Damon Salvatore X Reader Novels & Stories

I watch as the book disappears, sitting up I stare at Damon. “This shit? Why are you reading trash like this, it’s for women who can’t get laid and need to read it to get the experience.” A laugh escapes my mouth. “Apparently, I can’t get laid!” He stares at me shocked, silence filling the space between us. “Why don’t you just stop? Leave me alone, and stop talking to me? Go home Damon, and wait for my real Daddy to come home.” He should, he doesn’t want to do it again, fine, but there is no need to be on my back. I hold out my hand waiting, watching as he hands the book back to me. “Cheers. This is better than any reality I have had so far.” His eyes widen, a low growl escapes his throat as

Eli finishes reading Damon's heartfelt confession, he feels a warmth bloom in his chest, his earlier doubts and fears beginning to melt away. He can sense the sincerity and vulnerability in Damon's words, the raw honesty that he knows is a gift being bestowed upon him. Eli: Damon... I don't even know what to say. Thank you for being so open and honest with me. Damon takes a shaky breath, his heart swelling with a mix of emotions as he reads Eli's response

002: Show Me Some Love, Baby **Jordan Hayes** It took a full minute to remember breathing was something people were supposed to do. I stood frozen, mouth parted in shock, staring into those piercing dark eyes—ones I'd vowed never to look at again. Their burning intensity sent a shiver racing down my spine, my throat tightening until swallowing felt impossible. Damien Voss, the boss and leader of New York's most notorious Italian mafia family, was right here in the bathroom stall with me, gazing down with a dangerous grin. My heart skipped, mind blanking. Why the hell was he in Great Fisher—my workplace?

[CARLTON’S POV] Damon sits cross-legged on Tristan's bed with a paperback romance novel balanced on his thighs, and I'm curled against the headboard with a steaming mug of tea held between both hands. The book is terrible in the best possible way: all heaving chests and improbable coincidences and love that conquers absolutely everything, including basic logic and self-preservation. I should be reading. Instead, I'm watching Damon. His eyes move across the page with the mechanical precision of someone who isn't actually absorbing a single word.

I reply. Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Right. Of course.” The rest of breakfast is a performance—a dance of silence and sarcasm. By the time it’s over, I’m exhausted, my stomach tight, my chest buzzing with anger I can’t show. When I finally make it back to my room, I throw myself on the bed and stare at the ceiling. These people—Damien’s people—they’re dangerous in different ways. Lucian wants to see me flinch and stares at me as though he wants to me unclad. Elara wants to see me disappear. And Damien… I still can’t tell what he wants.

I slipped my phone back into my pocket and headed into the diner. “You okay?” Daya asked. I nodded. The diner bell rang. Daya whistled. “What?” I asked. She nudged me to look. A handsome man in a tailored black suit walked in, his piercing gaze scanning the room. Damn. Not as hot as Xavier, but still. Why did I have to think of him now? It’s been two weeks since I helped them hack into the Marono family’s shit. The way my body behaved when I was close to him—I couldn’t explain it. Like it was wired differently around him.

Elena hadn't seen his intent stare yet; she was enjoying the softness of the new bed, humming with her eyes closed. Damien stepped up to the edge of the bed, looking at her body laid out before him. He could smell her excitement starting to waft up to his nostrils. He lowered his head and extended his tongue, cupping her heel and running it up the length of her foot. He reveled in the taste of her sweat, her special flavor that covered every inch of her body. He could feel every line and crease in the sole of her foot as his tongue traveled up to her toes. He slithered the tip between her toes and nibbled on the end of her big toe.

Stefan’s hand shot out so quick Liam had no chance in dodging the smack that he was clipped in the back of the head with. "Alright, Jeeze" Liam raised his hands up in defence as Stefan sunk back so unbothered into his seat beside me and Lauren. I was now beginning to feel so cramped being crammed onto Lauren’s lap in the middle of the back seats between two rather toned males. “One, ouch! and two I was just playing, you know I’m just playing right Savanah?” he asked rubbing the spot at the back of his head. I bit my lip to stop the laugh that wanted to follow after watching the encounter between the pair.

For one suspended, unbearable second, no one moved. Then the driver’s door opened. A figure stepped out into the rain. Tall. Lean. Silhouetted by the headlights. Damon’s stomach dropped. Because even through the storm and the distance He recognized him. Viktor. Alive. And not alone. Th e rear passenger door of the SUV opened slowly. Another figure stepped out. Calm. Elegant. Shoulders straight despite the blood and soot. Damon’s breath turned to ice. Matteo Laurent.

His aura, his dark eyes, his imposing stance. This man must be Dante Salvatore. Tall, perfectly dressed in a black suit that probably cost enough to feed all the children in the north. Dark hair styled back from his face, a carefully groomed beard - mustache and goatee that gave him the look of an old-world prince turned devil. The thin scar running from his ear to his chin cut through the edge of the beard, making him look even more dangerous. The drunk man—Mr. Armani—raised his hands in surrender. "I didn't know, Salvatore. I swear, I didn't know she was yours—"