Montana Jordan Shirtless Novels & Stories

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.

But that wasn’t what had me stopping. It was him. His well-tanned skin glowed under the rare light of the sun, amplifying the dark ink snaking through half of his chest and one arm. One well-sculpted arm. I had never seen Jordan play, but I knew he had to have ripped muscles underneath the shirts he wore. I just had no idea how ripped they were. And now, seeing him in front of me, all oblivious, munching on that toast like it was the most interesting thing in the world…