Derrick Henry Body Fat Novels & Stories

Which is ninety-nine percent of the reason I hadn't been complaining about going every morning at 5 am. Dean is perfect; 6’2, shoulder-length dreads, milk chocolate skin, dark-cinnamon swirl eyes, a perfectly chiseled body that even the gods would be jealous of, and the most beautiful smile, framed by big pouty peach colored lips. Oh, did I mention the eight-pack of abs? Not six, freaking eight!! Mmm goddess, I could just eat him up. “Earth to Melia. Are you ready yet?” Kira said loudly with a sigh, pulling me out of my fantasy.

Plus, he really wasn’t a fan of dressing up in a suit and tie; at the gym he could literally be shirtless and it would not be inappropriate. Daykan also enjoyed working out and his body showed off the results from all those times spent lifting weights. He was six foot six inches tall with thick silver hair that was long in front and shorter at the back; he had light hazelnut eyes that always seemed to be sparkling. There was also the fact that his gym body was enough to stop any girl in her tracks as she had a second, third and fourth look at that walking gift of nature because there was more than enough to drool at.

I WILL NOT REST ‘til I rip that fucker’s head from his shoulders and feed it to the dogs! Derreck was fuming and being strapped to a hospital bed doesn’t help his situation. He couldn’t train, couldn’t work, couldn’t do anything because everything hung on the thread of Apollo and his strength combined. Henry really did a number on him, but Henry was also out for blood, Garrett’s blood. After he tormented and tortured Derreck, he increased his security because he knew it was only a matter of time. Henry spent most of his time ducking and dodging. Garrett began spending most of his days at work and didn’t visit Derreck as frequently.

Of course Christopher Henry Jameson—also known as Beast- wasn't the average man. He stood 6'5" and weighed three hundred and two pounds. He didn't like the extra three pounds. He rather liked being in the two hundred weight range even if it was by just one or two pounds. Regardless, there wasn't an ounce of fat on his perfect body. Beast was muscles on top of muscles, yet not hulking like some of the others that worked in the Marine Corps division assigned to The Department of Home Land Security, or better known as DHS. Too big made you slow. He'd seen guys bigger than him hospitalized during the CRUCIBLE training.

Christin thought, "F*ck, it seems to make some sense? I don't seem to have much fat on my body. My weight? I do think that I weigh more than 80 kilograms!" Frowning, Christin silently recalled the last time when he had weighed himself... He could no longer remember it. A man of 1.8 meters tall, he had a low body fat percentage because he exercised throughout the year. For someone with the same height and weight, the one with a lower body fat percentage would look much thinner than the one with a higher body fat percentage. Therefore, although he looked like a male model with the standard figure, his weight was similar to a big fat guy.

I was sitting at 204, still a pound too high. "Please tell me you're kidding," she said. "You have no idea how much I wish I were," I confessed. "But you were at 207.5 almost two weeks ago! It was only 4 and a half pounds," she sounded exasperated. "I know, and I'm working hard, and dieting pretty well, but the fat is just not dropping." I waited at the end of a quiet phone line for what seemed an eternity. "I gotta go. Derrick is here for his workout. But why don't you come by tonight anyway. Maybe you just need some more incentive."

He often joked about it and how if he had not been interested in naked sweaty men then he might have given them a shot. Derrick was a run-of-the-mill geek boy with short-cut dark hair that he kept long enough for bangs close to his forehead due to having insecurity about his forehead size, and he wore thithin-framedasses and liked to dress casually with a variety of solid-colored polo shirts that buttoned up at the collar and khaki pants in various shades of grey, beige, tan, and navy blue.

He does not look as well built as Dayo, but will still pass for a good looking guy any day. While Ike on the other hand, is suffering severe obesity and he is on punk hair cut . He is just as tall as he is fat. As they are duscussing, the lady who has been in the room with Derick and Tobi, barges out of the room, practically running.

The air smelled of chalk dust, metal, and the sharp bite of disinfectant. Darius “D” Monroe dominated the power rack like it was built for him. Six-foot-five, two-hundred-ninety pounds, skin the color of dark walnut, every inch carved from years of heavy compounds and tren cycles he didn’t bother hiding. Black tank soaked through, clinging to pecs that looked carved from obsidian, veins snaking down forearms thick as most men’s calves. His shorts rode low, showing the deep V-cut that disappeared beneath the waistband. He racked 405 for another set of squats, the bar groaning, thighs exploding outward on the way up. A low growl escaped his throat, pure animal. Across the room, near the dumbbe

Gabriella leaned against the door and exhaled deeply. Opening her eyes, she saw Henry standing in the center of the room. His hair was messy, and he was half naked with his distinct abs extending downward and disappearing under a towel. The towel around his lower body was pink, and it was one of hers. His fair skin naturally suited the pink color. It made his skin appear even paler. Henry would turn 30 years old next year. He had handsome features and superior bone structure. Showing no signs of aging, he still looked young and healthy.