The Red Sleeve Cuff Mga Nobela at Kwento

His long, slender fingers unbuttoned his cuffs, then rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbows. It was a casual action, yet it sent a shiver down Truman and the others' spines.

There was none of the familiar tension I had learned to expect from men who always wanted something from me. He reached toward my right hand, his warm fingers gently catching the oversized sleeve that had swallowed it. "Here," he murmured. "Let me help." With careful, gentle movements, he folded the thick wool cuff back, exposing my wrist and the thin silver scars running across it. He rolled the sleeve back twice. His knuckles lightly brushed my skin, and the warmth of his hand lingered against my arm, sending a small shiver through me. Then he did the same to my left sleeve. His fingers rested lightly against my wrist for just a moment before he let go.

She responded, a trace of pity in her voice. “How does she know that? He might have slept and-” "He was still wearing the same clothes. The same jacket that almost got Betty killed." She dropped the brush onto the vanity and began dabbing something onto her face. "He spent years at war, so imagine what that must've done to him. And now he has to become Alpha again..." “Rue, I think you bother yourself for no reason.” My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I couldn't help it. “He can handle it.”

But she wasn't that mean and carefully started picking up. Finally, she picked a pair of square cufflinks embedded with broken diamonds. Chelsea put the cufflinks near Russell's sleeve. She looked up and asked, "How about this?" Russell looked at her bright eyes, and his heart softened. He slightly tilted his head and said lightly, "Alright." Then a male voice sounded from the side. "The cufflinks match Mr. Murillo's clothes so much. Mrs. Murillo has really good taste." Chelsea looked up and was quite surprised.

The collar was digging into Elena’s neck. She tried adjusting it for the third time, tugging at the stiff white collar, but the fabric just bit harder into her skin. The servant’s uniform for the Gala was different from the everyday one—still black and white, but fancier. The shirt had cuffs that scratched her wrists, the skirt was longer and heavier, and the whole thing felt like it was made to pinch and pull in all the wrong places. Like whoever designed it wanted to make sure the help looked neat and presentable but felt miserable the entire night.

Quickly, Selena opened the window side wide enough, flaked the silver color curtains to the sides, and waited for further instructions. “Come back in when I leave!” He said, and she hurried out immediately. “How are you feeling today?” He asked, but I kept quiet, staring at the long sleeve shirt he is wearing. It seemed this brand of sleeves, were made specially for his muscled chest. But it keeps struggling to stay intact against his chest no matter how many times I sees it.

The single-breasted jacket features a slender, modern cut that accentuates his trim physique. The crisp white dress shirt peeks out from beneath the suit jacket, emphasizing his refined style. The shirt is expertly tailored, with a slim fit that highlights his athletic build. It boasts a subtle herringbone pattern, adding a touch of texture and elegance. As he adorns his wrists, silver cufflinks catch the light, subtly reflecting his refined taste. Each cufflink is delicately engraved with an intricate design, showcasing his attention to even the smallest of details. The cufflinks exude an aura of sophistication, hinting at the refined nature of our protagonist.

~Soren~ The red blotch on my wrist looks more terrible in the daylight. I pull my hoodie sleeve down but it keeps riding up. I'm at the cafeteria with my friends when I feel the pull. I look up, and sure enough, there he is across the cafeteria with Marcus and Carter. He is laughing at something Marcus said, his head thrown back, and the sight does something unfortunate to my insides. He’s wearing a gray Henley today. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and in doing so, revealing his forearms, and I have to physically make myself not stare.

Niya dropped into the seat opposite Raphael only to look up and freeze. He’d taken off his suit jacket. His white shirt was rolled at the sleeves, exposing those large forearms that flexed each time he reached for something. Her eyes snagged at the thick veins riding up his forearms stretched across taut muscles, peeking just beneath the folded cuffs and disappearing under his shirt. God. Why now? Why did his sleeves suddenly need a break during breakfast? She squeezed her thighs together, cursing him silently as her panties dampened again for no good reason.

The sleeves, fashioned with a gentle flare, added a whimsical touch that resonated with both elegance and playfulness. I couldn't help but marvel at the thoughtful details woven into the fabric. A delicate lace trim adorned the hem, tracing intricate patterns that added a touch of femininity to the boldness of the red. The dress seamlessly transitioned from a fitted bodice to a flowing skirt, creating a silhouette that exuded grace and poise.