Novel & Cerita Patrick Dempsey Shirtless

Azlynn’s P.O.V. Goddess! Was I dreaming? My unblinking gaze caught the sight of the majestic King in front of me, dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans. The fabric of the shirt was strained over his muscular figure, hugging his body perfectly. My mouth dried to witnessing the live representation of the Greek god in 2025. I admit that Demrid was handsome and had an impeccable taste in clothing. He usually wore modest clothes at home, too. He looked breathtaking in formal attire or casual outfits, but today was different. Demrid was deliberately wearing such a shirt to flex his burly Alpha body.

Demien stepped in, zipped the tent closed, and started undressing without a word. He pulled off his shirt, revealing his sculpted chest, defined abs, and that perfect V-line disappearing into his shorts. Then the shorts came off. He wasn’t wearing underwear. His thick cock hung heavy between his muscular thighs, already half-hard. I couldn’t stop staring. The memory of him eating Lena’s pussy and then fucking her senseless kept flashing in my mind, making my own cock twitch desperately. Demien noticed. Of course he did. He walked over to me, completely naked, and stopped right in front of my face. His cock was now fully hard, thick and beautiful, the head already glistening with pre-cum.

Alexander Hamilton. He wore a casual white t-shirt with a black ripped jeans. The white t-shirt perfectly skinned to his body. His shoulder muscles are bulging under the white tshirt. His biceps seeming very tight under his t-shirt. It suits perfectly well to him and making him even more dangerously handsome. He is looking more younger in this attire than the office suits. I mentally scolded myself, why the heck he has to be in this place. And why is he staring at me like I'm a terrorist.

The curtains shifted slightly in a breeze that hadn't been there before. Then the door opened. He walked in. Ares — shirtless, in nothing but a pair of dark silk pajama pants that sat low on his hips, his bronze skin catching the warm light, every line of his chest and stomach more devastating in this light than it had been in his bedroom doorway.

Dawn shook her head. “Let’s start with the good news.” “We have actual clothes. I found two of your shorts in here. They probably got mixed in with mine,” Maxwell said. “But the only shirts we have are these.” He pulled out one extra-large T-shirt with a print that read: [I Put the ‘Max’ in Maximum Pleasure] “And this is yours,” Maxwell said, showing a small-sized shirt that read: [I Survived the Max Attack!]

“I wonder if you’ve improved at all.” “Enough talk,” Damon replied, already reaching for the hem of his shirt. He pulled it over his head in one fluid motion, tossing it aside. His torso was lean but muscular, marked with a few scars from previous battles. I’d seen him shirtless plenty of times over the years, but it was still an impressive sight. Not to be outdone, Andrei removed his shirt as well, letting it drop to the ground at his feet. My mouth went dry as, unbidden, thoughts of seeing him completely nude with his cock inside of me just days ago flitted through my mind.

Then, out of nowhere, Soñar appeared from behind him and began to stride toward where I lay. I sat upright, my mouth almost drooling from seeing them shirtless. I could feel the way my eyes bore into the thick lines that formed abs on their stomach, how the lines dissected into one another, and the hardness that I could feel inside of me even as they seemed far from where I lay was thrilling. As I looked on, from the corner of my vision, I could see Dashiell emerge from a makeshift door. He was shirtless, but he had a towel wrapped around his waist to cover his private parts.

I refused to dwell on it too much. With a deep breath, I reached for one of Demetri’s oversized white shirts draped over the chair nearby. The fabric was soft, slightly worn, and carried his scent. I slipped it on, not bothering with pants, just my underwear beneath it. The hem of the shirt barely grazed the tops of my thighs as I pushed myself off the bed, stretching slightly before heading downstairs. As I reached the dining area, I found him standing by the table, setting down plates of food. His messy hair, slightly damp, suggested he had already taken a shower. He was wearing a plain black shirt that clung to his form, accentuating the sharp angles of his body.

“But you need to eat. I will get something for you after bathing you.” I looked down at my legs and thighs. There were angry red marks everywhere. It was as if he marked me so much to let everyone know that I was his. I did not hate it. I just wished I could leave marks on him too. No one would see them though since Demian never took his clothes off in front of anyone or wore something that would reveal those marks. I had never seen Demian wearing anything other than full-sleeved shirts with a cloak on top. He sometimes skipped the cloak, but that was rather rare.

He gives her a dap and a bro-hug. "It just keeps getting weirder and weirder." I think. He's shirtless, in nothing but grey camo knickers, the white waistband of his underwear peeking through to say hello. Amanda doesn't even flinch, she returns the hug as if she hugs sweaty boys for a living. Then finally, it's my turn.