روايات وقصص ضمن Damian Desmond Fanart

Most of it I ignored. Until I reached cell 47. He was already standing at the bars waiting for me. Damien Voss. Thirty-two. Six-foot-four, built like a fucking tank — thick muscle, arms covered in prison tattoos, chest broad enough to block the whole cell door. Shaved head, cold gray eyes, and a scar running from his left eyebrow down to his jaw. He had been inside for life on multiple murders. Everyone called him “The Beast.” He smiled slow when I stopped in front of his cell. It was not a friendly smile.

Mark said hesitantly. "Cancel the meeting, Mark. I have to see this painting for myself," Damian replied coldly. "Everyone in New York is talking about Sheina Blake. They say her paintings can make someone feel as if their soul is being flayed. I want to see if she’s truly that good." Damian strode into the gallery. He ignored the whispers of the guests who recognized him as the arrogant billionaire from Manhattan. His footsteps led him straight to the main painting. He froze in front of the massive canvas. The red and black colors... somehow, they made it hard for him to breathe. It felt like looking at the scene of an accident. It felt like seeing... Clara’s death.

I straightened slowly and turned. Damian was leaning against the island counter, arms folded over his bare chest, wearing nothing but black tactical pants that hung low on his hips. His skin still gleamed faintly—fresh from a workout or a shower, I couldn’t tell. A single dog tag rested in the hollow of his throat. His hair was damp, pushed back, and his eyes were locked on me like a sniper scope. He didn’t speak at first. Just looked. Slowly. Thoroughly. From my bare feet up my legs, lingering where the panties cut high on my hips, over the strip of bare stomach the tank exposed, pausing at my breasts—nipples already tight and visible through the thin fabric—then finally meeting my eyes.

“You think you’re going to get answers by trying to beat them out of him? You're just going to end up killing him and there is not going to be good for us to it.” “He deserves worse.” I snapped. “Maybe. But that doesn’t mean we waste our energy now.” Damon’s voice dropped further. “Use your head. Not your rage.” I clenched my jaw. Behind us, Carter said, voice ragged, “She called herself Tatiana. She… she said things about Delilah. About power. About what’s coming.” Damon turned slowly. “Spare me.” Carter blinked. “You don’t believe me?” Damon’s expression hardened. “I don’t believe anything from a man who watched us bleed and said nothing.”

Fuck! "Am I... that ugly?" Damien fidgeted uncomfortably, his confidence evaporating under my prolonged silence. "No," I blurted. "You actually look like quite the snack. God damn!" Calm down! Thirsty much?! A chime rang in my head. [First Love Interest Unlocked: Damien Anderson • Age: 17 • Stamina: 100/100 • Strength: 100/100 • Charm: 35/100 • Intelligence: 100/100]

He asked as he roughly grabbed hold of my chin making me hiss in pain. “I didn't do anything wrong..” I resisted.. there's absolutely no way I'm gonna admit that I did something wrong… “Stubborn are we now?” He smirked mysteriously as he raised my chin so I could look into those blue eyes of his .. Staring up close and seeing those lifeless blue eyes I began to doubt if what the old lady said was actually true.. Damian was someone who undoubtedly hates colorful things and there's absolutely no way someone like him would be a lover of colors.

“Really? That sounds really cool.” “Not exactly. I haven’t completed a painting in years and the ones I manage to just end up in the dumpster.” Damian focuses on the cookies and I sense that he’s avoiding eye contact. Somehow, the fact that he’s shy because he’s opening up to me makes him so adorable. Resisting the urge to reach out and pinch his cheeks, I shape the last cookie and place it on the pan. “Well, it’s a hobby which means that as long as you enjoy the process, it doesn’t have to be perfect. I would love to see your paintings some day.”

Me: (sent him all the pictures and videos of me on his clothes). Damien: I need sunglasses! You are glowing too much, my eyes might hurt. Me: You like them? Damien: Babe😍 you are hot🔥. Is that you shaking my butt? Me: 😂,I was playing around. Damien: I will like to see you shake them tonight. Me: I will think about it. Damien: I will help you think fast. Is that my Nike? Me: It is mine now! Damien: Silly! You look great in it.

Before I could react, the door was yanked open. I stumbled forward, my knees weak, my heart lodged in my throat. Damian stood there, pants still undone, his cock still hard and glistening in the light. He didn’t bother covering up. He just smiled slowly, knowing and dangerously predatory. “So,” he said casually, like we were discussing the weather, “you’re the one who writes smuts huh?” His smile widened. “I’m a fan.”