Montana Jordan Shirtless Mga Nobela at Kwento

A table was set for two with white linen and crystal glasses. And there was Jordan. He had abandoned the suit. He wore dark jeans and a black t-shirt that clung to his biceps. He was standing by a grill, flipping steaks with focused precision. He looked less like a billionaire tyrant and more like... a man. A dangerous, incredibly attractive man. He looked up as I stepped onto the terrace. His eyes swept over the white dress, and I saw his nostrils flare. He inhaled sharply, as if he were drinking me in.

Will he return to his Hills home and completely forget about me? My heart sinks slightly, and I try to push the negative thoughts out of my mind. I return my attention to the large empty room, staring at the bed, which is directly in the center of it, with only a small nightstand beside it. Jordan keeps a few suits in the open closet and several gym bags on the floor. I notice what would seem to be a laundry basket full of clean clothes and notice that one of his T-shirts is within arm's reach, so I grab it and quickly pull it over my head.

“You have to promise not to tell Dad. Plus, I’m good at keeping secrets, I promise.” “Ok?” “Daddy got you a beautiful black sequin dress for you.” “Really? Are you sure it’s mine?" “He told me it was for you.” “What’s the occasion?” “That’s not mine to tell.” She says, zipping her mouth. “Lunch is served, girls," Jordan says, clapping. Every time he addresses me and Ray as girls, it feels weird and intimate. He’s in loose dark grey sweatpants, a white Calvin Klein shirt, and black and grey slides.

Montgomery bowed out. He was wearing a light t-shirt and a khaki short that barely covered his knee. To look at him, though, I thought, Jordan Leo seemed very self possessed and confident. He was tall and bronzed with a strong face, square chin, deep-set dark eyes and blondish-brown hair which he wore conventionally cut. He had the physique of a rodeo star, which he’d been before his father’s untimely death and his switch from cowboy to cattle baron. "It wasn't hard to find this place" He said, it was more of a statement than a question. Offcourse not, it's the biggest house in Jacobsville.

he says and I give a snarky laugh. "For what? Look at me, while throwing your shit in my face, just to see how bad I look?" I throw at him. "Damn Sam, that's not it! Can you hear me, then you decide what you think is best." I bite my lips and take a deep breath, but I end up doing what he asked. Jordan was shirtless, with wet hair, a sign that he had taken a shower and soon after, he came here to talk to me. He's a bastard, he came that way just to take my focus away... I look into his face and see how tired he is, see the frustration seeping out of him.

After five minutes, driver held the door for his boss with respect. Long legs with polished loffers made there way out and , long slender and wheat colored hands hold the door and slowly the Greek god made his appearance. It was none other than Damien. He was wearing black suit with collared shirt and red tie with a suit pin neatly hanged on his left side of suit. Not only journalists but heiress of other families also pulled out their phones to capture a slight glimpse of cold and alluring beauty.

This was because of him. “Good,” Jordan said, his voice dropping to a low growl. “Now, undo your top. Slowly.” My fingers fumbled at the buttons of my shirt. Each movement felt like an eternity, each button a struggle against an invisible force. The fabric fell open, revealing my bra, then my skin. The cool air of the room hit my chest, raising goosebumps. My cheeks flushed crimson. This was wrong. All of it. “All the way, Rumi,” Jordan urged, his voice a silken command. “Let it fall. Let him see.”

I spat on the ground in front of Jordy's feet, and grunt, "What’s the matter with you?" “Matter with me?” He retorts. “I don’t like seeing your small black paws all over her over there, that’s what’s the matter with me.” I lift my eyes up to meet Jory's eyes, then begin to take off my jacket, and shirt I'm wearing until they are thrown in a crumpled pile next to me, and I stand in only my pants. Jordy does the same. The heat of the sun and the gentle breath of the wind feel good on my bare skin.

She was wearing a white croptop and black shorts. "Guys, come quick. Jordan has finally brought a girl home..." She screamed excitedly and my jaw fell on the floor. I was wrapped in a towel and Jordan didn't care to tell me he wasn't alone.I looked at Jordan seeking an explanation but he seemed too embarassed, his face flushed and pale.

His groan was low and satisfied. Luca stood, pulling his shirt over his head in one fluid motion. His body was lean muscle, olive skin stretched over defined abs and that perfect V that disappeared into his jeans. I’d seen him shirtless at the beach a hundred times, but never like this—never with that hungry look aimed at me. Jordan followed suit, stripping off his own shirt. Broader than Luca, shoulders strong from years of rock climbing, dark hair dusting his chest. They were beautiful separately, devastating together.