Nightwing Physique Novelas e Histórias

Not a single square foot of it had been untouched over the years. Sebastian was in the center of the sparring circle. He was wearing a pair of basketball shorts and a tank top. His body was every bit the warrior that he was planning on becoming. Broad shoulders, rippling muscles, and defined abs. Thus, it was why he was Dark Moon’s heartthrob. Many she-wolves panted after him, but not all made the cut.

I had slipped my shirt over my head and shimmied out of the pants and underwear, liking the way his gaze roamed my body. Jon’s tan and chiseled body was something to behold, that reminding me of the Greek titan Atlas the way his muscles glistened. His waive silver hair was unnatural almost, a stark contrast from his youthful features and physique. His green eyes crinkled at the sides with a smile, making him look more friendly than the deadly assassin he was underneath. He pulled his shirt over his head to join me naked, scooping me up with one swoop and almost slamming me onto the small twin bed in this room.

Or used to guarding space. “Who are you?” I whispered. I leaned forward, elbows on the desk, index finger pressed to my lips. I forced my eyes to follow the line of his body. About five eleven, maybe taller. Broad shoulders, but not the gym-bro type who walked like a refrigerator with an ego. More trained. Leaner. There was control in his body. Familiar. I didn’t like it. I paused at the second he placed the envelope on the desk. His fingers were long. The black gloves covered everything, but the shape of his hands was still visible. His wrist showed slightly beneath the end of his jacket sleeve. No watch. No bracelet. No mark.

Jesus Christ. Noir was built like some ancient warrior, all hard muscle and battle scars. His chest was broad and defined, abs cut so sharp they could probably slice paper. His arms were thick with muscle, veins visible under the skin, speaking of hours spent training and fighting. Every inch of him seemed carved to perfection, despite—or maybe because of—all the marks that violence had left behind. The scars only made him more beautiful in a dangerous, broken way. I wanted to ask him about them so badly.

At least 6'4", arms thick like they belonged to a man who wrestled engines all day. His neck was huge. I wondered what else was. Nicholas was shorter than Drew, but he carried a dense, powerful build that made him feel bigger than he was. He was broad through the chest and shoulders, with a stocky frame and dark hair that curled at the edge of his shirt collar and along his forearms. His body looked like it had been shaped by years of hard labor, not gym workouts. Everything about him suggested strength and utility, the kind earned through sweat and repetition.

He was serious. Wendy stared blankly at his broad back. He bent slightly, effortlessly lifting a heavy side panel with one hand. The muscles in his arm and back tensed into clear lines with the movement, under the apartment's soft lighting, presenting an outline that was both powerful and sensual. That fluid, controlled motion was completely different from his usual suited-and-booted elite image, possessing a more primal appeal.

“Bunch of obnoxious, inhumanly attractive, muscled up cavemen.” Seriously, Knight looked like some kind of Playboy fallen angel with his sculpted ass and body stacked with hard muscle. I scanned his numerous tattoos. There was a pack of hungry wolves on one of his arms, surrounded by trees and vines full of thorns. Across his chest was the night sky and aurora borealis, and wrapping around his stomach were wisps of smoke, or shadow, that trailed upwards until they blended into the darker ink.

I had no idea he was even here. His dark gaze hit me with a perverse smirk and my mouth went dry. He was standing by the window, his hands held casually in the pockets of his pants, sweeping his suit jacket back and showing off his trim waist in the tight fitting waistcoat he wore. I rarely got to see him in his work attire but it always struck me how damn sexy, yet darkly dangerous, he looked. He had filled out since I first started crushing on him, his shoulders had broadened and his chest had expanded and he had gotten taller stopping at six foot two. He worked out in the gym plus did boxing and a bit of jiu jitsu so his physique was top notch. I should know, I’ve seen that body change an

“I want to do it. We need the money and I think it might be interesting.” Cynthia then focused on the warmth of his arms, surrounding her and she felt comforted. Trent’s body was younger than the senior executives, but just about as well toned. His broad chest and lean arms rippled with muscles every time he moved and his form slid flatly into a slate of abs which flowed down to his groin and delicious manliness.

When I round the corner to head into the gym, my heart nearly jumps into my throat, but I keep walking. Because sitting on the opposite side of the room is the guy we were just talking about. I’ve never actually seen him in person, but looking at him now, I’m thankful for being a featherweight again. The guy is fucking MASSIVE. Thick tattooed biceps, legs the size of tree trunks, fingers that could snap a neck if he wanted to. Not to mention his chest and abdomen - he looks like Alpha Kai in his prime with his blonde hair braided down his back.