Home > Topic > her left hand
1 " This what you want, huh?” He pulled her hips off the wall with his spare hand to fit snug against his body. “Me using you like this?” His head lowered to her other breast, replacing the pinching with suction, soothing the stinging tip as his fingers tortured the other. Yes. This. Them using each other. That was what she wanted. What the hell was wrong with that? The irrational anger she’d felt in the car boiled up in her again. “Fuck you,” she panted, grounding her head and shoulder blades against the wall as her left hand ploughed into his hair and she twisted her fingers hard. He didn’t even flinch and that just made her madder. "
― Amy Andrews , Playing With Forever (Sydney Smoke Rugby, #4)
2 " One time, on a pleasure cruise, he saw a young couple, fiancés, sitting and looking at the water--the boy had his right arm around the girl's shoulder and held her right wrist tight and she had put her left hand on his right hand, and they sat like that, pressed close together. The little poet looked at them, it's so lovely to see a nice young couple like that. That these children are excited because they want more, that they are only getting each other worked up for what they can't do and don't dare to do, that they never know where to stop--no one ever notices that or thinks about that. It was very lovely, and maybe the truth was that they had just recently gotten engaged and were still satisfied with being madly in love with each other. "
― Nescio , Amsterdam Stories
3 " Calmly, slowly, she reached behind with her left hand and came up against — yes, fabric. Fine linen, to be precise. So far, so good: she was inside a wardrobe, after all. The only problem was that this linen was oddly warm. Body warm. Beneath the tentative pressure of her palm, it seemed to be moving...With terrifying suddenness, an ungloved hand clamped roughly over her nose and mouth. A long arm pinned her arms against her sides. She was held tightly against a hard, warm surface." Hush," whispered a pair of lips pressed to her left ear. " If you scream, we are both lost. "
4 " Cambodian dust whipped up in the wind and stuck to my clothes like clay. I put a hand between my face and the sun and blinked Phnom Penn dust from my tired eyes. One idea, drink, beamed light in all directions across my dark consciousness.A slim lady walked toward me with a big smile and a bigger head. Her left hand rested on her waggling hips and her right hand rose above her head, limp-wristed, like she’d just thrown a winning ball toward a basket and was leaving her hand in the shot position. The lady walking toward me was a man. At least that much was clear, but the nature or our relationship was still a fog to me. She wore blue jeans and a white top accentuating her breasts, but her Adam’s apple and cow sized hands revealed more in daylight than she could hide at night. "
― Craig Stone , Life Knocks
