His fingers unwrapped from her wrists and his warm palms caressed hers.
His big hands came up, grasping her wrists and pulling her forward until her armpits rested on his shoulders.
She rubbed her wrists, not fully appreciating his effort.
Yes. He tried to commit suicide after he killed her; he left a note but he didn't cut his wrists deeply enough to be fatal.
He stepped forward, taking the scissors from her in one hand and one of her wrists in the other.
He released one of her wrists and leaned over, slapping it, before returning to the warm body beneath him.
Jilian snatched her and slammed her onto the table, pinning her in place as he strapped her wrists and ankles in.
She sat to pull on shoes and saw the scars around her wrists, evidence of her fight against the bindings Jilian used to strap her onto the table.
He caught her wrists and pinned them behind her, more interested in feeding.
The demon lord took her wrists and pinned them above her head.
He gripped her wrists and pushed her hands down with little effort while the second demon pushed her head to the side to expose her neck.
He gripped her wrists and held them behind her back.
His solid, warm body atop hers immobilized her and he pinned her wrists to the bed, silver eyes blazing and elongated fangs resting on his full lower lip.
She traced the bruises around her wrists from the bindings.
She clutched his wrists, the logical side of her brain preparing to remove his hands from her face, the emotional side wishing he would repeat the kiss.
She gripped his wrists, meeting his sultry gaze with all the invitation she could muster.
Her gaze fell to the fetters at her wrists and ankles.
Taran snatched her wrists and trapped her against him, forcing her arms crossed behind her.
He didn't sit on her and when he leaned forward to trap her wrists, he was gentle but firm about it.
She hadn't realized how big his were; they took up the entire space between her wrists and elbows.
He kissed her shoulder and took her arms, holding her wrists over her head with one hand.
The portrait of Archbishop Warham at Lambeth, for instance, shows a rochet with fairly wide sleeves narrowing towards the wrists, where they are confined by fur cuffs.
He wore green velvet trousers, a canary-coloured waistcoat, low shoes, silver buckles, lace at his wrists, and his hair in ringlets."
The bound Gargoyle's arms extended far out beyond its head, so by grasping its wrists Zeb found the king made a very good club.
Those broad, reddish hands, with hairy wrists visible from under the shirt cuffs, laid down the pack and took up a glass and a pipe that were handed him.
One tormenting impression did not leave him: that those broad- boned reddish hands with hairy wrists visible from under the shirt sleeves, those hands which he loved and hated, held him in their power.