Billy Hargrove Shirtless Novels & Stories

Billy had taken the soft top off of Jodi’s red jeep. Trina and Billy had put posters on the front and back bumper of the vehicle to promote Red Light Special night at Garvey’s tonight. Trina and Billy waited for Jodi in the lobby. She finally came down in a red string bikini. It showed off a prominent amount of her breasts because there were only patches that covered up her nipples. A red patch covered her vagina and C-section scar. A string ran up the crack of her butt. She had curled the ends of her hair.

Billy asked nonchalantly, not a care in the world. The sound of his carefree voice made me smile despite the mess I was. "Hey Billy," I said, putting the phone on speaker. "We just got in. Nothing but blue waters out here," I said, unable to do it as I locked eyes with a shirtless Harmon across the room, struggling to get his hard dick back into his pants. "How's Rio de Janeiro?"

Harlow stuffed her feet in the leather knee-high boots, then laced them up. She glanced at Gore then frowned. "What is that face for?" "I'm not allowing you on the battlefield shirtless, Gore." He made a face. "I wasn't planning to go like this, I just couldn't decide which shirt to wear. I don't know if I should go casual, or formal." "Just wear the blue and orange one, I think you look sexy in that." When Harlow stood, Gore pulled her to him.

Kelvin pov Donald Hargrove was waiting outside my building when I got back from the studio. Not lurking. Donald didn’t lurk; lurking was for men who thought they might be wrong to be somewhere. He stood on the pavement with his coat open despite the cold, hands loose at his sides, the posture of a man who had simply decided this was where he would be standing today, and everyone else’s schedule would have to work around it. “Mr. Rae.” He didn’t offer a hand.

He chuckles, making anger boil in me. “Excuse me, I have seen a lot of men shirtless. My brother when he was born, the beggar down the street who runs anti-shirt rallies, the guy in my college who dressed up as Tarzan for Halloween….” As I go through my list, I realize I might be actually helping him prove his point, “My point is that I have seen men shirtless.” “Okay.” He quips sarcastically, making me lose my mind. I hate this man.

The door was slightly ajar, and soft sounds of movement and heavy breathing drifted out. I stopped right at the edge of the doorframe, pressing my back against the wall, and peeked in through the gap. Oh. My. God. He was there. Shirtless. Gone were the suits, the crisp shirts, the buttons, the ties. He was wearing only dark grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, no shirt, no shoes, nothing else. His back was to me, hands gripping the pull-up bar high above him, and he was moving—smoothly.

I’m not kidding. Then I zoomed in on another picture and paused. His shirt looked… wrong? Like, off. I looked up and— My brain short-circuited. He was shirtless. Standing there in front of everyone, abs glistening like they’d been painted on, tattoos crawling across his chest and arm — a massive bird spreading its wings like it could fly off his skin. I forgot to breathe. And then people started screaming. Phones came up, girls pushed forward, and I was right there with them.

It doesn’t make a bit of sense. Tears sting in the corner of my eyes. Moon Goddess, he’s gorgeous. He’s wearing a charcoal-gray blazer over a dark blue button-down shirt, the same one I remember borrowing not long before we met. The blazer is left open, while the shirt is unbuttoned at the collar. He has the sleeves rolled up to his forearm, showing off his tattoos. I enter and walk right by them, make my way to the bar without looking their way, and order myself a hamburger and a beer.

Hollis said softly, still trying to pull Max’s grasp from my shirt but seeming to be failing. Fuck, I sighed internally, feeling trapped in this awkward situation as Max started crying loudly, clearly upset by our attempts to free his grasp from my shirt and pull my shirt tight against him. “Sorry, let go of him,” Hollis said he was pulling Max to him, but in his attempts to calm Max down, he accidentally pulled my shirt, so it ripped at the seams, revealing my bare skin and bra underneath. I blushed furiously, feeling exposed and vulnerable in front of both of them.

She turns around, arching her back, and popping her ass out in the air. She glance back at the wide mirror by her right shoulder and just as she thought, the top she chose doesn’t match her tortilla brown trouser. Hillary’s fingers grip the bottom edge of her black blouse and pull it through her head, leaving her naked in front of the mirror with nipple tapes on her breast.