Jace Norman Shirtless Novels & Stories

I changed the topic, " She's still hurting, but I'm keeping my hope," he said, and I nodded. Michael opened the door to my den. I stared at my other friend, unable to utter a word about what I saw. I moved my laptop so that Jace could see. " What?" Michael asked. " Dude, what the fuck!" Jace yelled. " I'm going for more gender-neutral clothes," " That's a fucking dress coat... and why is it fur," Jace asked.

Straight to his. His door was cracked open. I pushed it wider without thinking. Jace stood in the middle of his room wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs. The flashlight from his phone cast hard shadows across his chest and abs. Every muscle stood out like it had been carved there on purpose. The tattoo on his neck looked even darker in the low light. He was breathing hard like the storm had pissed him off personally. He turned when the door creaked. Those green eyes locked on me and narrowed.

Because part of her already knew what she’d find. And there he was. Leaning against the bannister like a prince surveying his kingdom. No shirt. Just loose gray joggers slung low on his hips, revealing the rigid lines of his abs and the sharp V that disappeared beneath the waistband. Wet hair pushed back from his chiseled face, droplets still clinging to his chest. She blinked once. Twice. God help her. Jace Westbrook had always been dangerous.

Grayson. Of all people to be standing right in front of me when I’m two seconds away from exploding it just had to be Jace asshole Norman. ‘Fucking Perfect.’ He’s standing there in purple and black silver wolves jacket like he owns the place or something. His eyes light up as he sees my scowl, enjoying the effect he has on me. “What do you want, Norman?” Brandon asks his voice tight. But Jace just ignores him. “Shouldn’t you, Captain of the great and mighty ‘Fallen’ Knights,” he places emphasis on the fallen. “Be practicing, trying to defend your ‘legacy?”

Now, she's all pearls and postures, her eyes flicking nervously to mine when she spots me hovering in the doorway. At the head of the table sits Damon, reading something on a sleek tablet like he's the king of the world. He lifts his gaze to me, and gestures coolly to an empty seat. And there, lounging at the other end of the table like he owns the floor he's slouching on, is Jace. His hair is damp, like he just ran a hand through it after a shower. He wears a crisp black shirt rolled at the sleeves that does nothing to hide the ink running up his forearm. Considering how casual he looked last night, he does clean up really nicely.

I hoped it would go as planned. When I knocked on Jace's door, he answered quickly. He looked casual yet he looked absolutely beautiful. He was wearing a pair of black sweats and a worn looking white V-neck T-shirt. His hair was slightly messy yet it looked absolutely wonderful. I suddenly felt overdressed in my jeans and a polo shirt. "Come in," he said, stepping aside. He took my jacket and hung it on a hook. "You look great. Sorry I'm not dressed up. I was trying to look perfect."

I looked down to see a familiar hand. Jace had taken off my shoes, placing my foot on his knee, massaging it gently. "Are the shoes uncomfortable?" I didn't speak, my throat tightening. He looked up at me. "Still mad?" His voice was low and soothing. "No," I said, trying to pull my foot back. Jace didn't let go, continuing to massage my foot. "It won't happen again..." Today, he was wearing a royal blue suit with a white shirt underneath. The custom cufflinks gleamed in the sunlight, standing out just like him.

If this really is home, then maybe our stash of supplies is here as well. We make our way up and to my relief it is. Dry warm clothes, blankets food and matches for a fire. We get the fire going first as we all need the warmth. Jace shakes himself dry and I towel dry him slightly but focus more on Serena. Once she is safe in Jace paws under a blanket, I take my shirt off. It's only when I turn around I see Lewana looking at my shirtless form confused. Shit. How am I going to do this.

But the moment the video loaded, the last remnants of sleep vanished from my body like smoke. The screen showed the front gate, the early morning light cutting across the cobblestone drive. And there he was; Jace. Standing like he belonged there. Even through the grainy security feed, he looked impossibly real. Tall, broad-shouldered, the same restrained power in his posture. He wore faded denim and a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. A pair of black aviator sunglasses sat perched on his nose, catching the soft reflection of the sky. The watch on his wrist, a Patek Philippe, I realized, absurdly gleamed when he shifted.