Damiano David Nude Novels & Stories

Droplets of water were glistening on his skin, enhancing the contours of his physique, chiseled with defined muscles rippling beneath his taut skin. His broad shoulders lead down to a well-defined chest complimenting his abdomen. That is a canvas of defined abs. “You look like a hungry female wolf that wants to rip my body apart with the look on your face,” his voice broke me out of my thoughts. My cheeks turned red out of embarrassment. I didn’t realize that I was staring at him for too long. Silence ensued as he moved past me to his room. I unhurriedly face-palmed myself for getting caught while drooling over Alpha Damon.

Chapter Eighty-Eight – Faked. Damien found himself at the door of Diablo’s bar again. He adjusted his mask and knocked on the door. The huge man opened for him and he sprinted his way to Diablo’s little office. He knocked again and was offered entry. “You are still wearing this mask.” Diablo laughed, clearing the files on his table to reveal another file underneath them. “I figured out who Jenna Marbles is, that’s why I called.” “That’s why I came.” Damien exhaled, taking off his mask.

l say laughing hoping she would just agree with me. "Okay then," she says and hugs me. "Goodnight sweetie." "Night night mom." As soon as I get in my room, I spot Treadway flipping through my photo album. I had not removed any of my pictures with Madison, Jeremy and Jason from high school so he was staring at a picture of me and Jason in swim suits looking all lovey-dovey. "That's Jason." I say as l move closer to where he was sitting, at the edge of my bed.

"My father won't let you leave." Damian says to me as he barges in to my room with no care in the world that I was still sleeping. "What do you mean he won't let me leave with you?" I ask sitting up to look at him. Soft tingles shoot up my body when my eyes rest on him. Damian was shirtless as sweat glistened on his hard chest. Gray sweatpants hanging very low but showing me the necessary lines that lead my brain to dirty road.

“Show me.” They sat on the couch together. Kai opened the link and the screen filled with the campaign images. There he was larger than life. Shirtless on a Milan rooftop at golden hour, the phoenix tattoo glowing across his chest, jeans riding low on his hips, eyes staring straight into the camera like he was daring someone to look away. Damien stared at the screen without saying anything for a long moment. “Fuck,” he finally breathed. Kai glanced at him. “Too much?” Damien shook his head slowly, eyes still glued to the images. “No. It’s… you look incredible. But seeing you like that everywhere…” He swallowed hard. “It’s doing things to me.”

She opened her eyes and looked at his face, his lust filled eyes was staring at her, his sexy lips turned into smirk. Sliding his hand under her back he unclaspped her bra and removed the last piece of cloth which was playing a role of barrier between him and her blossoms... "So fucking Beautiful..." Damian exhaled heavily and swirled his tongue on her hard nipples, biting on one and playing with another with his rough hands, pleasurable currents started erupting in her body when he sucked hard on them and then licked them to soothe it, she arched her back but he placed his hand on her lower stomach and pinned her down on the bed...

There was clear tension between us, and Damian’s obvious dislike for me made things a bit more complicated. Just as I was about to turn and leave, the door suddenly opened. My heart skipped a beat as I found myself face-to-face with Damian. He stood there shirtless, wearing only a pair of loose trousers that hung low on his hips. His skin glistened with water droplets from a recent shower, and he was in the process of drying his hair with a towel.

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.

Damian was lying on his back, eyes tightly shut, one leg bent to form a triangle. His left hand rested behind his head, while he stroked himself hard in a vertical motion with his right in a slow, deliberate rhythm. His body was glorious in its rawness, each muscle catching the low light in waves of bronze and shadow. His mouth hung open, letting out the most guttural, erotic groans I’d heard in a long time.

Then, under the restaurant’s crystal lights, he lifts it. Gasps ripple again. My breath catches. His torso is sculpted perfection—hard abs, skin like golden marble. But there’s no tattoo. Not a trace. My body goes cold. “No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “No, it was there. I saw it.” Damian doesn’t look smug. He looks calculating. Dangerous. He slips his phone from his pocket, swipes, then thrusts it in my face. On the screen: a photo of him. And another man.