Itachi Shirtless Novels & Stories

The atmosphere in the room didn't just shift this time; it froze. I turned my head slightly, my breath hitching in my throat. Lorenzo Vitale stood directly behind me, his expression a mask of lethal indifference that somehow felt more protective than a smile ever could. He had stripped off his tuxedo jacket in one fluid motion, and now he stood in his white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled back to reveal the powerful forearms I knew were capable of both extreme violence and unexpected tenderness.

"Do you need anything from me?" "Beatrice had a premonitions. We are in the sitting room awaiting you, Alpha", he nods curtly and prance out of the room. I pull away and he coughs and ruffle his wet hair. Looking at him closely he is shirtless. His packs, biceps are visible now, as sweat or water rolls down his chest on boxers, towel wrapped around his neck. I find myself swallow spits. "Wear a shirt", I stand up and sprint to the bathroom.

I asked with a scoff. "I'll do it," he replied, his breathing picked up. He took off his shirt. He got on his feet and took off his trousers. I stare at him. As soon as he was completely naked, I couldn't help but stare at him. He covers his body from my view. His hair covers his whole face like a Japanese BL actor. Cute. "You look good this way," I said. "Won't you help me get undressed?" I asked. He looks up at me.

Becky held her breath as her entire body was almost completely covered in Sashimi and Sushi, she didn't know what James would do to her, but it didn't look as bad as she thought. She observed her master who looked handsome in his white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, if they were met differently, maybe she would fall in love with him. After all, with all his cold demeanor, it seemed impossible that he would ever fall in love with her.

“Maybe biting a bullet. Or him. Or all three.” A deep inhale. A fake-ass smile. And I walk in. Dante’s already seated on the edge of the tub, shirtless. And I mean—fucking shirtless. His torso is all hard ridges, tan skin pulled over muscle though it was made to be ogled, not washed. The bandages on his arms are fresh, done by me, but he still looks as if a goddamn dark fantasy novel cover come to life. Crimson eyes zero in on me though I’m the first meal he’s seen in days and he’s starving.

He didn’t slack either. He wore a black silk shirt, sleeves rolled slightly, with sleek tailored pants that clung just enough to showcase his broad build. The shirt’s top buttons were buttoned to little above his chest, revealing just a glimpse of his tattooed chest and the faint chain that always hung there. It was subtle but dangerously attractive. Together, we looked like we were stepping out of a movie scene. If there were cameras around, we would've been the headline, you know but I know he didn't want all of that.

I reached the threshold. The door wasn't shut all the way, and I could see him through the gap. Jacket abandoned over the arm of a leather chair, shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms, dark hair slightly disheveled in a way I'd never seen before. His usual armor of perfect tailoring was gone, replaced by something that looked almost... human.

Instead, I focused on removing his coat, but when I stared at his dress shirt, I knew I had to unbutton it. Every. Single. Button. I mean, he wouldn’t mind, right? I am already used to seeing his majestic abs every day because we train. He is always topless or sometimes in a sando when we fight. But no, never in my wildest dreams would I do it. The removal. Why does it sound like a dramatic title? I shook my head and gulped intensely. Be professional, Minerva. It’s not like you are molesting him or something. You are just helping him out.

He was the best assassin in the field and I knew he would gladly take care of this fucker for me. I threw my phone across the room, making it hit the wall. I was angry and needed to take my anger out on something. The door opened, and Ace walked in shirtless. Fuck, what was he doing here, shirtless? I couldn't take my eyes off his toned six pack and defined v line, not to mention the tattoos on his body. God, he will send me to hell if he walks around like this. I wish I could fuck him to get him out of my bloody system.

I had promised her with a vow as she rode me to oblivion. I had asked her to if I could do anything to assure her that I was hers and she did. Since it was a family decision, Kishimoto wore his traditional Japanese garb. His wife did the same but his three daughters did not. They wore pristine designer dresses and held handbags. The security was heavy especially on the road. In our private discussion, Hashirama had been very concerned about being ambushed on the way by his son's supporters. "How many cars do you have in total?" I asked him.