Novel & Cerita Damiano David Nude

Betsy gripped Emberlynn's hand, and they stepped out of the alcove and into the mating ground. Damien was now present, standing very close to the older, but he wasn't in the outfit he was in earlier. Now, he was on a sleeveless tunic that molded to his muscular frame like a second skin. The tunic features intricate embossing and stitching. At the neckline, the tunic plunged low, exposing his bronzed chest, and the smooth, rippled muscles of his torso were accentuated by the flickering torchlight. Emberlynn's eyes almost bulged out of their socket, and her mouth ran dry. How could they let him come out in such a manner?!

Droplets of water were glistening on his skin, enhancing the contours of his physique, chiseled with defined muscles rippling beneath his taut skin. His broad shoulders lead down to a well-defined chest complimenting his abdomen. That is a canvas of defined abs. “You look like a hungry female wolf that wants to rip my body apart with the look on your face,” his voice broke me out of my thoughts. My cheeks turned red out of embarrassment. I didn’t realize that I was staring at him for too long. Silence ensued as he moved past me to his room. I unhurriedly face-palmed myself for getting caught while drooling over Alpha Damon.

Chapter Eighty-Eight – Faked. Damien found himself at the door of Diablo’s bar again. He adjusted his mask and knocked on the door. The huge man opened for him and he sprinted his way to Diablo’s little office. He knocked again and was offered entry. “You are still wearing this mask.” Diablo laughed, clearing the files on his table to reveal another file underneath them. “I figured out who Jenna Marbles is, that’s why I called.” “That’s why I came.” Damien exhaled, taking off his mask.

l say laughing hoping she would just agree with me. "Okay then," she says and hugs me. "Goodnight sweetie." "Night night mom." As soon as I get in my room, I spot Treadway flipping through my photo album. I had not removed any of my pictures with Madison, Jeremy and Jason from high school so he was staring at a picture of me and Jason in swim suits looking all lovey-dovey. "That's Jason." I say as l move closer to where he was sitting, at the edge of my bed.

The moment my private plane landed in the Italian territories, Damian's private pack feed updated. Only the core members of Moonridge Pack could see that account. Scarlett had posted from it. Hello, this is Damian. My favorite thing is eating pasta by the sea. In the photo, Damian was cooking in a coastal kitchen with his sleeves rolled up, revealing the strong lines of his forearms. A sharp pain struck my lower abdomen without warning, like a dagger driving straight through me. I dropped to my knees in the crowded airport as darkness swallowed my vision.

Picking up her clothes she turned around but bumped into a hard wall, she stumbled a little and felt two strong hands snaking around her waist, She looked up and came face to face with naked chest of Damian, her body instantly stiffened in his hold, he deliberately pulled her closer filling the gap between their bodies, taking a feel of her perfect waist, few droplets of his wet hair dropped on her face, she gulped nervously looking at his blue orbs which was now staring back at her. Damian let her go, she looked up and down at him, he was standing there only in his towel which was hanging dangerously low on his waist showcasing his v line and tanned chest, his wet strands of hair resting on

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.

I straightened slowly and turned. Damian was leaning against the island counter, arms folded over his bare chest, wearing nothing but black tactical pants that hung low on his hips. His skin still gleamed faintly—fresh from a workout or a shower, I couldn’t tell. A single dog tag rested in the hollow of his throat. His hair was damp, pushed back, and his eyes were locked on me like a sniper scope. He didn’t speak at first. Just looked. Slowly. Thoroughly. From my bare feet up my legs, lingering where the panties cut high on my hips, over the strip of bare stomach the tank exposed, pausing at my breasts—nipples already tight and visible through the thin fabric—then finally meeting my eyes.

Damian was lying on his back, eyes tightly shut, one leg bent to form a triangle. His left hand rested behind his head, while he stroked himself hard in a vertical motion with his right in a slow, deliberate rhythm. His body was glorious in its rawness, each muscle catching the low light in waves of bronze and shadow. His mouth hung open, letting out the most guttural, erotic groans I’d heard in a long time.

Then, under the restaurant’s crystal lights, he lifts it. Gasps ripple again. My breath catches. His torso is sculpted perfection—hard abs, skin like golden marble. But there’s no tattoo. Not a trace. My body goes cold. “No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “No, it was there. I saw it.” Damian doesn’t look smug. He looks calculating. Dangerous. He slips his phone from his pocket, swipes, then thrusts it in my face. On the screen: a photo of him. And another man.