Novel & Cerita The One Who Shall Grip

Familiar in a way that makes my stomach twist with want and guilt and desperate love. The need is so sharp it steals my breath. Raising my arms to meet his embrace, every muscle in my body yearning toward him like a flower toward sun, I lean in— A large hand clasps down with an audible thump on his shoulder, the sound echoing across the courtyard like a judge's gavel. The grip is firm, possessive, tugging him back with casual authority.

"That I reject you?" His fingers dug into the flesh of my thigh, gripping hard. "Then listen, because I’m only going to say this once."

"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."

Fuck my life. After some minutes of slow climbing, trying to make sure I made no sound whatsoever, I reached the door. A hard feeling grew in my chest, was I ready to do this? Because one of us was going to die tonight and it was not going to be me. Gripping the dagger in my hand way more tightly, I crept in. There was a black figure sitting at the edge of the high rooftop. Staring into the horizon with no care in the world. No fear that he might fall.

The air between them instantly ignited into a scorching heat. Yuhwan was officially at his absolute limit. Reaching out, he violently snapped his hand around Haneul’s wrist, letting out a rough, ragged breath. His heavy grip pressed firmly against the youth's delicate bones. It was no longer a simple gesture of assistance—it was the apex declaration of possession, a true predator completely capturing its prey.

I would rather take the chance of possibly crashing into Roman than having him take that poison in his body. I leap at Riva at last, but she catches me midair, wrapping her arms around my middle. I must admit, if her arms were longer, I would have died already. Her grip is stronger than anything I ever felt. Even though her arms are not wound around me completely, I can still feel the pressure on my ribs, on my guts. I can feel her cold skin and her inexplicable strength. "Get out of her grip," my wolf instructs me, so I buck my body to loosen Riva's hold on me. It works, but she's still holding on pretty tightly. "She will squeeze you to death.”

He was going to reach my throat if I did not move in the next three seconds. His grip on my forearm was crushing and his teeth had found their range and his eyes were fixed on me with the locked empty focus of something that had been given a single instruction and intended to carry it out until it was finished. I stopped fighting the grip. I pulled him toward me instead.

A raw, animalistic hunger. “Let’s get started.” His hand shot out. It clamped around my wrist. His grip was bruising. He pulled me towards him. My body collided with his hard, shifting form. “Strip.”