Unbuttoned Shirt Quotes & Sayings

He didn't move, didn't blink. He didn't seem like a man who heard no too often. Too bad. But he must have found something he liked, because he slowly undid his tie, then unbuttoned his shirt.

She would not drool.

He didn't have an ounce of fat on him. Austin had said Morgan was forty years old, but he didn't look it. Nor did he have the body of a twenty-year-old man. Callie didn't want that anyway. His body had aged beautifully and was clearly well cared for. He had some hair on his chest, but not much. The hair on his belly trailed down to beneath his dress pants and Callie did her best not to swallow her tongue.

She persevered.

Barely. — Carrie Ann Ryan

And sure enough,the youth in question was not his usual dapper self. His face was puffy, his eyes red and wild; his shirt(distressingly unbuttoned)hung over his trousers in sloppy fashion. All very out of charactar: Mandrake was normally defined by his rigid self-control. Somthing seemed to have stripped all that away. Well, the poor lad was emotionally brittle.He needed sympathetic handling. "You're a mess," I sneered "You've lost it big time. What's happened? All the guilt and self-loathing suddenly get to you? It can't just be that someone else called me, surly? — Jonathan Stroud

I want a God that makes me twirl.' I jumped off the couch. I untucked and unbuttoned my shirt so it would flow like a robe. 'Like this. I can do this for God.' I held my hands out. I twirled and twirled and twirled. 'Look,' I said. 'Look. — Rabih Alameddine

A door behind the desk opened, and a short, wiry man entered. His short-sleeved dress shirt was shiny and unbuttoned down to the navel, revealing a host of gold chains and, uh, bling. His arms were knotted, ropy muscle. Have you ever seen someone who gave you the chills just by entering a room? This guy had that. Even the big bouncer, who had to be a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than the short guy, took half a step back. A hush fell over us. The — Harlan Coben

She opens the book. Each sheet has one or two antique photographs stuck with corner tabs. The images are neither black and white nor gray, but hold that brownish gold of time and exposure to air.

"This man is your great grandfather. Look at that face, Pedro. It is a mean mean face." He's standing in front of a wood pile, holding an axe. "I think he was only a teenager there, a long time before he met my mother. But look how handsome he was. And how mean."

It's funny the way she smiles when she talks about him. Saying he's mean has a perverse joy for her, as if she can stick her tongue out at him and his hands are tied so he can't slap her for doing it. She's right, though. There's no lingering smile, no potential for mirth in the burlap of his skin. I notice snow on the ground at his feet, but he's wearing a thin, unbuttoned shirt, showing no sign of cold. — Laurie Perez

In the past, some people exist in pictures, some in words. I smile as among the photos I catch a glimpse of the black-haired, black-eyed boy who came as close as was possible, after you, to breaking my heart. He is best remembered as a visual: his smile, unbuttoned shirt, his tan. His words, pretty as they were, dissolved like the smoke rings he blew around them. — Joanna Barnard

As she hung in the seat, Bart stepped back and raked her with a molten gaze. "I imagine you," he said, "with your collar undone. With your habit shirt unbuttoned and your hair unpinned." She swallowed. "That is a lot of undoing. — Theresa Romain

He'd unbuttoned his shirt so the night breeze would soothe him; his body always ran too hot. The blood. Too hot. The large, gold crucifix on his neck, dangling to his thick chest hairs, caught there, and winked in the candlelight. His childhood prayers. For food. Warmth. His beloved mother. That the cruelty of his father. Stop. No more. Beatings. He never. Stopped. Beating her. Mama. [...] Pompeii remembered - like tuning into a clear TV channel - his mother's gentle face. Her fingertips on his boy's face, calming him to sleep. The sound of his father's drunken entrance, when she would hold her breath, stop stroking his boy face. — Alma Luz Villanueva

He was wearing a plain white oxford unbuttoned over a T-shirt, but something about the way they fit made him look put together, like an Abercrombie model (well, like an Abercrombie model who had remembered to put on a shirt that morning). — Claire LaZebnik

Can you take off your shirt?"
I couldn't see Rachel clearly on the other side of my truck's cab. My eyes hadn't yet adjusted to the darkness of my secret make-out hideout. But I could hear her
laughing her ass off. "Not even for Sean."
"Well, we have to make it look good somehow. Do you mind if I take off mine? My dad says I look like sex on a stick with my shirt off."
"Knock yourself out."
I started to pull my shirt over my head. I was used to wearing T-shirts. When it wouldn't give, I remembered I was wearing something Sean-like. As I unbuttoned it, I
asked, "Want to make a bet how long it takes him to get out here? — Jennifer Echols

Good evening, Miss Fairmont."
She saw Black sprawled out in a wingback chair, jacketless, the white shirt he wore unbuttoned to the waist, revealing an enticing view of his chest and the fine black hair that was hidden beneath. "I was beginning to wonder if you would come tonight. It is midnight after all."
On cue the large pendulum clock in the hall began to chime out the hour. Isabella met his gaze, marveled at the dark layers in his eyes. He appeared at once indolent, yet supremely masculine, and in his state of dishabille he was utterly breathtaking. — Charlotte Featherstone

When everyone just shook their heads, he unbuttoned his shirt and,
oh good Lord, shrugged out of it, bunching it up to slip beneath her
head like a pillow.
Don't look at him, she told herself. Don't look
She looked.
Sweet Jesus. — Jill Shalvis

He unsnapped the top button on his jeans.
My eyes widened."Sneaky bastard."
I gnawed my lip in pleasure,watching the past,present,and future Master of Cadogan House in the state of utter abandon:shirt on the floor,jeans unbuttoned,his arousal obvious. — Chloe Neill

Emma swallowed. She was remembering Julian, two years ago, standing in the overlapping circles of fire where the parabatai ritual was performed. The look on his face as they each stepped into the central circle and the fire rose up around them, and he unbuttoned his shirt to let her touch the stele to his skin and carve the rune that would bind them together for their whole lives. She knew if she just reached out now, she could touch it, touch the rune cut into his shoulder, the rune she had put there ... — Cassandra Clare

Not more than a couple of minutes passed before his brand new shirt was completely unbuttoned and removed, tossed somewhere unknown. The ink that decorated his body did the rest, earning him more than a few appreciative glances. — Kindle Alexander

Would you believe Nell told me off for kissing Sienna in the corridor?"

Felix couldn't fight his own grin. "Way I heard it, you were doing more than kissing. Wasn't there a half-unbuttoned shirt involved?"

Hawke's bad-tempered grown reverberated through Felix's bones. "I can't wait to have ammunition against you. I hope Dezi pounces on you in public. — Nalini Singh

My hands were trembling, but only because of who he was, not because I was scared of him. I oddly felt calmed by his presence. He smiled as he placed his hands in the pockets of his charcoal gray pants. He was finely dressed in a black button up shirt that was unbuttoned at the top low enough to see where his chest began. It clung to him, accentuating every muscular detail. I shook my head. I had to stop evaluating him.
"Is everything okay?" Ethan asked, tilting his head to the side, trying to read my expression.
"Huh ... oh, yeah, fine. — Nicole Gulla