Jordan Belfort Costume Novels & Stories

I don’t either, but time is running short, and with another woman gone, our options are frighteningly thin. Somehow, someway, I have to separate Jordan from his all-access key card for our plan to work. No one is getting into the Pit without it. ~ I’ve offered myself up as the sacrificial sub, but it takes me an hour to spot Jordan in the public dungeons, now dressed in leather pants. Amid the crack of whips and the cries of pleasure and pain, he tries to give off the all-American-hero vibe with his winning smile. He’d spiced it up with a bit of badass, punctuated by the barbed-wire tattoo around one of his biceps and his gym-cut abs rippling between peeks of his black leather vest, without

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” He opened the door for me with a playful bow. “Shall we?” The drive to Scott’s house was filled with Zach’s easy humor and Liv’s playlist blasting from the speakers. I tried to relax, tried not to overthink what the night might bring. But the moment we stepped through the door and I saw Jordan standing across the room — eyes locked on me, that unreadable expression on his face — my breath caught. He looked different tonight too. His usual black hoodie was replaced by a dark button-up, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, veins visible. He wasn’t even trying, and yet he was the only person I could see.

CASPIAN Dorian's brown eyes shimmered under the golden lights, the pupils dilating like they were drinking it all in. He was dressed in a navy velvet blazer over a white silk shirt, with gold cufflinks that caught the light whenever he moved. Slim-fit trousers hugged his legs, and his black patent leather shoes reflected the glow of the fairy lights. His hair was styled to perfection, not a single strand out of place. The moment his gaze landed on me, his face lit up. I straightened from the fence and tried to smile back.

replied Porter resolving himself to make the trek to his first class, even with it being gym he still wanted to attempt to make a good impression, just in case it carried over to the other classes on his public record. Porter Fulton adjusted his glasses and moved toward the place where the blue-haired girl pointed out south of the bungalows he'd just left and toward the massive structure, he'd neglected to see beforehand. "Don't forget your uniform!" shouted the blue-haired girl before waving her hand and suddenly making a t-shirt and a pair of blue basketball shorts appear on his body in place of his kakis and long sleeves white button down out of thin air. "What the hell?" he asked with an

"I am not kidding either. At least not with a lucky meat like you!" Jordan uttered as Hattiea's eyes widened at his indirect use of humour. There was something he tried to imply by that 'lucky meat' but Hattiea was too distracted to give it a thought. Her entire attention was directed on how Jordan held her captured. Seemingly wearing a pair of high heels with a long revealing gown tonight was a huge mistake. She fount it difficult to handle her own weight at this situation, while struggling to strengthen herself.

A table was set for two with white linen and crystal glasses. And there was Jordan. He had abandoned the suit. He wore dark jeans and a black t-shirt that clung to his biceps. He was standing by a grill, flipping steaks with focused precision. He looked less like a billionaire tyrant and more like... a man. A dangerous, incredibly attractive man. He looked up as I stepped onto the terrace. His eyes swept over the white dress, and I saw his nostrils flare. He inhaled sharply, as if he were drinking me in.

She sat up and found a box at the foot of the bed, Lone Wolves' intricate logo boldly on it, in it was an oversized three pieces suit, black-rimmed spec and a purple diamond watch, which looked like one for effeminate men and a limited edition men perfume. 'why oversized' Then she realized he was trying to camouflage her curves. She got into the ensuite bathroom and took a quiet shower. *** Fyre wore a sparkling white dinner dress that hug her upper house perfectly, the right side was slit up to her midthigh. Her dress complimented the white overcoat Jordan had on, his outgrown hair combed with a small side part, he looked casual and formal at the same time. " Moderate your Alcohol intake, y

By 6 PM, he was dressed in his most expensive Tom Ford suit, his hair perfectly styled, his game face firmly in place. Jerome emerged from the east wing at 6:15 wearing midnight blue Armani that made his dark eyes look almost black. His hair was styled back from his face, revealing sharp cheekbones and a jawline that could cut glass. Collins hated that he noticed. "Ready for battle?" Jerome asked, adjusting his cufflinks,silver, understated, probably worth more than Collins's car. "This isn't a battle. It's business." "With your father, isn't it always both?"

“Most men I know pissed away their fortunes. I’m the only one I know, that made a fortune pissin'” ~ Frank Costello MELODY POV “Took you long enough. Were you dolling yourself up?'' I leered watching Jordan descend down the stairs in majestic steps, clad in a black tux that made him look like a sex god. His jet-black hair was jelled on the sides of his head, and I could smell him from where I stood in a red gown with a slit that ran up my thigh to the lean of my waist.

He walked to the room and sat down at the edge of her bed. Ysabelle gave him a quick perusal and tried to hide a snicker. She closed the door and came to stand in front of him. “Did you really think you can disguise yourself like that? You are Jordan Bell. Anyone can easily pick you out in this building” Ysabelle said at the dramatic oversize shirt and trousers he wore. Jordan gave her no reply, instead, he stared into space. His gaze wasn’t even focused and he was not looking at her either.