Damon Salvatore Shirtless Novels & Stories

ride. I quickly reverted my focus back to him. Damon wore a brown polo shirt, brown and tan plaid shorts that hung below his natural waist (which looked sexy as hell, by the way), stark white Nikes, and a long gold herringbone chain. Diamond studs that sparkled like silver glitter brought attention to his ears and his fresh braids were very nice. If I’m not mistaken, my pussy quivered slightly in the tiny red thong I was wearing underneath my dress. Damon looked scrumptious. FUCK!

They curved down in a strange, almost snake-like shape, and every part of them seemed to be made of glass. But honestly, I barely noticed the stairs. Because I was looking at him. Oh. My. Fucking. God. This was the first time I had ever seen Damian without a suit or a proper shirt. He was wearing a simple tank top that hugged his physique, and for the first time, I got a very good look at just how fit he actually was. His arms were bare, his shoulders broad, and the shirt left very little to the imagination. Then there was his hair.

Only a slick line of kohl beneath her lashes and the antique corset passed down from Madam—midnight blue, structured with steel and memory. When the chamber doors opened, she felt it before she saw him. A hum. A shift in gravity. Damien entered barefoot, wearing only linen pants low on his hips. No shirt. No mask. No bravado. His body was taut, sculpted, glinting faintly with a light sheen of sweat. His dark hair was damp and pushed back, exposing a jawline that could slice pride in half. He looked like he’d fought the urge to run—and lost.

He was hot like a real Ian somerholder____Damon Salvatore. I couldn’t help but notice the bold tattoos creeping up over his neck, his arms, forearms, and fingers. His dark hair is styled short but not without one little string falling out and the crest of his motorcycle club boldly tattooed on his neck. He glances towards my direction again , his stare cold but hot and when I see the mischievous smile creep up to the corner of his lips I knew I was in trouble.

I guess it's true what they say: at times, your attire is all you need to boost your confidence. I walked out of the room, only to halt in my tracks as Damien's door opened at the same time. He stepped out, shirtless—a sore sight for my eyes—his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, sending my eyes crashing down to the V-line disappearing into his pants. Dragging my eyes up to his face, I noticed that he was dead-staring at me, his lips curled up at the edge. I turned away quickly, trying to walk past but was stopped when he advanced toward me.

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?”

Tajsa ~“I drop mine if you drop yours.” Damon ~“Oh, baby I am already there.” Before my words even drop cold, so do my pants. Tajsa ~“And that shirt, it has to go, I want to feel those muscles pressing hard into my skin.” Damon ~“My shirt for yours and don't worry about the bra cause I already know that you don’t have one on.” She slides her pants over her thighs and down her supple legs, kicking them to one side. She unbuttons her blouse one button by one and lets them fall off her shoulders.

Damon wasn’t even fazed and just handed over his card like it was no big deal. After Damon’s shopping spree we went back to the hotel and he made me change into something more fitting for the beach. The beach was packed and I lay on one of the loungers as I watched him swim, and I saw how other women looked at him as he walked out of the water shaking the water from his hair. “If you keep looking at me like that I’m dragging you back to our room,” he said as he sat down on the double lounger next to me and grabbed me in a hug as he pulled me on top of him and kissed me for the whole world to see.

“But stay close. Don’t go too far into the water.” He darted off, laughter spilling across the sand, and for a moment I let myself watch him with a soft smile. My heart was still heavy, but Daven was my anchor. I was lost in thought when a familiar shadow fell across my table. “Enjoying your morning?” I froze. Damon stood there, barefoot on the wooden deck, the sun glancing off his bare chest. He wore nothing but a white shirt—completely unbuttoned—and black shorts. The glimpse of his abs, sharp lines cut into golden skin, made my breath stumble before I caught it. My cheeks warmed. I forced myself to look away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing what he did to me just by exist

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.