Damon Salvatore Shirtless Novels & Stories

Lana responded. The very next moment, the doors to the house push open, and Damien eclipses the sunlight coming in. He was wearing a high-necked, deep crimson shirt that looked outstanding against his skin. Lord help me. The shaggy black hair on his head had been tamed to a certain extent although it was still long. The shirt was made of some heavily silky material that draped across the broad expanse of his chest, clinging with loving detail to each chiseled muscled group. It was tucked into a pair of black pants tight enough to prove that he did hit the gym on daily basis. I swallowed hard and tried not to think about that. High, shiny black boots that came to his knees completed the outfi

I was walking in as someone who had lost her place. The click of my heels echoed down the corridor, sharp and rhythmic, and that was when I saw him. Damon. He stood at the far end, shirtless, his body still glistening with water. His hair was wet, pushed back from his forehead, and the maids scurried around him, trying to mop up the mess he left behind. He laughed, carefree, loud, unbothered—as usual. Typical Damon. Reckless, arrogant, and too full of himself for his own good. But damn, he looked good.

That is the system. That is the deal. You do not get the roses without the winter. You do not get the light without the dark. You do not get the spring without the fall. I do not know if I can accept that. I do not know if I want to accept that. But wanting has nothing to do with it. The system does not ask for permission. The system just is. --- The door opens. Damon steps out. He is wearing a sweater. Grey. Soft. The one I bought him last Christmas. He pretended to hate it. He wears it all the time.

I was looking at Alpha Damon shirtless. The first view I woke up to in the morning was that of a shirtless Alpha. His chest was massive and broad and his muscles bulged before my eyes. The view before my eyes was mouth watering. He was not too muscular and he was not too skinny. He was the perfect build that any girl could imagine. I could come to love this man if he was not such a beast. I did not realise it but I must have stared too long because his sinister smile came again, this time even more thwarted.

And, like always, he’s shirtless again. Salvador, and like always, a cigarette in his lips. He is easily in the realm of 6’1, onyx of gold for eyes…he is shirtless again. That black serpent of a tattoo is across his back again. Such bulging arms—they look like they could crush walls. Then his chest, it looks as hard as a black rock. For what reason do the abs on his stomach look so strict. They look like they ache, painfully tight and fortunately, they lead into a v-line that would mean his—

The next morning, Logan arrived at the office before sunrise, determined to regain control. He’d barely slept, his mind replaying that shameful scene in his chair on loop. The way he’d come like a teenager just from imagining Damonn Vale’s mouth was Pathetic and weak. He would not let it happen again. By nine o’clock, Damon strolled in wearing another sinful outfit, a crisp light blue shirt that hugged his lean, toned torso and dark trousers that looked almost painted on. The top two buttons were undone, revealing the delicate bop of his Adam's apple.

And I would rather be wearing this instead of one of his shirts. Dominic stood by the shelf near the fireplace, shirtless this time, wearing only dark pants. The firelight caught on the planes of his shoulders and the shadows along his back. He turned as soon as he heard me, one corner of his mouth lifting. “I trust that you feel more comfortable in a nightgown.” “I would rather choose shorts and a top. But these are more comfortable than your shirts.” I said, making him chuckle. “You’re making yourself at home.” He said casually as he saw me looking around.

**Lennon (11:05 AM):** working out? **Damian (11:06 AM):** Yeah! **Lennon (11:06 AM):** can i see? A few seconds stretched. Lennon stared at the screen like it might bite him. Then the photo loaded. Damian in the penthouse gym—shirtless, skin gleaming with fresh sweat under the overhead LEDs. Chest carved, shoulders broad, arms flexed from whatever set he’d just finished. One hand held the phone out for the mirror selfie; the other raked back through damp, dark hair. A single bead of sweat traced a slow, devastating path down the center of his sternum, past the snarling bear tattoo, disappearing into the deep V below his navel. The waistband of his black gym shorts sat low. Too low.

~Aria~ “Who's there–” “Me.” Right there, Damon was shirtless and cladded in nothing but a white tight boxers that had the full print of his cock lined in it. My eyes went wide. A quiet spark flared inside me. In a flash, I spun and covered my face. “You–whh–put on your clothes!” He came behind me. “Why are you acting so shy…you already saw it all.” A lump landed straight into my stomach. “Still…it's a bit—”

“Like I always say, you don’t know what’s good for you. If I can have my way, I wanna see you in this every fucking minute, hour. Although I know it’s going to be a hell of a disaster. Imagine looking at something exquisitely beautiful, and you can’t have it the way you want it. Think about it. How’s that feel?” His hand pressed harder into my back, while the thumb of his other hand ran feverishly across my lower lip. “So, get the damn dress.” Just then, Sarah, who I had just noticed, cleared her throat loudly. How long had she been standing there? Did she witness this electric moment between Damon and me? “Sir, you’re here,” she greeted, curtsying slightly. Damon acknowledged her with a nod