Ch. 106..110: Breed Me, Daddy Alpha chapter 106-110

Favorite Sin 106

Oh, my God.

The second he said that-“Beg me, kitten“-I swear I nearly care. No, like, actually. My knees wobbled. My throat went dry. My p***y clenched around nothing so hard I whimpered out loud, and not in some fake girly way. It was raw. Desperate. Real.

Because f**k, do you know what it does to a girl when an Alpha says that with his mouth brushing your ear

and his hand still wrapped tight around your throat like he’s deciding whether to kiss you or kill you?

And when that Alpha is your best friend’s father?

When his blood is still on his shirt and the echo of his slap is still in the walls?

When you’re 18, soaked, shirtless, high off heat and violence and the fact that you just stood naked in his house and told his entire f*****g family to get out while your thighs were literally dripping?

Yeah. I broke.

“Ohhh f**k,” I whispered, breathless, broken, brain short–circuiting from how hard he was gripping my neck and how sharp that twist on my n****e still burned. “You want me to beg? You–you f*****g want me to beg?”

I laughed. I moaned. I couldn’t even tell the difference at that point.

“You really wanna hear it, Daddy?” I asked, smiling so sweet it should’ve been illegal, even while my voice trembled. “You wanna hear your naughty little Omega lose all her pride? You wanna hear me whimper and plead like I’m not the one who made your wife cry, your daughter run, and your c**k f*****g twitch just by

existing?”

His jaw clenched. And oh my God–oh my God, the way it clenched. Like he was grinding his teeth to keep from grabbing me and throwing me down right there. I saw every twitch. Every little shift in his shoulders. Every sharp little breath through his nose like he was trying so f*****g hard not to lose it.

And it made my p***y throb so hard I gasped,

I swear, I literally clenched right there, standing barefoot and bratty in the middle of his house like I didn’t just mouth off to his whole family ten minutes ago. But his jaw. That jaw. That goddamn Alpha clench with his knuckles twitching and his eyes burning and his chest rising like a storm was about to explode? Oh yeah. That was it. That was the moment I knew I had him.

So I smiled.

Because of course I did.

I smiled way too sweet for a girl with slick running down her thighs.

I reached up and tapped his chin/with my index finger. Just one little tap. And then traced it down his throat, real slow, watching him swallow like the pressure was about to crack.

“You wanna f**k me, don’t you?” I whispered, dragging my nails over his collarbone. “Like actually f**k me. Not sweet. Not gentle. Just grab me and use me like I was made for you.”

Kneel For Me

His hand twitched again.

And my entire body lit up.

“And then you said come here–just come here–like that was enough,” I said, still rambling. “Like one grow! and I’d drop to my knees. And honestly? It almost worked. Because your voice does things to my brain Like it short–circuits everything logical and turns me into a slutty little puddle who thinks with her heat.”

I stopped in front of him again.

Looked up at him.

Bit my lip.

Tilted my head.

“But then I remembered who the f**k I am,” I whispered, soft but wicked. “And I decided… nah. Let him earn it.”

I dropped.

Right to my knees.

“Oh f**k,” I moaned. “Okay. Yep. This is happening. I’m officially on my knees. I’m officially your dirty little Omega, and I’m so not okay right now, because do you even know what you look like from down here?”

I reached up and dragged both my hands up his thighs. Slow. Teasing. Stroking over denim like it was skin, and I moaned again, louder this time, because I could feel the heat of his c**k through his jeans and it was

too much.

“Your thighs are so hard,” I said, palms flat against him. “Like I know you could crush my skull with them and I’d say thank you. And this-” I rubbed over his bulge, slow and wicked, and my eyes rolled back a little because f**k, “-this is why I’m not okay. You’re already so hard. And I haven’t even begged yet. I haven’t even

started.”

I pressed my cheek to his thigh and moaned like a needy little thing in heat.

Then I looked up again.

“You’re so mean, Daddy,” I whispered. “Just standing there. Letting me fall apart down here. My mouth’s watering, my thighs are stuck together, and you’re just watching like you’re not seconds away from wrecking

me.”

