Steve Harrington Shirtless Novels & Stories

He needed to disrupt this view somehow and get his head back in the game. “Thanks.” She blushed, and he felt himself frowning, suddenly conscious of the fact she had glanced at his naked upper torso quickly. He was wearing shorts and nothing else and despite never having an issue stripping off in public he suddenly realized why this might be awkward for her. He was still her boss, and he had never been topless in front of her. Not that he was self-conscious in the slightest. He spent enough time in the gym to make sure he was underwear model ready at all times, and his tattoos were always placed in places that enhanced what he had. He was never uncomfortable being naked, especially not in fr

A shirtless Saint. His hair is not styled, it's messy and fluffy as a few strands fall onto his forehead. The black loose jogger he is wearing hangs dangerously low around his waist as it shows the V-line molded with his defined abs. Old scars are plastered across his chest, a huge scar slashed across his chest, and a few bullet wounds here and there. I am eager to trace my fingers along those scars but I hold myself back. I'm not sure how long I stayed in my room but all I know is that it's dark outside and all the main lights are off. The only light that's bleeding through the windows and into the house is the bright moonlight.

He chuckles, making anger boil in me. “Excuse me, I have seen a lot of men shirtless. My brother when he was born, the beggar down the street who runs anti-shirt rallies, the guy in my college who dressed up as Tarzan for Halloween….” As I go through my list, I realize I might be actually helping him prove his point, “My point is that I have seen men shirtless.” “Okay.” He quips sarcastically, making me lose my mind. I hate this man.

My unfinished story. He​ stood‌ there shirt​less, wear⁠ing o​nly a pair of b⁠aggy jeans t‍hat rested⁠ on his hips.⁠ His biceps w​ere⁠ hard, glistening as if h​e’d just finish‍ed an i⁠n⁠tens​e workout. His‌ abs—thos​e same abs I once ran my hands across—were righ‍t t​here. R​eal.‍ Cl⁠ose. To⁠o close.

Now I had an answer – well sort of. His beach lightened blonde hair hung in a stringy mess around his shoulders, getting tangled in the beaded necklaces which were strung around his neck as if they made him look cooler. He stood shirtless, showing off his tattoos – one of which was a dragon who’s tail disappeared into his board shorts (I didn’t even want to guess where it ended up) and he wore a pair of sunglasses even though the sun was starting to set and we were standing in Josh’s uncle’s double garage.

I went into the house to get three bottles of water and while I was gone, Steve asked snake, "Is this some kind of test or a joke, she doesn't have a shirt on." All snake had time to say is, "Ask her about it, here she comes." I passed out the water and said, "Yes, here she comes, what?" Steve nervously said, "Ummmmm ... I was just asking Charlie if I was being tested or is it a joke you aren't wearing a shirt?" "Steve you have mastered the art of the power of observation, ... congratulations. I hope you don't mind being interviewed by a shirtless female." "It's not that, it's just ummmmmm ... how do I say this,...? unusual?"

She didn't know what he intended to do, but she wanted more bare skin from him. He paused and pulled his T-shirt off. Under that was a dark vest made from Kevlar worn over a white undershirt. He winced as he ripped the Velcro straps free. Both vest and undershirt were shed quickly, giving her the first glimpse of a shirtless Evan. She sighed and smiled, pleased with the view. Miles of muscular planes sculpted his chest and stomach. He leaned over her and bumped her nose with his. "Happy?" She laid her palm against his chest. "Very. Now the pants."

Liz had forgone putting her top back on—claiming it was too sweaty—and opted just to wait in her sports bra and tight leggings. Since my tank top was sweaty and super smelly too I decided to go shirtless myself, I had plenty of spares in my bag I bought earlier, but I wanted to bask in my improved confidence and show off a little. It seemed my decision was the correct one, because not only did I have more than a few girls check me out, Liz seemed to have a hard time looking me in the eye when we spoke. I was enjoying this far more than I should.

Declan stood at the island, shirtless again, dumping protein powder into the blender like he owned the entire building. “Rule one.” I yelled over the noise “Shirt On, Now.” He turned the blender off and grinned that cocky, panty-melting smirk. “Rule two, you don’t get to walk around looking like that and then demand I cover up. Those shorts are illegal, Savage.” He shot back. “These are standard athletic wear, you Neanderthal.” I grabbed an apple from the ridiculous fruit basket the sponsor left and hurled it at his head. He caught it one handed, took a bite, and winked. Before I could launch something heavier, my phone started blowing up.

I asked. The entire room seemed to hold its breath. Everyone was waiting for the veteran to make the call. Nathan did not answer away. He reached up with his scarred fingers and grabbed the zipper of his team jacket. With one motion, he pulled it down, letting the heavy fabric fall away from his shoulders. He stood there in his Under Armour shirt. Then, he reached for his gray practice jersey. He pulled it over his head, his face hidden for a second beneath the mesh, before he ripped it off completely and threw it down onto the rubber mat.