Steve Harrington Shirtless Novels & Stories

Of all the people in this club, it had to be him. Alex looked down at the disaster on his chest, jaw tight. Without a word, he released one of my arms and yanked the ruined shirt up and over his head in one smooth motion. The fabric hit the floor with a wet slap. He tossed it toward a nearby trash can like it personally offended him. He stood there shirtless under the dim hallway lights, revealing a perfectly sculpted hockey body wide shoulders, defined chest, ridges of abs that looked unreal. A faint trail of dark hair disappeared into the waistband of his jeans. He was all power and heat, and I suddenly felt smaller than ever.

We stay there goofing for a while before Helena goes silent. "What?" I asked and looked back, following her eyes to see what had commanded her attention. And I cursed. Of course, he'd pull something like this. It's Nate, shirtless and in shorts. Those kinds that leave nothing to the imagination. Really? He had to do that right now?

I told him and drove through, up to the biggest hangar in the vicinity. “Andy where are we?” Mr Stevens asked worriedly. “Some place you’d rather not be.” I relied and got out. He followed quickly and paused when he saw me take off the pullover and tie followed closely by my white button up shirt. I stood there in my sleeveless t-shirt, exposing the tribal tattoo. “If you want to keep riding shotgun I suggest you take off your tie.” I told him with a wicked gleam in the eye. Mr Stevens looked around at the high fences and the old hangers.

I'm searching for Steve amidst the chaos, but he's nowhere to be found. "Who are you looking for, baby boy?" says a voice, interrupting my thoughts. I look behind and there he is; Steve, standing right in front of me. A smile spreads across my face as my heart races with excitement. He was standing just inches away from me. His football jersey hugged his toned body in all the right places, showcasing his perfect build. His sleeveless arms were on full display, revealing biceps that would make any girl or boy weak in the knees. And don't even get me started on his abs; the shirt was sticking to them with all the sweat, making my heart race faster.

The faint smell of rubber mats, metal, and sharp cologne. No one at the front desk. Just the low hum of the air conditioner. I’m still looking around when I hear boots—heavy, deliberate—coming from the hallway that leads to the offices. The next second, Steve appears. No gym shirt this time. Just black joggers slung low on his hips and nothing else. The tattoo sleeve on his left arm continues across his chest—one long thin line under his left pec, another across his lower ribs. He doesn’t smile. He just looks at me.

The two older alphas around her nod as they see another man approach and walk away, not giving us another look, like we're nothing. The sergeant with the horrible last name stands in awkward silence as she waits for the guy to approach. She's insecure when she's alone, which is good to note because I can take advantage of that at some point. I'm getting bored as we wait and the arms of the guys at my sides seem to produce even more sweat than my ass, but that's all forgotten when I get a glimpse of the heavenly man approaching us. Unlike everyone else, he's not in full uniform, he's shirtless and just wearing his pants, so I can get a good look at his abs and his big arms filled with tattoos

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.

I sprang from my bed, adrenaline pumping as I prepared to confront the intruder. My stance quickly relaxed, however, and a frown crossed my face when I saw who it was—Hayes Hawthorne, standing in my room shirtless. My breath caught in my throat. Holy. Fucking. Hell. Every inch of his body was sculpted like a Greek god, with sharp lines and rigid definition. A large tattoo sprawled across his upper chest and onto his left shoulder, dark and bold, forming a series of interconnected shapes that were both intricate and slightly thorny.

And a very shirtless Aiden. Guess we weren’t the only ones with pent-up hormones.