Low Taper Fade Black Male Novels & Stories

As we approached, Thaddeus stepped forward from the line. He was a mountain of a man—easily six-foot, with broad shoulders that looked like they could carry the weight of a building. His black T-shirt clung to his muscular frame, tactical pants tucked into heavy boots. A faded slash mark ran from his left cheekbone down to his jawline, a permanent reminder that he’d seen hell and survived it. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes, but even so, his presence was a warning to anyone with bad intentions.

Man had drawn closer to me. His hair cut into a taper fade dyed in grey, dressed in a -blue tuxedo, unlike that of Kades, who seemed like he'd die if he tried anything colourful; it wasn't like we were in the nineteenth century. But somehow, his utter need to wear black all the fucking time. Perhaps it made him more intimidating… Such a joke, he could wear rags and still look like the devil's pawn. Outfits are nothing; naturally, he was grumpy and scary.

Is this the man Bianca was talking about earlier? He was wearing a black t-shirt that fit his body well, allowing anyone to see his athletic body that was not overdone. His hair was short, with messy bangs covering his forehead. From a distance, I could catch his eyes, which were lined with thick dark lashes. His jaw looked solid with a slight shadow from his newly grown sideburns. His lips were thin and slightly curved upwards, like a restrained smile. His skin was tanned like it had been in the sun a lot, but it still looked smooth and well-groomed.

Napatitig ang dalaga rito. Halata sa mukha ng lalaki na may lahi dahil sa asul na mga mata nito. He has this messy taper fade haircut. Matangos na ilong at mapupulang basang labi na parang nangaakit na 'to ay halikan.

Shamshiel was ahead of me, purposely slowing his quick strides so that I could keep up. He wasn’t a giant, but he wasn’t exactly tiny. He must have been around 6’7” or so. He moved with an easy grace, his body lithe, his black hair flowing down to his mid back looked like spun silk dipped in ink. His tunic was a deep blue that flowed to about his knees, black pants underneath. I had noticed that most here were wearing some sort of variation of lounge clothes when not dressed in uniform type clothing. It looked quite comfortable, quickening my steps I drew up beside him.

My lips curved into a slow, hungry smile the moment our eyes locked across the dance floor. He winked, then dragged his tongue across his lower lip like he already knew how this night would end. He was about 6’2 tall, and his dark skin gleamed under the colorful lights. Shoulders and chest carved from endless gym hours, his black shirt clinging just tight enough to show every ridge of muscle. And that unmistakable bulge straining the front of his jeans. Thick. Obvious. Unapologetic.

Drea shivered slightly. “Looking for something Patrick?” The keys fell off the male’s hand, and he turned around, at once looking afraid and intimidated, his anger gone completely, and Drea couldn’t blame him. The male who now stood in front of her was dressed completely in black. He had on black leather trousers, and a black shirt that was so light, it molded to his well ripped muscles each time the light breeze danced around him. And it was open at the throat. Drea found herself staring at his powerful throat, at the pulse beating there, because she could not bring herself to look at his face, to look into his eyes.

He was handsome and so much more- enough to make her heart race. Stormy grey eyes with flecks of green within took her in, assessing her in the same way she was assessing him. His raven black hair was cut into a fade- short on the sides but slicked back into an effortless look. He was truly a male specimen worthy of awe. His averagely muscular body was dressed casually and in all black. A turtleneck underneath a long trench coat that matched his jeans and combat boots. His skin was an olive shade, his handsome features accentuated by a strong jaw and a small scar on his right brow. He was rough, seemingly not one to smile so easily and yet his cold and withdrawn expression made him all the m

Knowing he had to accept defeat because there was nothing else he could do. The man who walked is tall, well over six feet. Though a few inches shorter than Atlas. He was wearing a faded black t-shirt and blue washed out jeans. His copper hair was cropped close to his scalp. He was well built too, standing with his shoulders squared in a room full of alphas. I instantly felt drawn to him, because to be able to do that, you must have a hell lot of confidence.