Damon Salvatore Aesthetic Novels & Stories

I felt exposed under his gaze, yet strangely powerful. Damon Torres didn’t look away. He held my eyes across the crowded terrace as he slowly raised his glass in a private toast, the corner of his mouth curving into a knowing, devastating smile. The golden Mediterranean sunset painted sharp shadows across his strong features, highlighting the silver threading through his dark hair and the confident set of his broad shoulders. He was older than Liam by at least fifteen years — early forties, I guessed — but carried himself with the kind of effortless authority that made every man around him seem like a boy.

I was taken aback by the takeaway packages that filled the island. “Hello there. Glad you could make it.” Dominic said behind me. When I turned to face him, he had changed into a pair of black jeans and black shirt. And a single gold chain to accesorize . Any ordinary man would have looked like he was about to attend a funeral but Dominic made the outfit look as sexy as hell. I put on my best Sunday smile to cover spreading blush. “I see you went ahead and ordered. What a shame because I was about to whip up something you would never forget.”

“Yeah, but not-“ He cut me off with a laugh making me pout. “I am okay, babe. Nothing a cold shower can’t handle.” “You know I am more than willing to shower with you, right,” I said in a seductive tone as I bit my lower lip. He stared at me with so much lust in his eyes that made my flesh tremble in anticipation. “Soon, love. Soon.” He stole a quick peak on my lips before exiting the car. I glared at his retreating back, a cruel smile on my lips. “Wrong move, Vincenzo Romano.” •••

"I want to bring Damon out of depression, but I’ll not be a doctor if I leave a thousand patients for only one patient." "Aaron Salvatore is an arrogant person, but he is also a father. I hope Mr Salvatore will choose the best doctor for the treatment of his son." Samantha makes herself calm. Her eyes widened in anger when she found the magazine's cover page. It's Aaron Salvatore. Aaron's photo is in the magazine. "Not again." She picks up the magazine and tears the cover photo into pieces until she feels good. "I hate you, Mr. arrogant CEO." She yells at the top of her lungs while calming her frustration and anger toward him.

He was teasing now, but there was an edge to it, a challenge. The memory of that night flashed through my mind. Damien's face when he saw his precious car engulfed in flames, the way the paint bubbled and peeled, the acrid smell of burning rubber and melted plastic. It had been a message, pure and simple. Cross me, and face the consequences. "Well, I must say I didn't expect you to do that," Salvatore added, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. I took another long drag from my cigar, savoring the moment. "I didn't know you liked the show. I should have set up a bigger one to entertain you really well." My reply was casual, but I could see the way his jaw tightened at the implication.

They aren't even back in their seats before they start kissing again. Hatred mixed with pain scorches through me and the urge for revenge pushes me to do the most ridiculous thing ever. I look around, searching, and there's a really hot guy smoking by a corner. He's Damon-Salvatore-hot, in a tight black tee that clings to his muscular body. He even has an arm and a neck tat and ear piercing. Oh, he's perfect! I stomp over, pluck the cigarette from his fingers, and blurt, "I'm sorry, but can you hold your breath for a second?"

"It's my trademark and it's earned me a lot of money." I lift my glass and sip. "I understand why you want me working at your club." I take another sip because it's damned good. "It's wanting me in your bed that I don't understand." The husky sound of my voice may have betrayed me. Damian's expression turns serious. "I went to the Mediterranean already knowing what you looked like and how good you are as a Domme. I arrived just in time to see the tail end of your scene. I didn't expect my cock to respond. In this business, you become jaded. Watching a simple scene doesn't usually do it for me. On the contrary, I need to be vested in my own scene for my body to respond. There was something ab

His closet was filled with either Gray, black and white… He was otherwise known as a sadist for always wearing all things black… He took out a black pants and a black sleeve shirt as usual and effortlessly wore it over his muscular body, shielding his tattoos from everyone… Whenever he's shirtless he looks like the devil but once he has his shirt on he walks like an angel… He ran his fingers through his disheveled hair before picking up his phone and wallet… It was late in the evening already when Damian Stepped outta the mansion and got into his Audi R8 RWD limited edition.. Adrian, who was at the driver's side, turned on the ignition and swiftly drove off… “I want cameras installed in Sama

What kind of men were they? He spent hours researching them, poring over articles, interviews, and social media profiles. Damon, the CEO, a financial titan with an ice-cold gaze. Elias, the enigmatic artist, his sculptures commanding astronomical prices, his interviews rare and philosophical. Kael, the athletic one, a former Olympian turned sports magnate, his smile a blinding flash. Three distinct personalities, yet all sharing that same dangerous aura, that same undeniable power. He memorized their faces, their public personas, trying to reconcile them with the faceless, primal forces that had consumed him. It was impossible. The public image was too polished, too controlled. The memory wa

The old Chevy pickup rumbled to life, and he couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement as he headed toward Aqua's house. The drive to her place was a blur, his mind racing with thoughts of what he would say. When he finally pulled up to her house, he parked the truck and leaned against it, waiting. The morning sun cast a golden glow over his dark skin, which gleamed with a healthy sheen. At 6'3", with his broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist, Damon was the epitome of physical perfection. His athletic frame exuded both strength and grace, every muscle sculpted as if by an artist's hand.