Rider Strong Shirtless Novels & Stories

Suddenly, Rider released my hair and stepped back, leaving me dazed and confused, while panting heavily. “Let’s go. We wouldn’t want to be late for training.” Rider smirked, and I tried glaring at him, but my hooded eyes probably didn’t have the same effect I was going for. Goddess, where did this man get his self-control? I mean, he wasn’t completely unaffected, his chest was still heaving, and his eyes were dark, but he was still able to pull away. I wasn’t sure I could have. Without saying a word, I slipped on my shorts and a sports bra while Rider put on a white T-shirt. He already had a pair of black basketball shorts on.

Max commented. “It's all a part of the Rider charm,” I said. “Let's hope so, because both you and I look like we are waiting for the love of our life to grace us with her presence.” “Funny, since we are doing the exact opposite. We are watching an enemy and trying to learn her moves.” I snarled. “We’ll get rid of her somehow,” I said looking up at the same window the creature was sticking her adorably scary head out of.

"Ya know, once you get away from your homes, you should at least take off your shirt and bra, if you wear one, and ride with Brad while topless. If you get really brave, you should ride without your shorts on. It's not like anyone is going to see you in the truck other than Brad." "Are you kidding me? I can't do that! Do you really drive that way?" "I laughed and said, "Yes, I do. I stop a couple of miles outside of town and get dressed and then stop a couple of miles out of town and ride back to the ranch naked."

I say, pulling off my shirt. She looks at my body, swallowing hard. In the wild, I’m used to people seeing me in various stages of dress. It’s not like we have closets with clothes. We steal what we can, when we can. When we wash our clothes, we walk around naked until they dry. As riders, it’s just part of life. For Skylar, it’s obviously not. “Skylar!” I say, dragging her attention away from my body. She blushes and damn if it doesn’t make her even more beautiful.

There he was. Calvin was in the driveway beside the garage, shirtless, working on his powerful black motorcycle under the outdoor lights. The bike was wet and soapy as he washed it, his strong arms flexing with every stroke of the sponge. Water and suds ran down his toned chest and abs, tracing every ridge of muscle. His shorts hung low on his hips, showing the deep V-lines that disappeared beneath the waistband. My breath caught in my damn throat. He looked like a fucking snack.

He seemed to be searching for something. With careful footing, Lily made her way to the river. When she reached Rebel’s side, she glanced toward him, only to instantly regret it. In the time it’d taken her to scuffle down to the riverbed, he’d stripped off his shirt and cast it onto a large rock nearby. Every muscled ridge of his abdomen was visible. His was a body of a cowboy, a testament to working long, hard hours on the ranch, and his core reaped the benefits.

The door was slightly ajar, and soft sounds of movement and heavy breathing drifted out. I stopped right at the edge of the doorframe, pressing my back against the wall, and peeked in through the gap. Oh. My. God. He was there. Shirtless. Gone were the suits, the crisp shirts, the buttons, the ties. He was wearing only dark grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, no shirt, no shoes, nothing else. His back was to me, hands gripping the pull-up bar high above him, and he was moving—smoothly.

Then… Click. The lights suddenly came on, bright and blinding. Shivers ran down my spine. I froze in place. Slowly, I turned toward the light switch. Ryder stood there. He wore nothing on top except a pair of thick jogger pants hanging low on his waist. His bare chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. His blue eyes glared at me like they could start a fire any second. “You’re clubbing now?” He asked.

A few yards away, the rhythmic thud-thud of a mallet echoes through the backyard. I shift, my eyes tracking Ryder as he kneels on the grass, completely absorbed in his task. He’s shirtless, his skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat that makes the hard, carved lines of his shoulders and back gleam in the sunlight. Every time he lifts his arms to align the wooden slats of the crib, the muscles of his back flex and roll, a powerful reminder of the warrior he is – and the fierce protector he’s always been.

He's standing before the wide open fridge shirtless, a black shirt which I’m quite sure he was wearing earlier on his shoulder, gulping a bottle of water hungrily and there's no doubt that he's coming from the gym. Broad shoulders, strong masculine hands which look like would never let you go once he gets a hold of you, broad chest, deep abs and a defined V line that disappears somewhere in his black shorts. His hair is a little messy and damp, perhaps from pouring water on his head to cool off during the workout. He clears his throat and that's when I realise that I have been staring. Maybe for a minute way too long than I should have. “Good morning. I don't…think it's that hot in here.” I