Rough Hands Novels & Stories

He is getting annoyed by his continuous insistence to cure him. “Ok, let us massage your hand, so you will stop following me” he said. He gets oil and he massage the part of the hand, which according to Manny, is painful once it is force, in doing work. After Dexter, massage the hand of Manny, he leaves, only to return back only in the afternoon with some other people, who seek help and cure from what they are suffering. The hand of Manny, which is not ok, a while ago, is now functioning well, and he tell it, to any one, he can see around.

I say, cautiously reaching for her. When she holds out her hand, it’s a massive one now, with razor sharp claws that might as well be miniature swords. Since the last thing I need is another wound, I’m extremely cautious when I raise my palm to touch it to hers but I will never let her think for a second that I’m afraid.

The eyes watching us restrained me from shedding tears. Fuck! Whoever invented this damn exercise did it to shame the hell out of me. Other than the stress it caused on my chest and shoulder blades, it darkened my fingers and made my once pretty fingers ugly slender twigs. Although Orvyn never minded, in fact, he kisses them every night before we make out in bed, yet, the sight of my hands upset me. 'It strengthens your core and gives you more power to strike your targets harder,' she'd reiterate, showing me her own calloused hands.

I nod and begin to prep the tea. My hands burn from small abrasions left from handling the rough herbs. I pause my work stretching my fingers. Alexei glances over at me, as a soft sigh escapes his lips. “If you are tired, you can take a break,” he tells me. “I-I’m fine, I still want to help,” I reply. Alexei approaches me, grabbing my hand. I flinch, trying to pull my hand back but he holds firm. “Your hands are covered in scratches. And just look at your wrists. If you overwork your hands you will break the scabs on your wrists. Not only will that be painful, but it could also leave scarring,” he says.

He had such gorgeous hands: elegan” and strong. Cole couldn’t help but notice how gorgeous Aiden’s hands were; they were elegant and strong, with pronounced bones and ropey veins, long knotty fingers, and well-kept nails. They were acquisitive, powerful hands, made for taking and claiming. She wanted them on her, in her, wanted to make them tremble. However, at the moment, she didn’t want him to hurt because of her.

Luckily, it was plastic and didn't break. Hermosa blushes and gets down on one knee to pick them up, only to be stopped by Brent. "I'll do it." He had really nice hands, long, strong, well-defined knuckles, cleanly trimmed and rounded nails, and a few raised veins on the back of his hands, which looked very manly against his wheat skin. Hermosa licked her dry mouth after seeing. Brent's hand was a little dusty from the strawberry sauce, and he probably didn't know what to do with it, flexed his thumb in a circular motion, as if trying to rub it off with his fingers.

I glared at him, but it was useless because I had a large smile on my face. “What do you want?” I threw out, short of throwing my tiny fists at him. Talking about fists, my eyes went down to his hand which was on my thigh. I pulled it up. It was heavy. Ryan tightened it on purpose, struggling as I tried to pull it to me. I glared at him again, a warning for him to behave. He eased his hand and I smiled as I turned it, examining it. His hand was larger than mine, fingers long, neat and short. His palm was rough as if he had been mining with them. It was my first time seeing a scarred palm. It had me frown as I rubbed my finger over it. My eyes shot up, apparently he wasn’t ticklish there.

She rubbed her hands together and frowned, "Why are my hands feeling so rough? I should take care of them too." Her overthinking led her to pamper her hands well too as she used a hand mask and moisturized them making them feel soft and gentle. Even she loved the touch of her hands now. "When is he coming over?" Vivienne looked toward the door and thankfully, the doorbell rang at the same time.

Ooh. His lips curve up a little. Embarrassed to be caught staring at him, I drop my gaze to where his arm is resting on the table, but that doesn’t help. His arms are also tanned and scattered with light-brown hairs, and his hands are large with long fingers and nice manicured nails. How can I get turned on by his hand? Oh dear, I’m in big trouble.

Ayla The silver bands did not go easily onto our fingers. Lugh’s knuckles were swollen from the training rings, the skin over the joints yellowed by old bruising. When he held his hand out to me before the high table, his elbow remained locked. His arm stayed so stiff that I had to move forward into his space just to push the cool metal home. His hand was cold. His skin smelled faintly of the river water he had used to scrub the horse sweat from his neck before the elders arrived.