Killmonger Shirtless Novels & Stories

"We're running out of time. The longer we wait, the stronger the curse gets." "This is—I can't just—" He pulled his shirt off. Oh. Oh no. He was built like he spent every day fighting bears. Broad shoulders. Defined chest. Abs that should be illegal. See? my wolf said smugly. Death wish. Totally worth it. "Stop staring," Nero said. "I'm not staring." "You're staring." "You took your shirt off in front of me. That's on you." He almost smiled. Then he turned around, giving me privacy.

Forgetting the fact I had argued to be straight. He returned with a bundle, black mesh shorts that looked too small, sheer enough to show everything underneath, paired with a matching harness that crisscrossed the chest like restraints. “No shirt, no underwear. Put it on.” He said, stretching them towards me. The material whispered against my fingers as I took it. My skin flushed hotter; this was a pet attire, meant to display.

It's obvious the kid was playing around. "Here, water," I said tossing each one of them a bottle. They instantly gulped mouthfuls before putting down the now empty bottle and wiping their sweat. The room was fully air-conditioned but moving around so much must have caused them to sweat a lot that they started stripping off their soaked shirts before I knew it. I really don't mind seeing half-naked guys, not as much as they wanted to show off. I think Clark's got the best build among the four of them, maybe because he often plays the bass without a shirt. He's tall and lean. Not much tattoos either.

She mind-linked me. When we arrived outside, Helen and Mark approached us. They looked at her, and I knew they thought today would be a long day. It was my first thought when I woke up. Almost all of the pack was there to watch the fights, except for the warriors I had stationed around for security. When we moved to where the fights were to be, I was not surprised to find both Len and Saka were shirtless and in shorts. Kimi dressed the same as Kaya, who quickly jogged to meet them.

I watch him get in his closet to change, and I turn to Ansel with a smirk. “I feel so accomplished right now.” “Of course you do, you little psychopath.” “Don’t pretend you weren’t fighting for your life not to laugh, and that you didn’t hate that shirt, even a little.” He lifts his Hands in surrender. “Guilty as charged.” I’ve hated that shirt since I first saw him wear it when he and Ansel came to help me train by the riverside. I mean it’s a pretty nice shirt, but the obscene inscription makes me want to burn it every time I see it on him. What do you mean by “All the ladies…take them off for me”? I’d tolerate it if it ended at that and left people wondering what the meaning was, but no.

He gives her a dap and a bro-hug. "It just keeps getting weirder and weirder." I think. He's shirtless, in nothing but grey camo knickers, the white waistband of his underwear peeking through to say hello. Amanda doesn't even flinch, she returns the hug as if she hugs sweaty boys for a living. Then finally, it's my turn.

"This will allow everyone to observe your movements more clearly." Without a word, Cyrus nodded and began peeling off his shirt. His muscles, honed by countless hours of training, were well-defined and glistened under the midday sun. His skin shimmered with a light sheen of sweat, a testament to the intensity of the session. The other werewolf fighters, without questioning the command, followed suit, discarding their own shirts one by one.

Michelle noticed his strong jawline, his broad shoulders, and his well-defined torso since he was not wearing a shirt. Alpha Lance and the rest of his pack don’t bother wearing shirts and spent most of the time in just loose-fitting pants or a sheet wrapped around them because they shifted often. Alpha Lance dropped the sheet that was wrapped around his waist, his manhood already fully erected by the sight of Michelle’s full breast and hourglass figure, her nipples erect from the cold water. ‘Is she still a virgin?’ Alpha Lance asked Angakok through a mind link knowing he will be able to see.

she descended the platform. The indicated packs’ main fighter, the substitutes and supports headed towards the ring. The main fighters were shirtless and wearing shorts and wristbands while substitutes wore transparent crop tops and loose pants along with their armbands. The supports wore white t-shirts and black joggers along with various coloured ribbons tied around their heads. Erion’s substitute fighter, a tall, slim and dark-skinned man with dyed golden, braided hair, was the first to go up.

Her marshmallow scent smells rotten. “Disgusting. Just tell her to take her clothes off.” Ghost says. All our conversations about being respectful to our mate go out the window at that moment. “Bro, knock it off.” I chastise him. I look closer at her clothes. A red cropped sweatshirt with the Blood River logo on the sleeve. She cut the neck to help it fit looser. The exposed strap of her bra is black like the leggings and her red trainers match her shirt perfectly. Focus, Milo.