Enrique Iglesias Shirtless Novels & Stories

Mrs. Elena’s Message I was standing in the expansive, minimalist kitchen, watching Igor methodically prepare two simple sandwiches. He was a man of contrasts: capable of orchestrating a complex international legal defense with two sentences, yet meticulous in spreading mustard on whole-grain bread. I had finally showered, feeling the grime and emotional debris of the ballroom wash away, and was now dressed in a borrowed set of Igor’s clothes—a soft, oversized cotton shirt and simple dark trousers. The comfort was immediate, physical proof of my new reality.

Sinong hindi magiging wanton mami sa gwapong nilalang na to? " Do you have any problem Ms. Delos Reyes?" his voice took me back to my reverie. Ngayon ko lang napansin na lahat pala sila ay naka abang sa sasabihin ko. Now I have a full view of his body. Ngayon ko lang napansin na nag palit siya ng damit. Kaninang umaga naka black t shirt lang siya. Now he's wearing a navy blue dress shirt and a pair of black slacks with a designer belt. I clicked my tongue inwardly mayabang din to eh. Like duh? This is a public school gusto niya bang manakawan? Showing off such expensive things will only attract thieves. Whatever it's his choice anyway!

“There is just something about a shirtless man.” The men didn’t seem to notice us seeing as we were watching them from above and they were focused on the man in front of them. My mate was also shirtless and for a moment, every rational thought flew out of my head. Elias was built different. His skin was taut with muscle and shone under the sun. His back and arms were littered with scars that only seemed to add to his appeal. His voice was clear and firm as he barked out instructions to the guards.

And, like always, he’s shirtless again. Salvador, and like always, a cigarette in his lips. He is easily in the realm of 6’1, onyx of gold for eyes…he is shirtless again. That black serpent of a tattoo is across his back again. Such bulging arms—they look like they could crush walls. Then his chest, it looks as hard as a black rock. For what reason do the abs on his stomach look so strict. They look like they ache, painfully tight and fortunately, they lead into a v-line that would mean his—

But truthfully, I felt like I had swallowed a planet and looked like it too. On instinct, I reached for the beach towel folded beside my lounge chair and draped it over my lower body, suddenly feeling exposed. Clara definitely noticed but said nothing, which I appreciated. I didn’t want to discuss my sudden self-consciousness with anyone, not even her. I was trying to get comfortable again when Isaac himself appeared by the pool. He was shirtless, wearing only navy swim shorts that hung low on his chiseled, narrow hips. His golden hair was tousled, his blue eyes bright in the sunlight. He looked like the Sun God himself—all toned muscle and tanned skin.

A little smile on her lips at hearing the footsteps, intentional, identifiable, and unmistakable. The door groaned ajar. Deliberate. Methodical. Enoch Alessi entered the room dressed in his typical black ensemble, defined by sharp, angular lines that highlighted his physique. His white shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, exposing the understated strength inscribed on his forearms. The nearly silver strands of his hair were rather dishevelled, as if he had frequently run his fingers through it in frustration. Symbol of the heart Nonetheless, what enthralled Izora was not his appearance.

he replied with a smile. At that moment, I noticed he was in running shorts, his shirt appeared ripped as if he had fallen, and he wasn't wearing any shoes. I glanced up at him and furrowed my brows in confusion. I was just about to say something when Ikaris spoke. "I run better without shoes," he chuckled. "And your shirt? Did you fall?" I asked, pointing at him. Ikaris looked down and then back at me before reaching for the shirt's hem and pulling it off, revealing his muscular chest. He smiled at me, a smirk on his lips. I could feel my cheeks flush as I looked away.

“I should go. If … please don’t tell anyone but Mia about what I said.” “We were just chatting. I have a lot to learn.” “Gracias, Izzy.” Walking toward the door, I gave Isla one last reassuring smile and opened the door. Emiliano was standing there. Gone was the spicy tobacco aroma and back was the clean, fresh scent. It was as if he’d recently stepped from the shower. His dark hair was damp and combed back. The usual beard growth running over his chiseled jaw was gone, leaving what I could only imagine would be smooth cheeks. I wanted to reach up and feel them for myself. In place of his blue jeans and black t-shirt, he was wearing a white button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.

It was best I kept it to myself. "What are you doing here?" He asked with a frown, walking into the room and moving close to me. I was tongue tied, not wholly because I was scared, but because of what he looked like. Miguel had taken off his shirt in fact, his entire suit. He had a pair of slacks on but his upper part was bare. Did he always walk around his house like this-half naked? If he did, wouldn't this kill me even before the curse did?