Damon Salvatore Shirtless Novels & Stories

I breathed, taking in the sight of the invisible battle behind the walls of the skyscraper before me. Damon came out of the car from the other side. Dressed in a white shirt, a black jacket and a long overcoat. His hair was slicked back with an effortless wave and his jaw was shape into a strong square. The gold in his eyes burned brighter and he looked more of a gentleman than a man who would sign a stranger into a marriage.

Sienna sat cross-legged on her bed, scrolling absentmindedly through her phone, while the distant hum of the resort — waves rolling in, laughter from the pool — floated up from outside. The bathroom door opened, and Damon stepped out, still toweling his damp hair. His skin glistened faintly from the shower, the muscles in his shoulders flexing as he moved. A towel was slung lazily around his neck, but the rest of him… was entirely shirtless. Sienna glanced up once — once — and instantly regretted it. “You know,” she said, voice deliberately flat, “they sell shirts in the resort gift shop.” Damon didn’t even look at her as he rubbed the towel over his hair. “Why would I buy one when you keep

"You totally have a six-pack." "Of course I do. I work out. Hellur?" He tugged his shirt down and glanced behind Bethany as they all stood around the table. "Get your woman off of me. She's likely to fall for my beauty, creating a fissure between us that I don't want and you don't need." Bethany rolled her eyes and moved to Damon, wrapping her arms around him. His white button down shirt was loose and made for the beach. "You look good."

Just when I was about to reach the peak of where I was going, Damon suddenly stopped what he was doing and smirked at me. “What?” I groaned, trying to pull him back to me to continue what he was doing, but he didn’t budge. This was infuriating. “Why did you stop?” I asked him. “I haven’t even done anything and you wanted to cum. I couldn’t let that happen,” he said, taking off his own clothes. I remained silent as he slid the underwear from under my legs, smiling at his sharp intake of breath when he looked straight into my glistening womanhood.

I suddenly heard him. I cleared my throat and entered. In order not to make it seem like I heard anything, I thought an apology would be nice. "I'm really sorry, Sir. I was waiting for you to finish." I said as I entered. Damon was wearing a big black net shirt with an inner black singlet. This in turn was worn over baggy black jeans. Wait, was my death to him some sort of fashion runway where he showed off his glam? Hell, he was killing this look and I was certain that I would not mind this look in my funeral.

I’m immortal now, or at least bound to this mountain until a Reaper decides to use my ribs as a xylophone. It’s a lot of existential weight to process before breakfast. The shadows directly in front of me suddenly begin to boil, the ink-black darkness folding in on itself with a soft, rushing sound and Damon steps out of the vortex, entirely unbothered by the freezing temperature. Let me take a moment to mention that the man is currently shirtless. And sweaty. In January. His sculpted chest and abdominal muscles are gleaming faintly with a light sheen of sweat as he casually pulls a tight black long-sleeve shirt over his head. As his head pops through the collar, his emerald eyes immediately

“Why aren't you listening?!” “He's too busy looking at the chest, I mean the charming people entering the hall.” Johnny chuckled and gained a death glare from Damian. “That's working!” Tom clapped his hands. “If only you saw how Damian was looking at you. He was melting!” Avery blushed and stared at the DJ. “He doesn't look bad either,” Damian was wearing a white shirt along with a simple black blazer. His hair was styled with a black and white bandana, making him look classy and hot at the same time.

I shut the door when the two walk away. My eyes skim slowly up the large, yummy male body standing before me. He's wearing black loafers, black pants, and a long-sleeved white dress shirt unbuttoned halfway down his remarkable chest. His muscles bulge beneath the shirt, which makes the entire package sexier. They aren't the over the top muscles of a competing body builder but with a little oil, he could make a statement. His skin is darker than a suntan would provide and I guess he has Native American, Hispanic, or another darker-skinned race somewhere in his bloodline. He's gorgeous. I've heard the rumors about him through the BDSM grapevine but seeing Damian in person is different. For the

“For the competition piece… the pose needs to feel real. Raw and sexual. I need to see… everything.” Damien’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “Everything?” I nodded, cheeks already burning. “Naked. If you’re comfortable.” He didn’t hesitate. He started unbuttoning his shirt, eyes never leaving mine. Each button revealed more — toned chest, defined abs, the sharp V of his hips disappearing into his trousers. When the shirt hit the floor, my mouth went dry. Then he unbuckled his belt. The sound of leather sliding through metal made my thighs press together.

It had been everything. ​The door opened. ​She turned, her heart in her throat, a breathless hope rising in her chest. ​Damian stepped in. ​But this time, he was different. He was dressed in a simple black sweater, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing the lean, corded muscle beneath. There were no gloves. No face shield. He was bare-handed, bare-faced, exposed. A tray in his hands, two plates, steaming, the scent of eggs and toast filling the room, chasing away the ghost of her fear.