Damon Salvatore Aesthetic Novels & Stories

"Twenty million euros." Dante Salvatore's voice cut through the murmur of the auction hall. Around him, wealthy men in expensive suits shifted in their velvet chairs. The air was thick with cigar smoke and the kind of silence that came when serious money entered the room. The auctioneer, a thin man with wire-rimmed glasses, paused. His gavel hung in the air. "Twenty million euros to the gentleman in black. Going once—" Dante didn't look at the other bidders. He kept his eyes on the stage, on the figure standing under the harsh spotlight. His heart slammed against his ribs so hard he thought it might crack through bone.

It sits at an angle, as if it’s slipped. “Wondered where you both were,” he says, coming in. “I’m supposed to tell you they’re going to do Secret Santa soon.” I gesture at his halo. “Really?”“I’m a fallen angel.” He sits beside Saxon. The three of us are alike in many ways, different in others. We look very similar. Damon’s a younger, beefier version of Saxon and me—not so many lines at the corner of his eyes, a bit more energy, an inch taller, a tad heavier. But whereas Saxon and I are fairly similar in character, Damon is more irreverent, some would say cocky, impatient, easily bored, and yet brilliant for all that, both in his work and his painting. When he settles down, he’s going to be

They had left nothing for me to use as a weapon. The steel door grated open, splitting the darkness with a blinding shaft of pale yellow light. I squinted, raising a hand to shield my eyes, preparing myself for whatever violence was about to enter. It wasn't a mercenary. It was Damon Salvatore. He stepped into the cell, impeccably dressed in a light grey suit, carrying an expensive briefcase and looking infuriatingly fresh. He looked around the cell with a sneer, as if the cold and the darkness were a necessary, aesthetic component of the scene.

Seeing her. “And you strike me as a collector who loves Caravaggio not for the artistry,” Elena replied, her voice cool, “but for the way he rendered violence with such breathtaking aesthetics.” Dante let out a quiet laugh. “Touché. I’m Dante Salvatore.” “I know who you are.” She didn’t extend her hand. “Elena Lafayette.” They moved through the pleasantries like fencers circling. Paris. New York. Art consulting. His research. Aria’s paranoidly thorough fictional past. Elena throwing truths at his face like knives.

My gaze followed the improvised gallery and there- For all that was sacred sake, Damon, he was spectacular. His long hair was braided in a simple model but adorned with silver rings, some rebel strands falling on his gorgeous face. First time I see Damon neatly shaved. His dimples were clearly visible. And what a sensual mouth- I quickly shacked the thought. He was dressed simple, yet classy. In a completely black suit, and knee-high boots. It perfectly hugged his built body. A massive sword hung at his hip.

David bowed down getting scared as he gulped his saliva and left the room. Damon sighed and got back to his work. He had black hairs and a perfect body with six abs and muscular chest. He was young with an extraordinaraly streamlined jawline. He was fair and his arms always showcase his nerves. he was charming and wherever he went, girls were always willing to spread legs for him.

That was why he chose to do it the way that he did. “Damon knows what he is doing, and Damon is well aware of everything that he is playing with. However, it does not concern him. He does not even give a damn. He does not care.” I said, looking at Alpha Kael. “You know for a fact that he does not care about me.” “That is not true, Sienna.”

“Damon, man, I see you’re still with the same girl. That’s new, don’t you think?” “You should mind the fucking business that pays you, man,” Damon retorted playfully, drawing a hearty laugh from the groups, and we moved further into the lounge. Then we rounded the corner at the end of the hallway, the most mesmerizing aesthetic I had ever seen hitting my eyes. The hallway was decorated with a flurry of colorful lights that danced on the floors and walls in circles, flowers hanging low from the ceiling. “This place is beautiful,” I mumbled in amazement, and I felt Damon’s gaze on my face. “I know right,” he muttered, “really beautiful.”

One I could recognise anywhere. Seated, with head bowed on his thigh was Damon. He was asleep; both arms folded over his knee and he wasn't wearing a shirt and I could see that from the dull amber lights that flooded into the room from outside. His hair was let free, no longer bound by the strings that usually held them together. They fell freely over his head, brushing his arm, shoulders and broad back, making him look wild— and so beautiful. I swallowed when my eyes caught the outlines of his tattoo. They traveled from his back up to his shoulder. There were fiery drawings reaching up to his neck like he was being consumed by flames and I caught the drawing of an eagles' talon scratching h

But after all, destiny was on our side. My phone vibrates and I can see a message from June. “Don’t forget to send me pictures of you in a swimsuit, I want to see your beautiful tan and your sexy little ass.” I roll my eyes, this girl is truly incorrigible. Damon comes out of the water and comes closer to me. It looks really good as a lightweight ensemble. He must honestly consider considering a modeling career, because damn he's hot. he leans down and places his lips on mine