Goku Shirtless Novels & Stories

I know this shirt will drive him wild. The smell of freshly popped popcorn guides me to the living room, and there he stands, a vision of raw masculinity. Renzo, shirtless, his rippling back muscles on full display, wears only a pair of black sweatpants. His erection is evident, a testament to his desire. Our eyes meet, and I see the hunger in his gaze. He freezes for a moment, dropping the bowl of popcorn and removing his gloves, his movements slow and deliberate. I cross the room and stand in front of him, I slowly lift my hand to trace his chest, lingering at the waistband of his sweats.

Brеndа is busy tucking George in the bed and rеаdіng ѕtоrіеѕ, ѕо there’d bе no harm dоnе, but instead, I make ѕurе I bеnd right over as I ѕtаrt lоаdіng the washable роtѕ іntо the bасk оf thе machine. Turnіng, I see thаt hе’ѕ changed іntо a раіr оf low-slung workout pants аnd a t-shirt. Hіѕ аrmѕ аrе cut, thе muѕсlеѕ tоtаllу dеfіnеd. His shoulders are wіdе, аnd I ѕее the ѕkіn асrоѕѕ thе top of hіѕ сhеѕt іѕ marked with a tаttоо thаt rеаdѕ Hеll оn Eаrth.

I can hear my intestines wiggling like worms in protests. And oh that hissing sound? I bet it's fat sizzles. I carefully and quietly appear from the wall and what stands in front of my eyes, the back facing me, is Jordan Crown himself. He's topless, only wearing an apron. I can see the well-defined muscles of his back, the rough and firm muscles that link his broad shoulders. That athletic structure reaches all the way down, which his round and healthy buttocks restricted from going further. I know he has the cake. It forms against his gray sweatpants. HIS GRAY SWEATPANTS!

He gave a slight nod my way. Aoki Goto was of the opposite gender. She was also the one that led us into the room. She was wearing a plain white t-shirt and oversized sweatpants. She didn't dress to impress anyone. Most shapeshifters were like that. She had the same features as him. She had straight dark hair as well as lacked color in her eyes. Something I noticed thanks to her lacking any layers in her hair. She lacked style compared to her mate but she made up for it with a welcoming smile. She was plain and had nothing appealing to her as far as I could see. Her figure lacked curves.

he murmured as Bash slides the glass door that led to where he was seated. "Hey cutie, "he greeted with a charming smile, he was wearing a long-sleeve buttonless shirt that exposed his well-chiseled abs and a pair of white shorts. The way he positioned that is, with his legs crossed and one of his hands holding a glass of mojito, he looked like he was on set ready for a shot.

Rex said when he saw me waving and notice that Giza is already here. Giza was wearing a thin sleeveless shirt and fitted jeans, this is what I told him to wear. He looks sexy wearing the sleeveless shirt, his smooth arms were exposed, people were looking at him as he walked towards my direction. He smiled slightly seeing me but I just raised an eyebrow to him and motion him to follow me. I turned around and walked towards the reserved room for us. Giza just quietly followed me.

I need to make sure you can take me. I looked down. Saw the bulge in his pants. Suddenly remembered this was Actually happening. "That's not going to fit," I said. "It will." Nero's hands went to his belt. The sound of the buckle coming undone made my breath hitch. "Second thoughts?" he asked. "About dying or fucking you?" His mouth curved. "Both." "No second thoughts about dying. Still deciding on the fucking part." He pulled his shirt over his head in one smooth motion. I'd seen him shirtless before, but this was different. This time, I was allowed to LOOK.

“You really doubt a lot of things about me.” I gestured at the equipment stand, “suit up and let's see.” He nodded with a smile and made his way to the equipment stand. I moved to the side and watched him as he wrapped his knuckles all the way to his wrist and unexpectedly took off his shirt, his broad back on display. “Are you…fighting like that?” The words choked out my lips. He placed the wraps back and turned around to me, “if you don't mind that is. I can't really sweat all over my shirt.”

The training hall was a cavernous space that smelled of floor wax and old leather. I walked in, shuffling my feet in a pair of oversized jogging pants and a hoodie that felt like a tent. Gio was already there. He wasn't wearing a shirt, just black athletic shorts and hand wraps that he was tightening with his teeth. The sight of his back—the broad expanse of muscle and that "K" tattoo—was impressive, I’ll give him that. But I didn't let it show. I just yawned loudly, the sound echoing off the high ceilings.

Despite the small victory I had in the room negotiating my release, he is still an intimidating monster. He watches me from head to toe and drinks me in before getting up on his feet. I too drink him in. This time, he has traded his blue buttonless vest for a green silky shirt that still does very little to conceal his bulging muscles. When he flexes his arms, it is as though the shirt would give in and rip. He has on black pants and the very noticeable bulge at the front of his pants jumps right at me. I look up immediately and see that he is watching me.