Damon Salvatore Photos Novels & Stories

Damon is standing there, smiling. How the fuck did he get inside this house?

Damien’s voice was unnaturally calm, but it cut through the silence like a razor’s edge. Caruso laughed, pulling me to my feet and dragging me in front of him, a cold pistol suddenly pressed against my temple. “Salvatore! So glad you could make it. I was worried your broken heart might have slowed you down.” “Last chance,” Damien said, taking a slow step forward, Marco fanning out to his right.

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.

But the truth was glaring right at me. It was a picture of her. She was in a beautiful wedding dress, looking like a goddess. And she was smiling. A real smile. Not the fake one she used to give me. And she was with a man who looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine. Damian Moretti. The name was familiar. Very familiar. I scrolled through the article, my anger rising with every word. "Bianca Salvatore, only daughter of billionaire Julio Salvatore, CEO of Salvatore Corp, married Damian Moretti, heir to the Moretti Empire, in a lavish ceremony today in Los Angeles."

The SUV cut through the winding mountain roads, headlights slicing through the mist. The Draven convoy—three black vehicles moving in tight formation—headed toward the Catskills cabin, the tension inside thick enough to choke on. Damon sat in the backseat with Sarah, his hands clasped together, eyes locked on the road. “Who was in the photo?” she finally asked. Damon hesitated. “Someone I once trusted. Someone I once loved.” Sarah turned toward him. “What happened to them?”

Just as I turned toward my bed, my bedroom door opened and there he was again. Damon stood there, wearing only gray sweatpants. He was shirtless. His abs was looked like muscle that has been sulpted. He had scars that ran across his midsection and shoulders. Plus, there was a fresh fresh scratch mark running down his left side. “Sophie,” he said, his voice was rough and it sounded very dangerous. “We need to talk. Now.” He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. I suddenly became very much aware of how little I was wearing. My silk robe had slipped open slightly, revealing the swell of my breasts and the curve of my thighs.

Drops of water were dripping slowly to his abdomen, then he suddenly disappeared behind that darn towel. I couldn’t help daydreaming about it. I looked back up and saw a wicked smirk on his face, flaming me up. Today, he was wearing all black like always, but this time, he added a black leather jacket to his “Damon Salvatore” look. It made him look like the badass he was, making me think in a different perspective.

He wasn’t even halfway through when Damian suddenly spoke. “Salvo.” The driver paused. Damian had already pulled out his phone. He scrolled quickly before holding the screen in front of the man. “Was it this man?” The driver looked closely. Then nodded immediately. “Yes.” “That’s him.” The name meant nothing to me. So I turned to Damian. “Who is Salvo?” Damian’s expression hardened slightly. “One of Victor’s men.” Silence filled the small store. For a moment, none of us spoke. Then I thanked the men for their time and walked back to the car.

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 is,’ Lochlan replied with a curt nod. Damon carried our luggage inside. ‘Boss, why don’t you rest this afternoon? I’ll go and see if Mr Saltzman’s party has surfaced. Once they are awake, Danny and I can take everyone on a proper tour of the resort.’ ‘Make the arrangements,’ Lochlan said, his tone dismissive. I gave Damon my most professional smile. ‘Mr Salvatore, just contact me once everything is coordinated.’ ‘Please, call me Damon,’ he said, flashing me a brilliantly white, toothy grin. ‘Of course.’