Patrick Dempsey Shirtless Novels & Stories

I placed my hair in a ponytail and wore simple studs on my ears. But Desmond still stared at me like I hung the moon when he set his eyes on me. Coincidentally, he was also dressed more casually today. He'd ditched his suit for a crisp white shirt with rolled up sleeves, that allowed me thirst over the muscles of his arms, and a nice pair of black jeans. His hair was tousled as usual, the first two buttons of his chest open to reveal a bit of chest, so I had to will myself to keep my gaze on his face.

I assured him. “I’m here at a souvenir shop. Will that be enough?” “Hmm, you have to tell me the color of your shirt so that he can recognize you right away,” I told him. “I am shirtless and just wearing a board short and a slipper. Black cap and black sunglass.” Did he have to include the fact that he was shirtless? I took a deep breath while trying not to imagine his overall appearance at the moment, but I could sense from his voice that he was handsome.

Sneaking around like a thief in the night for snacks? My heart left my body. I spun around. Daemon stood in the kitchen doorway. Shirtless. Just — shirtless. Grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, hair slightly disheveled, arms braced against the door frame like he'd been leaning there long enough to get comfortable. His chest was all clean lines and shadow in the low light. A body built for war dressed down for midnight. He looked like sin. Like the specific kind of sin that ruins you completely and you thank it afterward.

Scarlet I sat up in bed, my entire body trembling. This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. But my feet were already moving. I crossed the room, and unlocked the door, my heart beating heavily against my chest. I opened it. Damian stood in the hallway. He was shirtless. His pajama pants were hanging low on his hips , so low I could see that dangerous v-line. His dark hair was messy like he'd been running his hands through it.

I’m immortal now, or at least bound to this mountain until a Reaper decides to use my ribs as a xylophone. It’s a lot of existential weight to process before breakfast. The shadows directly in front of me suddenly begin to boil, the ink-black darkness folding in on itself with a soft, rushing sound and Damon steps out of the vortex, entirely unbothered by the freezing temperature. Let me take a moment to mention that the man is currently shirtless. And sweaty. In January. His sculpted chest and abdominal muscles are gleaming faintly with a light sheen of sweat as he casually pulls a tight black long-sleeve shirt over his head. As his head pops through the collar, his emerald eyes immediately

I hear the door open behind me. I wait for some seconds to let him get a nice view before I slowly turn around to see Demetrius standing there, looking more handsome than ever. He is wearing a crisp white shirt and black pants, and his hair is neatly combed back. From my observation, it seems as though he returned much before seven thirty because he is no longer in his work attire.

And she silently thanked her friend, Katrina, who chose a series of clothes and dresses for her before coming here to the Philippines. Demie took a picture of herself and sent it to her friend Katrina, before finally going out of her room. She's just holding her phone looking at herself through the phone's camera. She suddenly feels anxious about how she'll look because of 'someone'. And just by thinking of that someone, Demie heard a door shut behind her. That's why she turned around and there is the man she's been thinking of since earlier— Alessandro. She can't help herself but smile a little when she saw what he's wearing. A preppy charcoal sweater that has a polar bear wearing Christma

“But stay close. Don’t go too far into the water.” He darted off, laughter spilling across the sand, and for a moment I let myself watch him with a soft smile. My heart was still heavy, but Daven was my anchor. I was lost in thought when a familiar shadow fell across my table. “Enjoying your morning?” I froze. Damon stood there, barefoot on the wooden deck, the sun glancing off his bare chest. He wore nothing but a white shirt—completely unbuttoned—and black shorts. The glimpse of his abs, sharp lines cut into golden skin, made my breath stumble before I caught it. My cheeks warmed. I forced myself to look away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing what he did to me just by exist

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.

The door opened and I stood facing Damien. He looked tired like I had just woken him. But when he saw me standing in front of him, his face turned into something like surprise. “Anila?” He whispered. I bit my lower lip; this was the first time I had seen Damien shirtless, and I wasn’t disappointed. He had a nicely built 6 pack, which was insane to me because I didn’t know he was athletic. He wore pajama pants, but they were hanging off his waistline and left no mystery of what lay underneath.