Damon Salvatore Shirtless Novels & Stories

There was clear tension between us, and Damian’s obvious dislike for me made things a bit more complicated. Just as I was about to turn and leave, the door suddenly opened. My heart skipped a beat as I found myself face-to-face with Damian. He stood there shirtless, wearing only a pair of loose trousers that hung low on his hips. His skin glistened with water droplets from a recent shower, and he was in the process of drying his hair with a towel.

Nora clocked it. [@SpiceShelf: Take out Crimson Vow. I need to see the heir short-circuit.] [@MafiaMutt: Shirtless Damian behind that door? Paywall energy.] I admitted it. I had a mean streak. I took out the lipstick, clicked the cap loose, and pretended to study the last page of the file. Then I let the tube roll slowly between my fingers. The lounge door swung open so fast it nearly hit the wall. Damian stood there in nothing but dark trousers. His shirt was gone, leaving broad shoulders, a lean waist, and an old pale scar under his ribs on full display. He looked dangerous, half dressed, and much less composed than he wanted to be.

Nora clocked it. [@SpiceShelf: Take out Crimson Vow. I need to see the heir short-circuit.] [@MafiaMutt: Shirtless Damian behind that door? Paywall energy.] I admitted it. I had a mean streak. I took out the lipstick, clicked the cap loose, and pretended to study the last page of the file. Then I let the tube roll slowly between my fingers. The lounge door swung open so fast it nearly hit the wall. Damian stood there in nothing but dark trousers. His shirt was gone, leaving broad shoulders, a lean waist, and an old pale scar under his ribs on full display. He looked dangerous, half dressed, and much less composed than he wanted to be.

I push open Damon’s door, still lost in thought about Grand Luna Eve’s late-night escape. Where could she have gone last night? Why was she cloaked? The room is dimly lit, and the scent of fresh soap fills the air. My gaze lands on Damon. He stands by the window, shirtless, a towel slung low on his hips. His wet hair glistens under the flickering lantern light, sending rivulets of water down his chiseled chest. My eyes follow one drop as it travels from his sharp collarbone, over his taut abs, and disappears below the towel's edge.

I followed the scent and stopped short when I saw who it was. Damon. He'd taken off the tank top he was wearing earlier. Completely shirtless now. Standing very close to the rain. His muscles glistened under the water. His abs were tight and defined. His shoulders were broad. His chest was perfectly sculpted. The water that touched his body traced every line and curve of his body. His hair was dark and a little wet, falling over his forehead. His eyes, deep and slightly intimidating, glowed under the dim outdoor light.

Thud. The door to my room didn't just open, it hit the wall with a violence that made me jump. I shoved the photo under my pillow and spun around, my heart hammering against my ribs. Damon stood in the doorway. He wasn't wearing his formal Alpha attire from the night before. He was in a tight, black tactical shirt that hugged every muscle of his chest and arms, paired with heavy cargo pants and combat boots. His expression was a mask of cold indifference, worlds away from the predatory heat of our encounter in the dining hall.

Now, standing in the studio wearing nothing but a thin silk robe he’d left outside my door, I felt the weight of what I’d signed up for. Damien was already there, sleeves rolled up, revealing more of those dark tattoos that snaked over corded forearms. He didn’t greet me with words. Just a single nod toward the velvet platform. “Robe off. We’re losing the good light.” My fingers untied the belt with shaky determination. The silk slid down my shoulders and pooled at my feet, leaving me completely bare again. Sunlight kissed my skin, warming my heavy breasts and the soft swell of my hips. I could feel his eyes on me instantly — that intense, devouring gray stare that made my nipples pebble int

Warm light spilled over the room, revealing him standing beside it… shirtless, toned muscles carved in gold and shadow, his skin warm in the glow. Callie’s breath left her in a rush. He stood there like some kind of dark god, and her eyes traced every hard line of him without meaning to. She looked down and gasped. She wasn’t in her sleep clothes anymore. She wore a black bra and thin black shorts that clung to her thighs. Her skin prickled as if the air itself shifted around her. “Damon…” This time his name came out almost like a moan, soft and desperate, not at all how she intended. She tugged at the ropes again, her pulse racing.

It was shiny and floating farther in the waters. He swam towards it and what he saw made his heart sink so deep he could have drowned. Lying afloat and suspended was the pink sophisticated leatherwear super suit outfit that belonged to Carol. It was charred at the arms and legs as well as the chest area where the pink lightning bolt emblem was still in place and not a single mark on it. Damon’s hands began to tremble when he held the costume. “No, no, NO!” His face was still wet and no one could tell if he was crying but veins had formed on his forehead which he then buried into the costume.

Growing up, except for her mother, no one had ever taken care of her like this. After getting up and washing, Nyla obediently finished the medicine and soup. She decided to go to the adjacent room to properly thank Damon. She walked to the door of the adjacent room, took a deep breath, and was about to knock when the door suddenly opened from inside. Damon appeared at the doorway. His hair was slightly damp, obviously just showered. He wore a white shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, looking fresh and crisp. The shirt stretched across his broad shoulders and chest, emphasizing his athletic build. Water droplets still clung to his neck, and Nyla felt her face warm slightly.