Steven Seagal Shirtless Novels & Stories

Behind me, I heard him laugh-a rare sound, deep and unguarded, something that made my heartbeat stumble. For some reason, that laugh alone managed to make this whole night seem a little less terrifying. ****** Steven's POV I stood before the full-length mirror, readjusting the cloth of the black trousers on my waist so they sat right. The vest on me underneath was white, hugging all the muscles a lifetime of intensive training had grown upon my frame. The eyes staring back into mine were vaguely familiar, alien in their normality-an Alpha, a fighter, a male that had dealt with too much blood and shared the weight of too many on his shoulders.

She let out a sigh. Selena began to take her shirt off in a clumsy manner. It ended up on the ground, and she was left standing there wearing only a bra and pants. She slipped out of her jeans and prayed that her underwear didn't have any holes in it. It's not like she went out and bought a brand-new set every day. While she was doing the most humiliating and demeaning act she had ever done in her life, he stared at her while leaning against the wall. She couldn't even recall disrobing like this with Gerald, he wasn’t much into foreplay.

After a while, he nodded to the other guy's name, I can't remember for the life of me. Walking through the door, I find Mason standing shirtless, wearing only gray sweatpants. His hair is slightly tousled like he's been running his hand through it. Those tone muscles are on full display. My eyes dipped to his six packs, down to his abdomen belt. The man is sexy, and the small trail of hair disappears into his sweatpants. It doesn't even help that I already know what he's packing under those pants. The silence between us was loud as we looked at each other, not breaking eye contact. I realized he was not going to speak or make a move, so I decided to go first.

"Oh! Sorry, Miles! It seems like you're shirt didn't make the cross. I'll fix that bug later!" "Woah, dead eyes... you have six-pack?! You're skinny, but you have a solid body build. How are you so weak?! "Hahaha! Miles is shirtless in the middle of the city!" I'm shirtless! Don't tell me... The only shirt I brought from the previous world is gone?! "Ishigami! What happened to my shirt?!" "It probably disintegrated." "What?!" Forget about it! That isn't the worse thing these brats have done to me! I don't mind being shirtless cause damn! Do I have a sexy body!

He swore he didn't sound annoyed, but Sebestian grinned anyway. "Well, since you're so desperate to see me naked-" "Who would want to see you naked?" Allen muttered, even though he desperately wanted all his clothes off. He let out a slight sigh of relief when Sebestian obliged and pulled his shirt over his head, kicking his jeans off soon after.

He was shirtless and had his back turned, his boy was tanned, and boy was he ripped, his arms were huge, I know they were from the clothes he wore but seeing him bareback was a different story. “Taking your fill I see” shit, I've been caught staring.

The shirt clung to his frame, subtly emphasising the contours of his veiny arms, a glimpse of his toned physique that added an extra layer of allure. Logan paired his top with dark-wash jeans, offering a tantalising view of his calves and a perfectly carved posterior. The ensemble exuded a magnetic charm, showcasing his knack for blending comfort with style. White sneakers adorned his feet, adding a touch of effortless elegance to the overall look, as if to say, "I effortlessly look this good." Completing the ensemble was the unmistakable dog tag hanging around his neck. The metallic tag added a touch of rugged charm, a subtle nod to his experiences and the resilience that defined his journe

Drake said quietly. Miguel paused, then turned his head toward him with a sly look. Without a word, he peeled the shirt off again, standing there shirtless. The morning sun casting soft shadows over the lean lines of his torso. "Is it?" Miguel asked, casually tossing the shirt aside.

He was dressed in a black tactical shirt that stretched across his chest, his sleeves rolled up to reveal thick forearms covered in scars and ink. "Get up," he said, his voice a low command. "Today, we see if you’re worth the silk you’re wearing." "Where are we going?" I asked, throwing back the covers. I felt exposed in the thin silk pajamas he’d provided, but I refused to show it.

However, my eyes are glued to one person. Kell Cross is standing in formation with the other football players. He’s shirtless and wearing simple gray basketball shorts, and his hair is damp as sweat drizzles down his face, neck, and muscled chest. Chest heaving, he leans down with one hand on the ground and the other on his back. His strong legs are positioned for a play. One bent in front, and the other stretched behind his back. As he and his opponent stand face to face, I lick my lips as I watch a drop of sweat glide sensuously down his neck.