Damon Salvatore Hot Novels & Stories

“I don’t believe anything from a man who watched us bleed and said nothing.” “If you’re so sure I’m lying…” Carter’s eyes flashed, “then kill me. Right now.” Damon stepped forward, lips curled in disgust. “Too easy.” He stared Carter down like he was filth beneath his boots. “If she’s real,” Damon said coldly, “if Tatiana’s really the one pulling your strings, then let her come for you. Let her crawl through the shadows and save you.” He turned, already walking. “Prove it,” he said over his shoulder. “Or rot.”

“I listen to country music and bake desserts for a living.” “Noted. Okay well, the band he’s lead singer with has a cult following. Heavy metal. But they live that lifestyle too. Drugs, sex, booze.” “I wonder what made Savannah leave James and go with him?” “Well, honey, we don’t care about that. Point is, she did it.” She clicks. More photos. Savannah with heavy eyeliner and half a dress. Damon Cross flipping off the paparazzi while leading her into a club. “Wow, she looks stoned off her face…”

She looked like something out of a dream — soft, alive, untouchable. My nails dug into my glass. The host’s voice boomed through the mic: “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the king of the Hellfire MC, Ryder Bishop, and his beautiful lady, Tessa Morgan!” The room exploded. Cheers, whistles, the flash of cameras. People surged forward for photos, reporters snapped shots like it was a red-carpet premiere. Tessa’s arm was looped through Ryder’s, her smile modest but radiant. I wanted to scream. Cassie whispered, “Holy crap, she’s gorgeous.”

"When you ask me that, I usually don't know what to say." "What's your full name?" "Damon Salvatore," He said with a smile. "Italian, huh," I nodded at him with a smile. I knew. He had the features. The trim figure, olive skin, dark hair, characteristic razor sharp jawline, aquiline nose and lastly, the natural charm and charisma. "I can see why," No wonder he had this pull. He exuded so much confidence. He didn't even have to act it. It was a part of him.

He had a proud Roman nose, a mess of curly hair that hung just above his eyes, high cheekbones, and soft lips that women in the bar would probably die to kiss. Seriously, this is the man I get worried about? “Montreal.” Salvatore smiles. The heavy and thick Italian accent rolls his tongue. He quickly stands up from the couch he sat on and moves forward with one arm extended, ready for a handshake. “I’m glad we wouldn't be stood up tonight. I prepared a feast.” Damon joked, clapping his palm on his shoulder. I stay back a little, letting the two indulge in their reunion even though I know they’ve just seen each other at the engagement.

It's telling me that there is something unusual about the auras these men emit. “ Yeah, it's her,” Santino voice is flat. He fixes me with a bored look. “ She must be brave if she thinks she can murder a dragon with a fork.” The rugged one laughs, and my eyes shoot back to him. He putts a large cigar to his lips, he takes a drag and the tip of glows orange as a thin plume of smock rises. He removes the cigar from his lips and puffs out some smock. The act makes him look so fucking sexy in all his muscle glory standing there.

He pushed my head down till I was on my knees. He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers, revealing his Calvin Klein shorts. He pulled them all down. I never imagined Lorenzo Salvatore could be this big. I look up at him. "Don't tell me it won't fit. Damien and I are the same." Eight inches. He grabbed my neck roughly and choked on it. He pushed his cock into my mouth. I gaged immediately. I suck on it. He grabbed my hair and thrust his cock into my mouth. He grunted at every thrust.

"Such a dramatic little thing, aren't you? Running toward the sound of the guns. Did you truly believe your husband would choose you over the assets I secured?" Damon Salvatore emerged from the thinning smoke, not from the tunnel he was supposed to be running through, but from an upper floor access. He was clean, dressed in an immaculate dark suit, holding a silver-plated pistol as casually as one holds a wine glass. He must have used a separate, immediate escape route from the medical bay to the upper levels, anticipating my move. He had simply cut across the main hall's perimeter, bypassing the fighting, knowing I couldn't have gone far.

He swirled the amber liquid in his glass before dropping it on the glass table beside him. “I am Damien.” He said. Now lighting a cigarette. The room fell silent. The tick of the clock became the only thing that could be heard. His eyes held mine, daring me to look away. And then, the corner of his lips curved. His voice cut through me like a sharp blade as the smell of smoke enveloped me. “...Salvatore DeLuca.” Voice calm. The name struck me like lightning, my body went stiff and I almost passed out on the spot.

Even till this moment, the events of these past few days and the moments we had shared all made me feel closer to him in ways I couldn't quite explain with words. Damon shed the rest of his clothes with a predatory grace, his cock springing free. It was thick and veined, already hardening as it stood proud against his abdomen. The tip glistened with a bead of arousal that made my mouth water. I let my gaze travel over him, taking in the raw power of his form, the way his muscles tensed with restrained need. And it made me feel a surge of empowerment knowing that this man, who was once so cold and distant, now burned for me.