Ed Sheeran Shirtless Novels & Stories

Lalisa could only whisper her name. Before she could say anything more, Seren’s tall, slender form appeared behind Kieran. She wore only a tight-fitting white tank top and grey sweatpants, revealing a perfect set of abs and a well-defined chest. A sly smile played on her beautifully sculpted lips. Her dark brown eyes swept over Lalisa from head to toe, undisguised.

I don’t care about the people who support my career. I’ve learned the hard way there’s no way for me to win in these situations. “Step back,” Sebastian orders, scolding a fan that’s slipped through the barricade. My face is plastered all over her T-shirt. The photo is of me stripped down to my underwear for a popular brand’s new line of underwear. The shirt makes me cringe. “Move!” Sebastian yells, no longer a warning tone. The girl begins to cry. “Nash, I love you so much.”

“Where was this fire when Jennifer basically called you a broken project?” “I didn’t want to disrespect your people.” “But you can disrespect me?” “Yes. That’s allowed. Because you? You’re not scary.” I tilted my head. “You sure about that?” “Sometimes you are. But not when you’re standing there shirtless like a walking gym advert.” I blinked. She really said that out loud? “So I don’t scare you when I’m shirtless?” “No,” she replied with a dry tone. “I just didn’t want your abs slapping me in the face when I fell.”

Declan stood at the island, shirtless again, dumping protein powder into the blender like he owned the entire building. “Rule one.” I yelled over the noise “Shirt On, Now.” He turned the blender off and grinned that cocky, panty-melting smirk. “Rule two, you don’t get to walk around looking like that and then demand I cover up. Those shorts are illegal, Savage.” He shot back. “These are standard athletic wear, you Neanderthal.” I grabbed an apple from the ridiculous fruit basket the sponsor left and hurled it at his head. He caught it one handed, took a bite, and winked. Before I could launch something heavier, my phone started blowing up.

He was fucking shirtless. That he was shirtless wasn't only the problem, but also his skin. His skin was slick with a faint sheen of sweat, like he just finished a workout. His muscles looked enhanced. His chest was dusted with just enough dark hair to make her pulse skip. And lower...his abs were a roadmap of ridges leading to the waistband of a pair of low-slung athletic shorts. She could tell he wasn't wearing any underwear, because the fabric did nothing to hide the heavy outline straining against it.

It’s not Ms Morgana. Sireen comes out in the shortest shorts to have ever been made, and they cling to her smooth thighs in an ungodly way. Her top hugs her upper body, and she’s fucking braless. I forget all my hate in an instant, or it doubles in fuel…I can’t really say, but something starts to burn inside me. Her already short scarlet hair is held above her head with a band, and she has black running shoes on. So not only is she dressed like she has a purpose to serve, but Sireen has also decided to run in the middle of the night.

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.

Shaun stepped quietly behind her. "Keep your voice down. The soundproofing here isn't great. If anyone hears, they might think we're doing something naughty." Halsey's face flushed bright red. She had assumed he was fully dressed by now, but in reality, he was only halfway there. More precisely, he was wearing black dress pants, but his upper body was bare. From her quick glance earlier, his skin was a healthy tan, his chest broad and strong, his shoulders wide, and his waist narrow. The defined six-pack abs and perfect V-line leading down into his pants stirred her imagination wildly, sending her mind spinning.

Forgetting the fact I had argued to be straight. He returned with a bundle, black mesh shorts that looked too small, sheer enough to show everything underneath, paired with a matching harness that crisscrossed the chest like restraints. “No shirt, no underwear. Put it on.” He said, stretching them towards me. The material whispered against my fingers as I took it. My skin flushed hotter; this was a pet attire, meant to display.

My heart skips. I hurry across the room and open the door, blinking in surprise, and maybe something else, when I see Jensen standing there. He’s shirtless, and the hallway light casts a warm glow across his bare chest, the lines of his muscles defined and strong. He’s wearing only a pair of loose pants that sit low on his hips, and for a second I forget to breathe.