I slid one hand between my legs and touched myself–lightly, just enough to smear slick on my fingers–and

then I held them up to him.

“Look,” I said, breathless. “Look what you did.”

I licked my fingers.

Moaned around them.

And smiled like the unholy little brat I was born to be.

“I’m so wet it’s embarrassing,” I said. “My body’s literally leaking because I want you so bad. I can’t sleep. ! can’t think. I can’t breathe. I need your c**k in my mouth. I need to taste it. I want to suck on it until my

jaw aches and my eyes are full of tears and you’re gripping my hair saying, that’s it, kitten, take it all like the good little Omega you are.”

< Kneel For Me

I grabbed his belt buckle.

Still didn’t undo it.

Just held it. Just stared at it like it was sacred.

“And then I want you to bend me over something solid,” I went on. “A table. The wall. The floor. I don’t care. I just want to feel your knot. I want to be split open and stretched and stuffed with your c’m until it’s dripping out of me and I’m shaking from how good it feels.”

I kissed the buckle.

Breathed on it.

Smiled like a girl about to destroy her entire f*****g future and loving it.

“Please,” I whispered. “Please, Daddy. Please let me taste it. Please let me gag on it. Please f**k my face until

I forget everything that came before you. Please knot me until I scream so loud the entire pack knows who ! belong to.”

I looked up again.

Teary–eyed.

Wrecked.

Grinning.

“Please ruin me.”

“Suck my d**k, kitten. Suck Daddy’s d**k like it’s your last.”

The second those words hit the air, my whole body reacted like I’d been shocked. My p***y pulsed so hard it clenched around nothing, my thighs trembled, my mouth fell open, and I swear–I swear to the Moon Goddess -I forgot how to breathe.

My heart was already racing from teasing him, my heat had made my whole body slick and hypersensitive, and now that? That command?

That low, rumbling, dominant Alpha growl that came straight from his chest and melted right between my legs? That was the kill shot.

My head tilted back, my eyes fluttered, and for a second I just stared at him–at the raw, ruthless heat in his expression, at the sharp flex in his jaw, at the way he held my hair like it was a leash he’d just decided to

yank.

I was already on my knees.

Already soaked.

for air. “Please, “Say it again,” I whispered, voice breathless and so f*****g soft it sounded like I was bec Daddy. Say it again. Say it like you mean it. Say it like you want me to choke on it. Like you want me to cry for it. Like you want me to worship it with my mouth until my jaw gives out.”

He didn’t say a word. Not with his lips. But his fingers dug deeper into my scalp, forcing my head back, and that alone made me moan.

I could feel my whole body tremble under his grip, my n*****s hard and tingling, my clit throbbing so hard i

< Kneel For Me

had to squeeze my thighs together just to keep myself from falling apart.

My mouth opened wider without even thinking. I looked up at him from the floor with my lips parted, tongue out, and heat staining my cheeks like I was seconds from losing my f*****g mind.

I couldn’t wait.

I didn’t want to wait.

I wanted his c**k. In my mouth. Down my throat. Slapping my tongue, stretching my lips, gagging me, ruining

me.

I reached up with both hands and fumbled with his belt, too messy, too eager, fingers trembling from how

badly I needed him.

I could smell him now, thick and wild, that dark spicy Alpha scent mixed with sweat and leather and heat, and it only made my mouth water more.

My p***y clenched again. I rubbed my thighs together, moaning softly as I yanked his pants open and finally, finally, finally got what I wanted.

And then I took him in.

His hand tightened in my hair.

His hips rolled forward.

And he pushed deeper.

All the way in.

“f**k–Lyra,” he growled, and the way he said my name? Like it was the only word left in his vocabulary. His head tipped back, his grip in my hair tightened, and I felt his thigh muscles flex under my palms like he was trying so hard not to lose it right there.

My p***y clenched so fast and so hard I whimpered around him. I could feel my slick trickling down my thighs, warm and thick and humiliating, because all it took was that moan. That one f*****g moan and my body was already on the edge of begging him to shove me onto my back and knot me senseless.

