Low Taper Fade Black Male Mga Nobela at Kwento

“Unless you want me to skinny dip here with you in the freezing fucking water, I don’t mind.” My eyes fell from his tattoos to his muscles and down to the delicious vee of his hipbones and the happy trail that disappeared down the tight pants he was wearing. They were different from the formal silk pants he wore yesterday. These were dark black, just like his hair, with rips on his thighs and knees. They suited him more with his black Vans. “If you keep staring at me like that, I will fuck you right here,” he whispered snapping me out of my ogling.

I'm excited yet very intimidated by this job, so I take a deep breath and then ring the doorbell. "Ms. Warring? Hello, I'm Tristan Black. Pleased to meet you." "Hello, Mr. Black. P-Pleased to meet you as well. Please call me Jade." I stammer out. "Okay call me Tristan." He chuckles. Oh my God! He is gorgeous! I know the look on my face is of sheer amazement. He's tall and fit. He has on a black t-shirt and black khaki shorts, with black gym shoes trimmed in turquoise. He's wearing a black Detroit baseball cap. Although it's down slightly covering his face, I can still see that he is flawless! From behind I can tell he has a buzzed haircut. When he laughed, he flashed a set of perfect luminou

Zaire sat two booths away with his teammates, all in their stupid matching red and black varsity jackets, laughing so obnoxiously loud over something that probably wasn't even funny. My heart literally skipped a beat the second my eyes found him. He had a fresh fade, and his dreadlocks were braided into double-strand twists, which looked so fucking good on him. His jawline was sharp, high cheekbones, and I couldn't help my eyes that slowly drifted down to his full pink lips.

The figure is male, tall. And familiar.

the man says with a sad smile. Blossom? Where have I heard that name before? How do I know this man? Or how does he know me? He’s 5’7” with black hair that’s shaved at the sides and back, deep dark brown eyes, peachy-gold skin, a pointed nose, a sharp jawline, and rounded chin. He has a tattoo going down his left side and inside his left bicep. He’s only wearing a pair of sweatpants and he is covered in muscles.

…What? The lights shift in weird halos as I focus on the tall figure behind him. Oh. Oh wow. He looks like someone carved a warning out of marble and dressed it in black. Black shirt stretched across a chest that should honestly be illegal, sleeves rolled to the elbows revealing tattooed forearms, black pants that do absolutely nothing to hide anything, black boots, black aura, black mood. His hair is shaved on the sides, the top longer, tousled, dark as ink. I can practically smell the danger radiating off him. Dave clears his throat.

I unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, and he stood so that he could pull his pants and underwear off. The light to my room was still on, so I could see every detail of his lean, muscular body. His eight-inch shaft stood at attention, beckoning me. Blaze's muscles were more defined than I remembered. His hair and chin stubble had grown out longer as if he hadn't taken the time to get a trim. His black hair brought out the color in his sapphire blue eyes perfectly. God has made such a stunning masterpiece in making Blaze, and he is all mine.

Right in front of us, like he had stepped out of the shadows—literally. He was younger than I had expected. He didn’t look worn down like King Earthlian did, but not as young as King Sebristien did either. His raven black hair was cut short, the light shining off of it making it look both a tad blue and purple, like the light couldn’t help but flirt with it. It was mostly slicked back, looking like there were some waves in it, but a few strands had flopped forward, falling together over his forehead. His black blazer and pants looked like they had been made just for him. He was almost scraily handsome.

Black's attention. With his meticulously groomed, dark hair, glowing olive skin, thick brows crowning striking blue eyes, and a jawline as sharp as a sculpture's chisel, Eric Black was a man designed to stir desire. His full lips, ever-curved in a confident smirk, held an unspoken promise of indulgence and satisfaction.

And I have. I lean my shoulder on a nearby column and watch as he and his opponent salute each other. They both look like warriors of old when they raise their swords to their foreheads as a sign of respect. My attention is shattered when a dark man leans his shoulder on a column near me. He’s tall and dark, with a rocker vibe about him. I’m stunned. He’s gorgeous with a pitch-black faux-hawk and dark eyes. He’s wearing a black Nirvana t-shirt, skinny jeans, and black all-stars. He looks like Tom Welling and Ian Somerhalder’s love child. He’s still not as gorgeous as Azazel with his Brad Pitt and Alex Pettyfer looks, but he’s pretty hot.