Billy Hargrove Shirtless Novels & Stories

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.

Baby Five newly bald shave men wearing black jumpsuits were kneeling on the field, I can't see their faces for their back are turned however anyone can see that their bodies are trembling uncontrollably. These people don't have their hands bound in any way, with their built they can fight back or flee. I'm confounded as to why they chose to stay still as Charles' men are nowhere to be found to deter them. As I look closer, there's a tiny illuminating bar code on their nape that appeared also along with the rest of the codes and panels on the plain white wall that can only be seen once the contact lenses are used.

Sharon said, one final protest before she gave herself completely over to her stepson and his friends. “Take them off,” Billy firmly instructed her. Her defenses gone, Sharon unfastened the front of her tight black hipsters and pushed them down over her sleek thighs, she was now almost naked in front of the four eighteen year olds, only a g-string to cover herself with. “Holy shit,” gasped Dougie softly. “Turn around,” this time the order came from Tommy instead of Billy, but Sharon did as she was told, turning to display her fantastic heart shaped ass, only the skimpy strap of the tiny g-string covering it.

“Harvey! You’re finally here! “I’ve been waiting for you!” Whitley Cobb quickly pushed Billie Higgs after seeing Harvey York’s arrival. Billie forced out a smile as she walked over. She wore a black Givenchy short skirt along with a pair of black stockings, revealing her fair and smooth legs. Judith Pedler, Aliza Howell, and the other women also had their forte, but Billie completely outmatched them. After seeing the beautiful woman in front, Harvey nodded.

Harvey's shirt hung loosely on his body, revealing just enough without being fully indecent. His exposed collarbone was marked with scratches, and the defined lines of his chest hinted at a torso used to control and discipline. As Harvey staggered forward, the shirt collar slipped further off one shoulder, exposing a muscled arm. His appearance—like a wronged and violated innocent man—silenced even those who might've still had the urge to scold him.

She didn't even glance at Brian, who was held down by the security guard, and only the triumphant face of Billy entered her vision. Everyone's eyes were glued to the figure. Such an embarrassing thing happened to her on such an occasion, but the petite and charming figure was still full of pride and strength. After Hilda got on the stage, she stood under the spotlight and glanced down at the exquisite 'Starry Night' on the neck of the female Husky. Raising her hand, she murmured, "Give me the microphone and I will give you an explanation." Billy gave a smirk and asked the staff to bring over the microphone. He wanted to see what a brand that had gone bankrupt could do at such a moment.

Grace was waiting. “How did it go?” she asked. I sat down. “It was only Lazaro there.” She frowned. “Only him?” “Yes,” I said. “And he was shirtless.” Grace gasped. “What?” “Yes,” I said. “I told him to wear a shirt. He acted like he didn’t see anything wrong.” Grace shook her head. “This smells like trouble.” “I agree,” I said. “I’ll keep my eyes open.” She nodded. “Good. I’ll do the same.”

My shoulders locked. He walked in. Chase Hartley didn’t enter rooms; he claimed them. Barefoot. Sweat still gleaming on the carved planes of his torso. Low-slung gray sweatpants slung dangerously below the deep V-cut of his hips. No shirt. Just skin, muscle, and the slow drip of water from wet hair tracing paths down his throat, over his collarbone, disappearing into the valley between his pecs. My mouth went desert-dry. I hated it. Hated more that my pulse slammed against my ribs like it was trying to escape.

I am so going to beat him this time ,you Maxwell just pray you didn't come in front of me soon otherwise this is going to be your last day. i am in a extra-large grey men's shirt and it won't take a genius to know whose shirt is this! With white shorts ,he changed my pants too ,I am back to taking deep breaths to control myself no wonder I felt so free to move around but what I dread the most is ,I hold my shirt forward to look inside confirming my doubt , I don't have a bra on... That's it I can't take this shit anymore