But I didn’t stop.

God, I couldn’t stop.

Not after hearing that.

Because if he sounded that wrecked from just my mouth, I wanted to know what he’d sound like when I

swallowed his c*m.

roat stretched wide

I wanted to know what noises he’d make when I cried on his c**k and begged him not to stop. I wanted to hear him come completely undone with my lips wrapped tight around his d**k and and ruined with every inch of him.

He moaned again–deeper this time, like he was losing the fight. His hips jerked just slightly, like he was resisting the instinct to f**k my face raw, and the tension in his arms, in his chest, in his soul was vibrating against my skin like a second heartbeat.

He looked down at me, jaw clenched, lips parted, sweat beading at his temple, and that look–that look–was so wild and hungry and f*****g feral I almost came from it alone.

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“This mouth,” he said, voice low and dangerous, like he couldn’t breathe without groaning. “This f*****g mouth was made to take Daddy’s cock.”

And that was it.

That was the moment I sank lower, pushed deeper, opened my throat like a good little kitten, and took him all

the way in.

Because if that moan was the reward?

Then I’d choke for it.

Every time.

Favorite Sin 107

~Lyra~

Should I officially say I came here a virgin and an innocent girl this summer, but now I’m not that girl anymore?

Yes. I should. I absolutely should.

Because the girl who came here with soft pink lip gloss and daydreams about spending summer. She died somewhere between the first growl he gave me and the night I screamed into a pillow with his knot stretching me open while he whispered, Good girl, take it all, you’re mine now.

And the new girl?

The one standing here right now with her thighs glued together, her n*****s tingling every time she remembers how he tasted, and her entire body still aching like it’s waiting for Daddy’s next command?

Yeah. That’s me now.

I’m not the sweet little summer guest anymore. I’m not the cute best friend who just came to relax and maybe tan and maybe flirt with someone close to my age.

No.

I’m the girl who moaned for her best friend’s father. Who let him breed her while she cried and begged. Who called him Daddy while she drooled all over his c**k and thanked him for not pulling out.

And I liked it.

God, I loved it.

So here we are. Let’s do a quick recap, shall we?

I came to visit for the summer. I expected pool days and girly sleepovers and TikToks under the sun. Instead,

I got knotted so hard I blacked out. I got bent over desks, thrown onto counters, and whispered filthy things

that made my clit twitch every time I remembered them. I got claimed.

Two days later after the fight with Camilla and Tasha. I went back to school.

Literally.

No one came near me because of Damon.

The crowd parted around me like I was fire. Boys avoided eye contact. Girls whispered. Professors looked

nervous. No one sat next to me in class.

They could smell him on me.

That scent? That deep, dominant Alpha scent? It hadn’t faded. Not even a little. It wa

My f*****g soul. He made sure of that.

And did I like it?

Yeah.

Of course I did.

my skin. My throat.

Unplanned Bundle

Not like I enjoy people’s company anyway, I’m not the type who thrives in a crowd. I hate fake smiles and loud voices and pointless small talk. I’d rather be alone, pressed up against the memory of his hand around my throat, than surrounded by people.

The girls in the back of class looked at me. The way they looked at me like I was radioactive. I ignored them. I always ignore them.

But then I got up to use the restroom after lunch, and I passed this one guy–he didn’t say anything. He didn’t touch me. But he froze. His head snapped toward me like instinct. His nose flared. His eyes went wide. And

then he backed up.

Like I was dangerous. Well duh I am.

I walked into the bathroom and locked myself in a stall, and my heart was pounding for no reason. My hands were shaking. I pulled down my pants and sat there for a second, staring at my underwear.

And then I realized.

There was nothing.

No spotting. No stain.

No period. Wait a minute when last did I have my period

And that’s when the buzzing started in my head. That high, tight, panicked kind of buzzing that makes your stomach twist and your palms sweat and your lungs forget how to do their job.

Because I couldn’t remember the last time I bled.

Like actually bled.

