Derrick Henry Body Fat Novels & Stories

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.

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.

Derrick shouted as he jumped out of his car and came running towards our direction, "You're gonna have him killed" Derrick repeated as he reached where we are, just outside of Henry's house He grabbed me from behind and pushed me off Henry, whose eyes were now swollen and purple in color, "I want him dead, don't interfere Derrick" I warned, still feeling the rage and taste of betrayal deep inside, "I will not let you commit such a crime, he's not worth it Aires" Henry spat out blood from his mouth, "why fight your best friend because of a girl, she's not worth it you know, she's just a pimp"

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.

I’d hired Darius six weeks ago after a glowing recommendation: 29, Black, 6’4”, ex-line cook turned private chef with a culinary degree and a body that looked like it belonged on a Calvin Klein billboard. Dark chocolate skin stretched tight over slabs of muscle—broad shoulders, thick pecs dusted with a light trail of hair that arrowed down to a ridiculous eight-pack, arms like tree trunks, and thighs that could crush walnuts. He moved like liquid power in the kitchen, white chef’s coat unbuttoned at the top to show the deep cleft between his pecs, black pants hugging an obscene bulge that I tried, and failed, not to stare at.

He stared at it all, especially where a button threatened to pop at the top of the straining blouse. If he thought to intimidate, he'd have to do better. She took stock right back. A big man, his shoulders stretched wide while his arms were corded with muscles. Despite his infirmity, Derrick kept himself fit. According to the verbal summary she'd received, Derrick spent several hours a day working out, keeping his upper body in shape. As for his lower body?her gaze went to the legs that only massage kept from atrophying.

I say, laughing when he covers his face and groans there, "Why are you so insecure about your body, Henny? It's not bad." "Of course it's bad, have you seen the guys at the center? Like your dad, he's so fit..." "Now you've officially put me off the fucking mood," I interrupt him. Henry winces when he realizes, "Do something sexy now or I'm done with this shit." "Fuck, this might be a bad idea after all," he groans, "I forgot you're demanding. Also, there's nothing sexy about me, so... a girl just has to like me as I am. Unsexy. And find the attraction somewhere else."