against the weathered wood. His hands were large, calloused from years of sword work, the skin pale beneath the bronze plate of his forearms. On his left wrist, the frayed white ribbon was visible now– small, worn, and utterly out of place on a man who looked like a death walking. He stepped behind her, his presence looming and heavy. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before placing his hands on her shoulders. His thumbs found the knots in her muscles, pressing in with a firm, prac

"Officer, don't listen to that woman's lies. That man was so strong back in the elevator!" She gestured wildly, sobbing as she described the details, "His palms were so rough. His fingers were full of calluses. It hurt so much when the calluses scratched my thighs... and his left hand was especially strong. When it grabbed the back of my neck, I felt like my bones were gonna break! "I fought back desperately and managed to scratch the back of his hand. There must be my fingernail marks on the back of his right hand! That's the proof!"

"I can't believe she still insisted she wasn't crying." He tried to gently pry her hand off his waist, but he paused when he grabbed her tiny hand. Then, he slowly raised it to take a look. Her sun-kissed hand was now less tanned, and her fingers were smoother. However, the base of her fingers and her palm were still a little rough. It was probably from the calluses that built up over the years of manual labor she endured. Looking down, Jeremy rubbed her hand. Wendy had suffered so much in the past.