I pulled out my phone and opened my period tracking app. I hadn’t even looked at it since I got back. Everything had been too chaotic. I had been too distracted. Too full of slick and bruises and memories.

And there it was.

Missed.

My last period had been over a month ago.

Over–five weeks.

And nothing since.

I stared at the screen, then at the white cotton of my underwear, then back at the screen again. My mouth went dry. My knees started bouncing without my permission. I suddenly felt hot. My throat was closing. My

hands were sweating.

No. No. No. No no no–f**k. Please no–this can’t be–oh my God.”

d I didn’t even care.

I was talking to myself, out loud, in the bathroom stall like a full–blown crazy pers My phone was still in my hand, the period tracker app wide open, flashing that stupid red calendar in my face with the words missed and late and day 39 blinking like sirens. And I just kept staring at it like the numbers would change if I blinked hard enough. Like if I shook the phone or refreshed the app or restarted my entire f*****g life, it would somehow/show a little pink dot that said, “Don’t worry, babe, you’re fine.”

But there was no dot.

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There was no spotting.

There was no nothing.

And now I was standing in the bathroom with my underwear still around my thighs, one hand braced on the stall wall, the other holding my phone, and my heart pounding so fast I thought I was going to throw up

“This can’t be happening. No. No. No. I mean–okay–yes, he knotted me. Like, a lot. Like… a lot a lot. Like… of my God, how many times was it?”

I started pacing in the stall, which was extremely difficult because it was tiny and my pants were still halfway down and my thighs were trembling and the floor felt like it was tilting, but I couldn’t stop. My mind was running full–speed, every filthy memory I’d buried in my clit shooting straight to the front of my brain like it had something to say now that I was having a full–body meltdown.

“Okay. Okay. Calm down. Think, Lyra. Let’s think. You got here late May, right? First heat hit maybe three days in? You wore that tiny little towel. He saw you. He growled. He pinned you to the kitchen counter. You came. He made you beg. And then he–oh my God, he knotted you. Right there. On the f*****g floor.”

I slapped my hand to my mouth like that would help stop the memories but it didn’t. All it did was make my p***y clench again because my body was still so stupidly in love with what he did to me.

And now it might have consequences.

“Okay but I was fine after that,” I said, still whispering, still pacing. “I didn’t get pregnant from one knot, right? That’s not how it works. I mean, that’s what they said in health class. The chances are low unless it’s timed. Unless you’re ovulating. And I don’t even know when I ovulate. I don’t even track ovulation because I never

had to before because I was a goddamn virgin.”

I paused.

I blinked.

My heart skipped.

And then I gasped.

“Oh my God.”

My throat is dry. My heart is thumping so hard in my ears it sounds like a war drum. I keep telling myself to

breathe, but my chest is locked. My knees are bouncing. My mind is screaming.

And then–because of course I talk to myself when I’m panicking–I say it.

“He’s your mate, Lyra.”

I whisper it like it’s supposed to calm me down. Like just reminding myself that Damon is mine is going to

somehow erase the fact that my period is a month and a half late and my panties are dry and there’s not

even a hint of blood anywhere.

“Calm down,” I mumble to myself, dragging my hands over my face, “You don’t have to pani

fine. He’s

your mate. You’re bonded. This isn’t the end of the world. People get pregnant every day. This is… this is natural. This is biology. This is what happens when a knot goes in and doesn’t pull out.”

I choke out a nervous laugh.

And then immediately want to cry.

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Because this isn’t funny.

“Okay, but–walt. This is teen pregnancy, right? This is literally the definition of teen pregnancy. I’m eighteen Well I’ll be nineteen soon.

I throw my head back and groan so loud I’m shocked no one knocks on the stall door to ask if I’m okay.

“I am so not okay.”

My voice is shaking now. My hands are damp. I’m trying to keep it together but my chest is doing this weird rising–and–falling thing like I’m gearing up for a full–blown anxiety attack, and the worst part? My p***y

is still sore. Still warm. Still tingling from remembering what he did to me, which makes it so much harder to focus.

