Novel & Cerita The One Who Shall Grip

Grip. Evelyn flinched for a microsecond, but then she caught his scent—sandalwood and something uniquely him. The heat of his chest was the only real thing in a world of ghosts. She buried her face in his shirt, her fingers bunching the expensive fabric as she clung to him like a lifeline. The entire floor was dead silent. Jovan Bradford, the stoic, untouchable manager, was holding a staff member in a death-grip embrace in the middle of the office.

his callous fingers were instead gripping her thighs in the damaged trouser. HELL ! Why isn't he leaving me, silently cussing she tried to shrug him off but for heaven's sake he was strong....His grip on her was so tight that she couldn't get away in brief meaning that she was a dead meat. STOP IT, the people in the club were soon Stopped in mid motion when the police officer instantly shouted.

“Again tomorrow. Better impress me” Another fleeting glance towards Alaric, and my heart skips. His presence lingers where he held my wrist. I feel a pulsating heat there. Around us, a force that threads through the room, binds us in silent competition and observation. I am sure I am not the only one feeling the crushing weight of defeat. I am aware of the thrill, of the possibility, of the dangerous allure beneath his calm exterior. But I’ll be dawned if I accept that Alaric got under my control.

I pull harder at my left wrist and push with my right hand. But his grip is to strong. His presence to overpowering. I'm trapped. I stiffen as he leans closer, eyes glazed—too unfocused to be calm, too focused to be sane. He draws in a slow breath near my neck. Not hurried. Not accidental. Intentional. The sound of it sends a sharp ripple through me. I stop moving. Not because I want to. Because something in me holds me in place. His grip on my wrist tightens slightly—as if reacting to the way my body goes still.

I felt a wave of fear wash over me as I realized there was no escaping his possessive grip. His hand was tightly gripping my arm, preventing me from moving. “Hailey,” he said, his voice low and threatening. “You can’t run from me; you belong to me.” My heart raced with fear as I realized the depth of his possessiveness and control over me. “And whoever tried to take you away from me will pay the price,” he added, his grip tightening even more. I knew then that I was trapped in a dangerous situation with no way out.

He seemed taken aback by my feistiness, his expression a mixture of shock and curiosity. I tried to pull away, but Gabriel's grip on my arm only tightened, his fingers digging deep into my skin. "You don't leave until I'm done," he growled, his voice low and menacing. His eyes flashed, transforming into the piercing yellow of his wolf's, and I could feel his grip constricting, like a vice around my tiny arm. I struggled to break free from Gabriel's grasp, but his grip only tightened, causing me to wince in pain as my arm was squeezed even harder. Just as I thought I couldn't take it anymore, a deep, commanding voice cut through the tension.

My entire posture goes rigid, my jaw locking instantly as my wolf hits the surface. "What are you holding in your hand?" The demand leaves my throat steady but dripping with pure heat. And people wonder why I don't play nice with the lower ranks. Every single time I soften my grip, it comes back to bite me. His dark brows knit together as his eyes drop down to my property, his throat moving as he swallows hard.

His grip was tight—not enough to cut off my air completely, but enough to remind me that he could if he wanted to. "It’s funny how you think you have any chance against me," his voice was eerily smooth, void of amusement or cruelty. "That bitch bit off more than she could chew and ended up dead. And you think you stand a chance?" His grip shifted, moving lower— I thrashed, clawing at his arm. He didn’t flinch. Instead, his hand palmed my chest, grabbing my breast in one go. I screamed, thrashing in his hold. My eyes watered as he held me in place, his hand squeezing against my throat while his other hand roamed my chest, the fabric of my gown ripping beneath his grip.

His hand brushed mine again and this time he gripped it lightly, controlling the motion. “You needed me. Good. You admit it. That's the first step. That's all I need for now. You admit it, and you stop pretending like you have a choice in this.” I bit my lip, feeling the tremor run through me. My chest was tight, my lungs short.

"I said let me go!" His hand shoots out. He doesn't hit me. He doesn't shove me. He simply catches my wrist in a grip that feels like a steel manacle. Slowly, terrifyingly slowly, he peels my fingers off his jacket one by one. Then he releases my hand like I'm something distasteful. "Touch me again without permission," he says, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that scrapes against my bones, "and I will break your fingers. One by one."