Kol Mikaelson Shirtless Novels & Stories

She threw on her oversized Metallica shirt; just in cass any neighbors (god forbid her parents) could see her walking around the house in nothing but a shelf bra covering absolutely zero of her body. "Go do your business, I'll be back in a bit." Michelle knew leaving him outside for a little bit wouldn't matter. He couldn't go anywhere, it was a nice cool early-summer night, and he enjoyed being outdoors. Just to get him out of the way until she was finished. Michelle raced back upstairs to the bedroom, trying to move quickly before the horniness escaped from her. She got back and clambered into bed, pulling her shirt up to her chest to free up access to her twat.

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.

I’m not kidding. Then I zoomed in on another picture and paused. His shirt looked… wrong? Like, off. I looked up and— My brain short-circuited. He was shirtless. Standing there in front of everyone, abs glistening like they’d been painted on, tattoos crawling across his chest and arm — a massive bird spreading its wings like it could fly off his skin. I forgot to breathe. And then people started screaming. Phones came up, girls pushed forward, and I was right there with them.

I mentioned. As I was saying that I turned around and saw David begin to take his shirt off and Mike was slowly taking off his shoes and socks . “Thats ok haha we don’t own any either “ Mike said as he started to take off him shorts . Mike wasn’t wearing any underwear as I saw his enormous penis pop out.

“Actually,” she said, turning toward him. “Would you mind grabbing me a t-shirt to wear? I’m dying to get out of this dress and obviously I didn’t bring anything else.” “Fine. I’ll be right back.” He left the room and walked the short distance down the hallway toward Michael’s room. The door was still open, so he strolled inside and found Michael sitting on the edge of his bed. “I need to steal one of your shirts.” Michael raised an eyebrow as he unzipped the jacket of the tracksuit. “Are you telling me you don’t enjoy the freedom of sleeping naked?”

He slammed the door behind him. —--------------------------------- Mia’s POV I jumped at the sound of the door slamming. Axel—or rather, Keziah—was standing right there. He tilted his head, studying me. My gaze dropped nervously to his clothes: a fitted black button-up shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, grey flannel trousers, and a dark wristwatch glinting under the light. But it wasn’t his outfit that froze me. It was the tattoo inked across his chest, just visible where his shirt gaped. A wolf with burning red eyes.

Why in the Moon Goddess's hell was he shirtless? I jolted into a sitting position, never mind the violent spinning, to find myself wearing only my underwear and an oversized shirt—Kael's shirt. I jumped to conclusions faster than a gull catching a crab. Did Kael and I have sex? I refused to let my mind make any assumptions.

Elowen POV. The leather sofa in VIP Room Three still held the warmth of the last client. I could feel it through the thin crimson silk barely covering my body as I adjusted my position, making sure every angle was perfect. The jeweled mask sat secure against my face, catching the low amber light, hiding everything that mattered while showing everything that didn't. My red hair fell in waves over my bare shoulders. No brown wig or oversized cardigan swallowing my curves tonight. Tonight, I was Nyx, and Nyx didn't hide.

I didn’t knock. The door opened before I could move. Milo stood there, shirtless, the scar on his abdomen still red and healing. He looked at me for a long moment. Then his eyes dropped. To the tray. To my body. To the skin peeking out from the hem of my silk nightdress. His jaw clenched. “Put it down,” he said. I obeyed. Quietly. Carefully. I stood, unsure whether to speak or run. Then his gaze fell lower.

he says, tossing the page away. He eyes me curiously, and when I catch a certain scent, I grimace instantly. Sure enough Mikey pops out somewhere in the back, seemingly from a hole in the ground. He dashes to me in an instant. Like usual, he’s not wearing the standard suit the males in my family do. He’s got on a t-shirt that’s so worn it has a few scattered holes, and jeans equally old that are slung so low on his hips a female would be drooling over his skin on display. His body is a swarm of random tattoos and scars he wears with pride. Though none are on his face and glaringly obvious like mine. I instantly try to come up with a reason for being here right now, but I don’t have one. Then