The Red Sleeve Cuff 소설 & 이야기

"Did you notice if Mr. Murphy wore a red silk ribbon like this on his wrist?" The scout was stunned. "No, I didn't see that. Could it be someone else in disguise?" The scout knew that their communication was likely based on secret signals or marks. It was possible that Nicholas and Clifford had agreed beforehand that, if leading troops to the capital, Clifford would wear a red silk ribbon on his wrist. Thinking this, he grew anxious and said, "Your Highness, if it's a deception, we need to prepare immediately." Nicholas smiled. "If you saw him clearly, then there's no need to worry. Perhaps Mr. Murphy simply forgot to wear the red silk ribbon after such a long journey."

“Anything else?” The servants in the room rushed over to the pedestal in front of the candles and carried an enormous leather arm sleeve. They proceeded to place it over the man’s arm and tied the laces under the sleeve to hold it in place. The sleeve covered most part of his arm, from his wrist all the way to the area below his shoulder. It had little etched chipping the surface, they were dotted in order. He walked out of the room, his broad shoulders scraping splinters off the rotten door frame. He then stepped onto the fairly raised balcony and stared down at the multitude of soldiers lined up, ready to be inducted into his ever-expanding army.

Then he bent his arm at the elbow and unbuttoned the wrist cuff of his dress shirt before he started to slowly roll his sleeve up his arm. My throat seemed to dry as I watched the slow movement of his fingers. My eyes remained glued to the skin he was revealing inch by torturous inch. His forearm is covered in tattoos and made up of thick muscles and pronounced, masculine veins traveling up the length of his arm and disappearing into his shirt. He repeated the same process on his other sleeve, his movements as unhurried as with the first because he knew he had me trapped with nowhere to go. When he was done, he grabbed the knot of his tie and yanked it down. He ripped it off like it was suff

The longer he continued, the wetter I got and he seemed to be picturing me used as well, his cock was noticeably lengthening and thickening. "This is a St. Andrew's cross. With the proper cuffs on, you can be suspended erect or upside down." Another twinge to my pussy. "It also needs padding." "What are the proper cuffs?" I asked. "Suspension cuffs. They don't put unnatural pressure on your wrists and ankles so they cut off circulation. You can hang for quite a long time." "Do you have any suspension cuffs? Is it one of the things sitting in our closet now?" "No. Mistress Dark will be bringing them and a couple other items when she comes on Saturday."

“Nonsense.” And then the world decides to slow down just to torment me, because suddenly I'm witnessing the hottest sight, I've ever laid eyes on. Tobias slowly unbuttons his cuffs and methodically rolls his sleeves up his strong, perfectly toned forearms. Goddess, I've seen him in t-shirts plenty of times—I've even admired his arms before—but why is this particular action of rolling his sleeves so damn attractive? My stomach flips violently. Fuck me are all men's arms this ridiculously hot in dress shirts?

The cufflink on his sleeve polished gold, engraved with the insignia of a red “V.” And scrawled on the back of the photograph in faint, feminine handwriting: “He promised it wasn’t just a show.” She stared at the photo until her fingers shook. The man in the image looked young, clean-cut, but the cufflink was the giveaway. Isolde had seen that symbol before. Not in archives. Not in police files. She’d seen it on the lapel of a man who stood beside Dorian at a charity gala three years ago. Vivienne hadn’t even been gone yet.

The dim light in the room dimly fell, and there was still a faint fragrance lingering in the air, making people feel hot and restless. The woman on the bed flirted with her gestures, seducing the man who approached step by step. She looked at this object in her hand, with a look of absolute certainty. Russell took off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of the chair. He then unfastened his shirt cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves, revealing his muscular forearms.

“Rae, get a swimming suit ready and bring it to me, let me use these few days to do something good before lucifer comes back” Rae’s face saddened with my words but I wasn’t wrong. She nodded and left. She came and handed me a red two pieces swimsuit perfectly fitted for my size. The bra was sleeveless with a silver ring in the middle holding de two parts and the under had to be tied on the sides and hanged perfectly on my waistline.

Angelo did. And then I noticed it…The sleeves. “They’re wrong,” I said. He frowned. “What?” “The uniform.” I pointed at the screen. “Look at the cuffs.” All the kitchen staff wore short sleeves. This person didn’t. He wore long sleeves that were pulled down and tight at the wrists, therefore covering the skin completely. Angelo’s expression shifted. “He’s wearing gloves too. Thin black gloves that would go unnoticed against his shadow.” This person was not a cook. The cooks of this estate didn’t dress like that.