Itachi Uchiha Shirtless Novels & Stories

my mother introduced to me. Itsuki was an attractive male from Nippon who could have been... in fact a male idol. His aesthetic ran similar to one of the modern ages. With an oversized denim jacket and black jumpsuit. He matched his outfit with combat boots. He had the rich dark hair of his ancestors and pale skin. His hair was cut just into his eyes that hid how dark they were from me. Itsuki's mate was Aoki. I could sense it. They were paired entirely by fate herself.

But nothing beats the intimidating appearance of the leader of Nidhogg himself, Rei Shibasaki. The man’s white hair fell down to the nape of his neck, and it was obvious that he had shaved regularly, as there wasn’t a single sign of facial hair growing on his face. Rei Shibasaki was dressed in a smart black and white suit with black leather shoes. All in all, he had the appearance of a strict, no-nonsense businessman, but Ren knew better. “I’m surprised that you want to meet me.” Ren snorted.

There were no guards in the hallway, of course, for the privacy reasons of the family. I thought he left yesterday. What the hell was he doing there? Maintaining our eye-contact, we stepped closer to one another. Finally, we stopped at a hand’s distance from each other. I smiled, “greeting alpha Hikari.” He peered at me with an unruffled face. He was wearing a black shirt and pants with a white belt and shoes. A white kimono coat with wind patterns on the back and on its long sleeves fluttered around him while he strutted.

Takeshi paused placing his leg up on the glass table. “But I know for sure he must have done something, something that is going to leave a huge scar on my life once again” Takeshi mumbles as he was wearing a black sleeveless shirt. Revelling the scars all over his arms and also the ones which were peeking out through his black shirt. As his fingers traced the scar over his arm. Zen just remained quiet with his hands behind his back. “Even though I’m happy no matter what he has still left the memories imprinted along with the mento-”

Receiving threats, or promises all day isn’t my favorite thing to do. The man I came here to kill looks like a model straight out of a magazine. You know, one of those motorcycle ones with the shirtless guy on the front? The one where the model sits with their legs on both sides of the motorcycle, their legs wide and muscular, their hands tatted and tightly gripping the handle as he stares the camera straight in the eye? Making it look like he’s staring through your soul and leaving you hot and bothered? I hate how my breath hitches at the sight of him. Shane is oozing with sex appeal, he looks like someone picked out his wardrobe for him. He’s chosen a black dress shirt that isn’t buttoned.

The suit's fabric embraced his form with precision, sculpting his frame in a way that conveyed strength and elegance in equal measure. The darkness of his attire was punctuated by a bold statement: a deep red shirt that accentuated his confidence. The top buttons of the shirt remained undone, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his tattooed chest. The inked patterns danced across his skin, a testament to a hidden side of him that few were privy to witness. The intricate designs told stories of his past, a tapestry of experiences woven into the very fabric of his being.

He simply shrugs off his black-and-gold coat, letting it fall over a nearby chair. The fabric slides down his arms, revealing the crisp white shirt underneath, stretched taut across those powerful shoulders. My mouth goes dry. He begins unbuttoning the shirt with deliberate, unhurried movements. One button. Two. The fabric parts slowly, revealing inch after inch of smooth, golden skin stretched over hard muscle. A dark, elegant tattoo in Japanese script trails down his left ribs, the characters bold and beautiful against his skin. My gaze traces it helplessly. He turns slightly to toss the shirt aside.

If simply unbuttoning his shirt does this much to me, then how am I supposed to survive this? He pulls off his shirt and lets it fall to the ground with a quiet thud. He stands tall, smirking proudly, and his chest is…bare. His chest is bare. Oh my god. “Do you want to touch me, Sorahiko?”. It's a slow drawl, meant to sound seductive— and it does. It’s a bit too seductive for me. What should I say? What should I do? How am I supposed to answer this? What is the right way to—

I was just waiting for him to notice me, but it was like he didn't care, or he wasn't bothered, but I need this thing to work out tonight, and I need it to work quickly. Thane went straight to his bed, and laid on it. He was looking around still, and his eyes wandered to me. “Why are you looking at me?” Thane asked, and I responded by doing just one thing. I removed my shirt. I could see his eyes widen, and his brows furrowed into a frown, staring at my bare chest with no boobs on it. I was wearing a fake abs compression shirt, but it blended perfectly with my skin, that if you weren't looking too close, you wouldn't notice. It made my stomach look flat without abs, and that made it even mor

“Even more beautiful than I remembered.” “Your turn,” I manage, surprised my voice works at all. “Both of you need to strip.” They step back and I watch as clothing starts coming off. Thane moves with precision, folding his jacket over the chair, unbuttoning his shirt with the same methodical attention he probably brings to surgery. Everything gets organized, put in its place. Dareth just yanks his shirt over his head and tosses it somewhere, undoes his belt and shoves everything down without ceremony.