روايات وقصص ضمن Damon Salvatore Outfit

Mason's pov Wednesday 14th July 2021 ******************************* Damon said he would take me as his sub! He called me this morning and said he will make a contract with me but he has to talk to me about it first. It's almost time for him to pick me up and take me to his house so I'm dressed in nice jeans and a button up shirt as I wait. I've also done an enema in case he wants to fuck my ass again. The doorbell rings and I quickly open the door to see Damon in a casual suit. It's fitted to his body perfectly.

He smiled and headed to the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, showered and refreshed, he emerged to find the bedroom unchanged. Lira remained curled on her side now, claiming the warmth he'd left behind. Damian opened his wardrobe—a walk-in closet that cost more than most people's homes, and selected a charcoal Tom Ford suit, crisp white shirt, and burgundy tie. The uniform of power. The armor of a billionaire.

Damon walked in. He was wearing a tailored charcoal suit that fit his massive, muscular frame so perfectly it should have been illegal. His crisp white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, exposing just a hint of his thick neck. As he set his leather briefcase on the mahogany desk, his dark eyes instantly scanned the tiered rows of seats. He found me. For two agonizing, breathless seconds, his gaze locked onto mine. His eyes dropped to the gray hoodie, and a slow, imperceptible smirk touched the corner of his mouth before he looked away, turning on his projector.

The sound of the door opening behind me had me turning my head. Damon stepped inside, dressed in his usual dark jeans and black button-up, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hair was damp, like he’d just come in from a shower somewhere else. He didn’t look at me right away, his eyes instead going to Isla for a brief moment. “You didn’t sleep here,” I said, my voice low but steady. He didn’t flinch. “No. I didn’t.” I crossed my arms over my chest, not bothering to hide the frown that pulled at my lips. “Why?”

He was already there. Damon stood just inside the heavy curtain, his broad shoulders blocking the strobe-lit chaos behind him. He wasn’t in club clothes. He wore dark trousers and a simple white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, as if he’d come straight from something far more serious. In one hand, held loosely between his fingers like a forgotten cigarette, was the first holy Grail shard.

“Mr Damon Grey has arrived. He asked if he could have a moment with you before tonight’s event begins.” I hesitated, my stomach tightening. Finally, I nodded. “Show him in.” The girl hurried away. I brushed invisible lint from my satin blouse, straightened my posture, and took a deep breath. When Damon entered, his quiet confidence seemed to fill the atelier. He wore a charcoal three-piece suit with no tie, the open collar revealing a sculpted throat and a chest tattoo. His cologne was darker than Mike’s – cedarwood, leather, and something smoky underneath.

What could be wrong with that? Everything, I told her. Everything is wrong with this. The knock came at exactly eight o'clock. "Come in," I managed. Damon entered, and my traitorous body responded immediately. He'd changed from his business suit into dark jeans and a black sweater that emphasized his broad shoulders. His hair was slightly damp, like he'd showered too. He stopped just inside the door, grey eyes taking in my appearance. Something flickered across his face—heat, maybe, or hunger—before the cold mask returned.

Standing at 6'3", Damon was the epitome of physical perfection, his broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist, every muscle sculpted as if by an artist's hand. Damon's hair was cropped close to his head, emphasizing the sharp lines of his features. The sun glinted off his skin, highlighting the definition of his muscles beneath the fitted t-shirt he wore, which clung to his chest and arms in a way that showcased his physique without being overly tight. His jeans were well-worn and fit him perfectly, completing the look of effortless cool.

The sound of rustling fabric and drawers opening can be heard, followed by a series of muttered curses. After several minutes, Damon reemerges wearing a tailored suit of black leather and steel. The ensemble fits him perfectly, accentuating his muscular build and intimidating stature. Hazel's breath catches in her throat as she watches Damon emerge from behind the curtain, his imposing figure clad in the sleek black leather and steel. The sight of him fills her with a mix of dread and morbid fascination.

When he reached the living room, the sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks. Damon was sitting on the sofa, dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit that made him look like he’d just stepped out of a high-end fashion magazine. A lit cigar dangled from his fingers, the smoke curling lazily into the air, adding to the air of calm authority that surrounded him. His face, sharp and unreadable, exuded a cold confidence that made him seem untouchable, the embodiment of a mature, formidable man.