Paul Bettany Shirtless Novels & Stories

Just like right now, I want to burn this image of him in my mind. He was shirtless, but he still had his pants on and he was putting on an apron. Yes, I really am going to bleed to death if I have to keep seeing him like this. He’s so hot.

he requested and then voluntarily takes his shirt off his body. For a moment, Paul is turning his back. His seconds are slowing down because of the shirtless body of the CEO. He saw it many times, but why he is so hot tonight with his bandage on his right foot? The CEO is lifeless when wearing the plain grey shirt. “Do you have a crutch here?” Paul asked then Connor shakes his head to disagree. “Butler Robert would be out buying it this time,” he replied calmly. “Can you accompany me for tonight?” Connor added. On the other hand, Paul is dumbfounded by his question.

Then his bravado rushed in, voice light: “Hard pass.” “Suit yourself.” He stared at her for a beat longer than necessary, then laughed again, louder this time, as if the room needed convincing. “The goth nun’s recruiting,” he declared, voice rising theatrically, “Repent now or forever lose your Wi-Fi privileges.” Brett looked up from his phone, eyes tired but alert, thumb still hovering mid-scroll. “Leave them alone, Paul. Some of us are trying to find inner peace—or at least a decent lunch special.”

“Well, anything she wants.” The man spoke into a microphone by the side of his ear, and moments later, another worker in The Webster store uniform appeared. Taking Nyssa's hand, she led her away to the female section, a big smile on her face. “Paul, would you like anything?” Paul smiled. He was a conservative man, and didn't believe in dressing unnecessarily. He would only dress flashily if the situation required it or I forced him to do so. He was always content with his jeans and a shirt. Or a black leather jacket.

Robert Mirror asked as a servant came down the stairs with another pair of shirt. "Sorry about that dad, I just wanted to clear my head first before heading home, sorry I didn't inform you." Paul lied. He removed his shirt he wore and took the one from the servant, he hate the burn scars he got from his car accident some years back, and that was why he normally wear a long sleeves clothes which hid all his ugly scars. "Okay no problem, but next time you tell your old man here." "Will do." Paul replied with a smile.

There he was. Richard Barton. Tall. Wet. Shirtless. A towel hung from one hand as he ran it through his damp hair, water trickling down his sculpted torso. Each drop slid past defined abs, across inked skin, over the sharp V-line that disappeared into— Oh. My. God. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes involuntarily dropped—then widened in full-blown panic. He wasn't wearing anything. Annabelle's brain short-circuited like someone yanked the main power switch. Her scream tore out before she could stop it. She spun around, slapped her hands over her mouth, and squeezed her eyes shut in horror.

Me playing with you is lowering my standards. "A girl at that?" A guy asked laughing as all of them were checking me out. I had worn a blouse with flay sleeves and a jeans skirt. Jeez.... All thanks to Fisayo, I wasn't even wearing a proper slipper. "She looks like she knows nothing about football" the guy sneered. Arrogant much? You are so dead.... Paul appeared unaffected despite the harsh criticism. "Why don't we bet first?" Paul asked. "Paul, e be like say you get money wey you wan waste?" A guy said laughing. (trans- Paul, it looks like you have money that you feel like squandering)

"Why the rush?" "I have a thousand questions for them," I say, my eyes dropping down her body. "And more importantly, you need a new shirt." Betty stops dead in her tracks, looking down at herself. "Shit. I am practically naked." "Did you seriously just notice that now?" Ian asks, a small laugh escaping his throat. Betty’s cheeks turn a bright, beautiful crimson. "I was a little busy keeping us all from dying, Ian," she pouts, looking like a stubborn child.

Aleksander sent a photo. God. I knew I shouldn’t click it. My brain screamed don’t, but my thumb didn’t listen. The screen flashed to life—and just like that, my entire nervous system short-circuited. He was shirtless. Not the casual I just woke up kind of shirtless, no—this was calculated. The kind of picture men send when they know exactly what they’re doing. His body was all lean muscle and golden tone, the kind that made you forget how to breathe. His shoulders were broad, tapering down to a sculpted chest dusted with just enough hair to look maddeningly real. A chain rested against his collarbone, glinting under the soft light. His hair was tousled, damp like he’d just stepped out of th

We collaborate. What would you think about often witnessing your coworkers nude? You wouldn't mind, would you? You're a tiny pervert. What if you're a homosexual man in the closet who wants to keep his personal life private? Well? Then, what about it? As soon as I enter the dressing room, I realise how serious my error was. Tyler Bennett is hunched down at the waist, removing his compression tights with his back to the rest of us. He gently straightens. Painstakingly slowly, every single vertebra uncurls and latches together. A deep line runs down his back. A sweat-stained indentation.