Patrick J Adams Shirtless Novels & Stories

she replied. "What? Come on, I need you help." he pleaded. "Nope." "Jennifer, just climb up..." he started. "I'm not wearing underwear." She blurted out. "..." Patrick's mouth hung open. "It's hot. So I'm not wearing anything. Just the shirt." She held the hem down and out, then shrugged her shoulders as if to apologize for the outfit.

Descending from the stairs, I scan the room, mom is with Amanda laughing over something she said. But my gaze is looking for a certain someone.. Adam. Just when I was about to give up my eyes fell on him. Quickly I took in his appearance as he stood tall looking like a snack. Like those models in a magazine. He is wearing a black chinos pants with a white shirt not buttoned up completely, exposing part of his chest. He must love white shirts so much and it suits him too. His suit is hung on his right arm, with his long sleeve shirt folded up stopping at the lower part of his elbow adding a dangerous feel to his look.

I made a mental note to actually spend more time with her before resuming back to college. I knocked on Adam's apartment door softly, expecting his usual stoic face and him grabbing the bag from me. I didn't complete the thought when the door opened to a sweaty and bare-chested Adam. His hair was rough and disheveled and hung in different directions. He was dressed only in black sweatpants and looked exhausted. He was obviously working out. I realised I had never seen Adam without clothes ever, my eyes widened at the beefy chest in front of me and I swallowed.

My fingers fished around as they landed on a bag packed full of nothing but pajamas, a harsh reminder of my poor packing choices I didn't pay attention to last night. As I cast a fleeting glance over to Adam's dresser, memories of our high school days flickered through my mind. He had always been easygoing about sharing clothes during those unplanned nights sleeping over. I opened the top drawer, only to find it stuffed with an array of colorful plaid underwear—a comical yet awkward sight. Taking a mental step back, I hesitated, feeling as though borrowing his briefs without permission might cross an unspoken boundary. Instead, I snatched a pair of ankle socks without a second thought, feeli

Adam never wore a dress shirt, and even when he did, he never buttoned it all the way. Rose and Teresa were so excited, they almost screamed their heads. Adam took the opening speech that got all girls cheering. It wasn’t in the least bit surprising, giving his whole bad boy aesthetic. Adam never wore a dress shirt, and even when he did, he never buttoned it all the way. His tattoos and perfectly oiled boy were immaculate that was the whole reason he was addicted to tank tops. Adam Rivera, Catherine fought both tooth and nail to keep those two apart, so seeing him with Ruby stung her, it cut deep.

I smile and pull him close to me, giving him a light kiss. “But now we are late, we have to go to the party of this little boy here.” My father-in-law will soon be calling to see why we haven't arrived yet, Rayka takes our hats and after putting Adam's on, I put him down, to take a picture of him before leaving. Adam is looking like a little cowboy, with a plaid shirt, jeans with a wide belt with a big buckle, and a leather Texan boot with silver spurs, to complete the cowboy look, he is wearing a black leather vest with the PBR embroidery.

I raised my hand to knock and it hovered in the air as the door swung open suddenly. “You took so long to get up. You might as well…” I froze, staring at the figure standing before me. It was Adam, his eyes focused, controlled anger flashing in his eyes. I furrowed my brows, and crossed my arms watching his face turn fierce. “Not today, Satan.” My shoulders moved then stopped as my gaze dropped downwards, and…he was shirtless. This was new. Adam had never been shirtless once in the room I was knocking.

It was past 2:00 AM, and my eyes felt like someone had rubbed sand into them. On the other side of the room, Adrian had finally shed his corporate armor. His midnight-black vest and silk tie were tossed over the back of an armchair. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up past his forearms, revealing the lean, muscular build he usually hid under structured suits. His dark hair was a total mess from where he had been running his fingers through it for the last three hours. He didn't look like the untouchable, perfect Ice King anymore. He just looked like a man fighting for his life, and for some reason, that made him far more terrifying—and far more human.

God help me. I was still processing everything—Adam’s damp body, that smirk, the faint scent of his cologne still lingering in the air—when he casually peeled open the closet door and began pulling out his silk pajamas. My gaze followed, purely by accident. Or instinct. Or trauma. And then— He slipped into the pajama pants. No underwear. None. Not a thread. I blinked slowly. Swallowed harder. Looked away immediately, ears burning.

’ Closer this time. ‘I’m here man,’ I call out, wrapping the towel around my hips, my hair still letting the occasional wet stray of water fall down my back. Adam enters, dressed to impress in tight dark jeans, black shirt unbuttoned to his chest so his tattoo can be seen. It had taken Adam a week to get the whole thing done. It went from his right thigh, around his back and curled around to his left chest, should and arm. He had designed it himself, an homage to his Maori culture. His hair is cut close to his head and his dark eyes grins at me.