Rugged Gentleman Novels & Stories

Aaron then turned to Alessandro and said, “Hi, old man. I like your look although you look like a bad guy from the movies.” Aaron’s words had almost everyone in the house gasp audibly. Adrian spoke, “I am really sorry about it. He has been pampered a lot.” Alessandro gave a reassuring smile to Adrian, “That is all okay.” He then turned to Aaron, “Hi, young man. By the way, I am a bad guy. I am the Don.” “Oh really. Would you like to play a game with me?” Aaron bet while showing off the gun in his hand.

Paul immediately fixed me a Martini and left us alone at the bar before I could thank him. "Is this how you pick up women? By pretending to be a gentleman?" I asked, eyeing the Martini. "What's wrong with being a gentleman?" He asked as he poured himself a generous glass of whiskey, his rugged, strong hand moved with a confident grace, exuding a sense of raw masculinity and irresistible sex appeal. I wondered how his rough hands would feel against my skin. I grabbed the glass from his grasp and took a swig of the amber liquid, a tantalizing warmth washed over my tongue. The fiery burn lingered in my throat.

Both men comply. The first one is older—broad-shouldered and solid, with more grey than brown in his hair. His beard is neatly trimmed, but there’s something rugged about him that grooming can’t polish away. He wears a faded, greyish shirt that clings to a powerful frame, the sleeves rolled up to reveal two thick, jagged scars—one running down each arm from under the sleeve to just above the elbow. They’re not clean slashes. Whatever tore into him left behind something ragged and cruel.

I remember how his roughened face feels between my legs and I fan myself with a pamphlet and coo about the fire. I am most pious, donate heavily and come away feeling hollow. As a point of interest, I have noticed Fitz prefers to be gentlemanly, to be clean shaven and smart. I adore the roughness of his caresses when laced with a gritty brush of his cheek. At no point has his current social status been a source of tension. I know he is a gentleman in waiting. Hay, labour and leather braced pants are merely the starting point for him.

Standing tall at 6'4", his broad shoulders and muscular build hinted at the formidable strength that lay beneath his calm exterior. His chiseled features were framed by short, dark hair, often tousled as if he had just returned from a midnight run through the woods. Ryder's piercing blue eyes, reminiscent of a clear, icy winter sky, held a depth of emotion and secrets that few could fathom, making his expression perpetually unreadable. His presence commanded attention and respect, a testament to his position as the alpha of Ravenwood. He dressed in a rugged yet refined style, favoring dark, fitted clothing that emphasized his physique and allowed for swift movement. Ryder's strong jawline wa

“Welcome to the South Windlet Post Office. How may I help you?” The man had a hat on and he was wearing black clothes and dark boots. There were daggers on his hips, and some pouches, and bandages on his hands. From his appearance, Gilbert assumed this guy is a hunter or a mercenary. There’s some kind of dark aura shrouding this guy, and it made him suspicious. ‘But a criminal wouldn’t use our service, out in the day like this. And not via the official route. Didn’t they hear about Arata-san?’

He is so full of himself and arrogant. He is a good person Sav, I think he likes you a lot...I mean a lot. This is the first time he brought a date. We are really surprised! Sometimes, people are being carried away by his position, but as far as I know him and from my personal point of view, he is kind-hearted and a good man. There are talks about his ruthlessness, especially towards women, but I am not a witness to those. I have never seen him with a woman on his side, believe me! It's always talk and gossip by the media. Maybe, it was part of his image to have it that way. He was a widow for many many years and I did not hear a single name attached to him. It's just being ruthless, and a

Before she could finish her sentence, she froze at the sound of a sudden voice. "Hello? Is there anybody here to help me?" asked a large-built gentleman, quite impatiently waving a few books in his hand. He wore a grey tailored suit that matched his hunter-piercing eyes. He has a long, stubbled van dyke beard accompanied by a defined jawline all composed perfectly on his square-shaped face. His slick jet black hair was pulled back into a low ponytail. He was a handsome-looking man with a stern expression. Anyone who gazed upon him would assume he was in his middle thirties and someone important.

The Pack Dr. Malachi Waterstone had a visitor. The gentleman wore an expensive suit, finely constructed without seeming ostentatious. Everything about him was well-kept and held perfectly in place as if by some small bit of magic. His shoes shined and his cufflinks glinted. He was powerful, without a doubt, but carried himself with an old-world benevolence that earned him trust in many circles. And, of course, no one knew his true identity. “I hear there was an incident.”

He was a knot of corded ironwood formed into the shape of a man, this gnarled and solid thing of unbreakable muscle. “Yer nae dressed up as a doorstop, boy.” His heavy brogue made his thick brown beard twitch with each word. He was nearly as old as my father, but unlike my father he’d kept his accent from the old world. “Get tae moving.” Then he stumped past me, the scents of hide and leather following him thickly. He was the only person at the ball not costumed, but anyone who saw him bedecked in furs like some ancient huntsman would be hard pressed to believe otherwise. I let my gaze trail after him. He raised a hand to hail my father, then threw himself down into a chair near the head of