“Oh my God, my mom doesn’t even know about any of this.”

I freeze.

Let that thought sit.

Because out of all the spirals in my brain, that one hits the hardest.

She doesn’t know.

Not about Damon.

Not about the heat.

Not about the bond.

Not about the knot.

“How the hell do I explain this?”

My voice is shaking again, but I keep talking anyway because if I stop, I think I might actually scream.

My hands are gripping the sides of the toilet now. My phone is still on the floor, face up, mocking me. My brain is running laps around itself and dragging my emotions behind it like they’re on fire.

“Do I just go home and say, ‘Hey, Mom, remember when you said I could go to Tasha’s for the summer? Yeah, so… her dad who is my mate f****d me. Like, really f****d me. Like knotted me until I passed out and now I might be pregnant with our baby and I’m not sure if I’m more scared or turned on by it.’ Is that what I’m

supposed to say?”

I bury my face in my hands and whimper.

“Okay, no. That’s not what I’m going to say. I’m not saying anything yet. This could be nothing. It could be

stress. Maybe I’m just stressed. School just started.

“The heat took a toll on me. My hormones are all over the place. Maybe I’m bloated. Maybe my cycle is

resetting. Maybe I have a vitamin deficiency. Or low iron. Or… or something else. Something less life–ruining

than teen Alpha pregnancy.”

I inhale. Hold it.

Then exhale, shaky and shallow.

“Benefit of the doubt,” I whisper, blinking rapidly. “Let’s just give this situation the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it’s not what I think. Maybe I just need to breathe. I can take a test later.

< Unplanned Bundle

“Or tomorrow. Or–oh my God, what if I’m already showing? What if my stomach is going to grow and I get

stretch marks and my boobs get huge and Damon likes it and knots me again while I’m carrying and-”

I cut myself off with a groan and grab my face with both hands again.

“I need to get out of here.”

need to tell him.

I need to tell Damon.

Fast.

I can’t keep this to myself. Not for another day. Not even for another hour. I don’t care if he’s in a meeting or halfway across the city or brooding in his office with blood on his hands and a cigar between his lips. I don’t care if he’s with the pack, or if Tasha’s in the next room, or if it’s the worst possible timing in the universe.

He needs to know.

Favorite Sin 108

~Lyra~

He needs to know

Because if I’m pregnant…

If I’m actually pregnant…

Then this is real. Not just in a fantasy way. Not just in the kinky, dirty, breed–me–Daddy kind of way that made my toes curl and my back arch every time he whispered mine into my mouth while I was trembling under him. This isn’t just about what happened on the bed. Or the desk. Or the balcony. Or all those times he knotted me so deep I couldn’t think straight for hours afterward.

This is about my body. Changing. Growing something. Someone. His.

Because if I’m pregnant, that means there’s an actual baby inside me. A little Alpha or Omega forming from all the c*m he stuffed inside me while I moaned and begged for it and told him I wanted this. That I could take it. That I needed it.

And I did.

God, I did.

But that was then.

Right now, I’m scared.

Not completely terrified. Not like I regret anything. But scared in that chest–aching, throat–tightening, I–don’t–know–how–to–breathe kind of way. Scared like the world just tilted and I’m still trying to find something to hold onto.

I’m eighteen.

I haven’t even figured out my major yet.

I still eat ice cream with a plastic spoon straight out of the tub while watching cheesy romance movies at night. I cry when I get yelled at. I talk too much when I’m nervous, I chew my nails. I get distracted easily.

And now there might be a baby.

Inside me.

A baby with Damon’s eyes. With his dark hair. With that little snarl in its lips. A baby who might grow up to growl like him. Or say Daddy in that bratty little voice I always use when I want his hand

And suddenly, I’m whispering to myself in the bathroom mirror like it’s a therapy session.

“Okay, Lyra. You can do this.”

I straighten my shoulders.

I exhale through my nose.

my throat.

I look myself dead in the eyes even though my cheeks are still flushed,

and my pupils are still huge, and I can

still feel slick clinging to my inner thighs like I haven’t fully recovered from what we did.

