Patrick J Adams Shirtless Novels & Stories

I grabbed his hand and pushed it away. "It's not you," he said. "It's the shirt. Take it off." "Excuse me?" I repeated. "I don't have anything to change into. All my luggage is somewhere else." Adam quickly walked over to his chest of drawers and pulled out a gray t-shirt. "Here," he said, crossing the room and handing the t-shirt to me "I ‘Il trade you. Now change." I took the shirt from him and stood there staring at him. He just stared back.

They'd driven all this way with nothing but the clothes on her back. Adam chuckled, eyeing her dripping form. “Look at you. You're freezing. Put that on.” He tossed her one of his t-shirts, the soft cotton still carrying his musky scent. With no alternatives, Nova pulled it over her head, the hem skimming her mid-thighs, the fabric clinging to her wet skin and outlining her braless breasts and panty-less pussy. The neckline gaped slightly, teasing glimpses of her cleavage. She tugged at it self-consciously, but Adam's approving gaze made her cheeks heat.

I went toward the kitchen for a glass of water. And there he was. Adam stood at the sink, shirtless, back to me, rinsing a plate under the faucet. Water droplets clung to the silver streaks in his dark hair. His shoulders were broad, tanned, muscled in that effortless way men get when they actually work out instead of just talking about it. He wore low-slung gray swim trunks that did nothing to hide the cut of his hips or the deep V disappearing beneath the waistband. He turned off the tap. Turned around.

I cried out and lost my balance, falling backward. A burning hot hand quickly grabbed my waist, pulling me back forcefully. "Don't you watch where you're walking?" A low, magnetic voice exploded above my head. I looked up in panic, and my breathing instantly stopped. Adam had just finished showering. He wasn't wearing a shirt. Crystal water droplets slid down his broad shoulders, flowing over his solid chest muscles, gathering in the grooves of his well-defined abs, finally disappearing into the edge of the loose white towel around his waist.

Adam greeted me with his cultured voice, causing a shiver to run through my body. Dressed in a crisp white shirt, the top two buttons carelessly undone, the fabric draped over his broad shoulders and hinted at his sculpted chest. The shirt hugged all the right places, tempting me with what was underneath. The way those tight pants clung to his long legs was incredibly mouthwatering like I wanted my legs wrapped around them. And God, those gray slippers made his outfit pop out, showing he could rock both fancy and casual looks. I swallowed. As he moved through his personal space, each step radiated leisurely ease. The ambient lighting played on the contours of his features, dropping shadows t

Even if she has only been awake for a few hours. “Thanks. And here you go.” The guy comes in and holds something out to her. It is a shirt and a pair of boxers, from the look of it. “It's all clean. The boxers are an old pair of mine from my teenage years that I never wore because I like a different brand. I just never throw anything away so I still have them. The shirt is Adam's because I figured it would be like a dress on you. He told me you were undressed and needed clothes.”

There, he stood shirtless, the remnants of the borrowed T shirt still fresh in his memory. In the privacy of his room, Adam set about shedding the remnants of the day's activities. He carefully unbuttoned his suit, which had borne witness to the highs and lows of the kindergarten event. His wet shirt, now a testament to his unexpected participation in the water filled race, was peeled away, revealing a body marked not only by his physical prowess but also by the scars of his past. The discarded clothes found their place in the laundry basket, a stark contrast to the polished attire he usually wore. As Adam settled onto his bed, he let out a deep breath, his gaze fixed upon the ceiling.

With that insufferably perfect chest and those arms that look like they were designed specifically to make women forget their own names. Focus, Josephine. Because if I don’t control this story, someone else will. And their version won’t end with bad publicity—it’ll end with body bags. That’s when he emerges from his room. Still shirtless. Because apparently God has a sick sense of humor. Water droplets cling to his shoulders and slide down his chest like they’re taking the scenic route. He’s wearing gray sweatpants that hang so low they’re basically advertising what’s underneath. Every muscle seems designed for maximum temptation, and I’m suddenly very aware that my brain has completely aban

He's standing by the pool, shirtless, wearing only a pair of his perfectly fitted black trousers. The afternoon light hits his chest, highlighting every muscle. He’s pouring a drink, talking to a man I think I recognize. The owner of the BlueDave Marina. There are a few women laughing and splashing in the pool, but Adam isn’t paying them any attention. He’s just standing there, calm and composed, and it drives me mad with anger. A wave of heat floods my body, followed immediately by shame. Why does he have to look like that? Why does the sight of his stupid, wickedly chiseled body still make my knees feel weak?

“Hey, don't be. We haven't even gotten into the party yet. How can you be feeling awkward now?” “I don't know. Could I go back home, please?” “Not a chance. Tihana, you have no idea just how beautiful you look tonight. I guess I have a good eye for picking up a dress for you,” Adam said, staring at my dress with a hand on his chin like he had done a perfect job. Meanwhile, I kept pulling down the short dress, which exposed not just my legs but my thighs as well. I have never worn something as skimpy as what I was putting on.