Wrapped Around Her Finger Novels & Stories

Something wrapped around her hand, flesh to flesh. His hand. She blinked up at him with a frown of her own. How could I focus on what little straight thought I had of him when my body was under heavy attack?

She asked, her green eyes challenging. “Yeah. You. I want you.” “Tell me, how…” She said, a tip of her index finger trailing down from my chest to the tip of my cock, where it strained for her against my stomach, hard as steel. “Wrap your fingers around me.” “Oh..Kay….” She softly wrapped her fingers around me, not holding, not gripping. They were just there. “Tighter,” I growled out, and her grip changed just a miniscule. “More.”

she requested as she pulled herself to her feet. He closed his eyes. "Don't peek. I'm watching," she warned him, taking his hand in her own. "Which finger am I touching?" she asked as she traced her finger gently over the tip of his ring finger. "My ring finger," he replied with a smug smile, his eyes still closed. "And now?" she asked as she trailed her finger over his index finger, gently stroking its length. He scoffed, "You aren't touching me. Nice try..." he tried to call her out, only to open his eyes and see that she was indeed touching his finger.

One arm wrapped around her shoulders; the other hand found hers and laced their fingers together over his heart. She could feel it beating...steady now, slowing.

She glanced at her hands, trembling uncontrollably, and folded them tightly under her arms in a futile bid for steadiness. She was ensnared. And the countdown had yet to commence.

But still… The mask covered most of her face, leaving just enough visible to make it impossible to be certain. She snapped her fingers in front of my face, pulling me back. “Well, if you would excuse me…” She turned to leave. My hand shot out before I could stop myself, gripping her wrist tightly. “Wait.”

She hurriedly stands up and was about to go but I quickly took her wrist and pulled her to sit down. “I was not done yet.” I took the bondage and started to put it around her arm. She cooperates well or maybe she felt the same awkwardness I have. “It’s all done,” I announced. “Thanks.” She shortly said while not glancing at me. What is it? Why am I feeling awkward now? She puts her cardigan back. I couldn’t help but look at her arm covered with a cardigan. This clumsy girl, what if she forgot that she was injured and do such crazy things again.

The kind of person who has been inside these walls long enough that the building has simply adjusted itself around her. I nod as we pass. She stops. I stop. She doesn’t speak for a moment. She just looks at me with those eyes that seem to be seeing more than one thing at once, layered, patient, as someone reading a text in a language most people forgot existed. Then her hand comes out. It wraps around my left wrist. Firm. Deliberate. Right over the cloth I wrapped around the brand last night. My whole body goes still. “Don’t unwrap that in the moonlight, child.” Her voice is low. Just for me. Nothing louder than it needs to be. “Not yet. Not until you understand what’s under it.”

She lifted her cup with both hands, almost as if to anchor herself, and in that moment, the faint glint caught my eye. The ring. Still on her finger. I had expected her to remove it by now, to set it aside on her bedside table or slip it into a drawer as a quiet act of rebellion, or perhaps of surrender. But no—it remained where I had placed it, snug around her fingers, gleaming against her skin. Not worn carelessly, either. Her hand curved protectively around the cup, knuckles tight, as if she were gripping the band itself. A flicker stirred in me, something uninvited. I forced my gaze away and lowered myself into the chair at the far end of the table.

I find her at the border wire at dawn. Or she finds me. Hard to say which — I was running the perimeter because Brek told me to and she was tangled in Ironveil's trap-line because someone set it three inches lower than regulation and didn't tell anyone. Three broken fingers on her left hand. Wire around her ankle. She's not crying. She's furious. "Don't," she says when she sees me. Not don't help. Just: don't. Like she's said it to enough people that she leads with it now.