How Would He React?

“You can do this,” I whisper again, louder this time, nodding like that will make it true You’re just gols tell him. You’re going to take a deep breath and call him. Or maybe text first. Maybe ease into it. Be Be normal. Be–oh f**k, how do you casually tell the most dangerous Alpha you’ve ever met that you might be carrying his knot baby?”

I shake my hands out. I pace the tile floor. I rub my stomach again like it’s a magic 8–ball that’s going to give me the answers if I shake it hard enough.

“Okay, maybe something like… ‘Hey, I know this is random, but remember that time you pinned me to your desk and told me I was going to take your c*m like a good girl? Yeah, so…. turns out I did. And now I might be pregnant. Want to grab lunch and talk about it?”

I groan.

“Too casual. Way too casual. That sounds like I’m inviting him to Panera Bread to discuss baby names

I start again, pacing faster, hands waving, voice muttering like I’m rehearsing for a play that could determine whether I live or die.

“Okay, new idea. What about: ‘Damon, we need to talk. It’s serious. Don’t freak out, but I think I might

be pregnant. I haven’t taken a test yet, but I’ve missed my period, and I know my body, and I’m scared, and I need

you.”

I pause.

That one hits different.

I close my eyes and whisper it again to myself, slower this time.

“I need you.”

And I do.

Because I don’t know how to do this alone.

Because even if I am a little scared, even if I’m not ready, even if my life is turning upside down faster than I can process it–he always made me feel like I was safe. Like I was protected. Like nothing could touch me as long as he was near.

Would he be happy?

That thought hits me like a punch to the chest.

Would Damon actually want this?

Would he be furious?

Would he say it was a mistake?

Would he tell me I was reckless? That I should’ve tracked my heat better? That he w. d me but I didn’t listen because I was too busy moaning and crying and begging him to knot me harder?

Or…

Would he smile?

Would he touch my stomach?

Would he pull me close and say of course, like he always meant to fill me with his babies? Like that was the

< How Would He React?

plan all along?

My breath catches in my throat and I swallow hard, staring at myself in the mirror as my thoughts start spinning again.

“Does he even like babies? But wait a minute. He had tasha. So definitely he treated her nicely when she was born right? Or maybe because she was a girl. I whisper, voice barely there. “What if our child turns out to be a boy? Would he treat him differently”

The second the words left my mouth, I blinked at myself in the mirror like I was expecting some magical answer to pop out of the sink drain. But no, there was just me–sweaty, puffy–lipped, flushed like I’d just had a panic attack and an orgasm at the same time, staring at my own reflection with a kind of blank horror.

“But come to think of it.” I said, grabbing paper towels to blot my face even though I looked like I’d been dragged through a storm of hormones. “Have I ever heard him talk about babies? No. Not once. Not ever. He talks about killing rogues. He talks about territory lines. He talks about punishing people. He talks about…

knotting.”

I groaned. “So much knotting.”

“But like… has he ever seen a stroller and said, ‘Aww‘?” I asked myself, throwing the paper towel in the trash with way too much force. “Has he ever held a baby? What if he hates babies? What if he thinks babies are annoying and loud and sticky and they cry too much and interrupt his brooding?”

I gasped dramatically.

“What if he thinks babies are weak?”

My hands flew to my face again. “Oh my God, what if he thinks I’m weak now? Like, here I am, walking around with his baby maybe forming in my uterus like a little Alpha bean and instead of being like ‘wow, that’s hot, he’s like ‘ew, responsibility.”

I started pacing again, slapping my thighs with each step like I was in a courtroom and I was the chaotic lawyer and the terrified client all at once.

“What if he calls me a liability?” I muttered, mocking his voice under my breath. “You’ve been compromised, kitten. You’re soft now. I can’t knot you on the balcony anymore because you’re carrying a future Alpha and you need to stay hydrated and wear sensible shoes.“”

I gagged.

“Sensible shoes, Damon? Really? I’m barely eighteen and I already don’t know who I am anymore.”

I spun around and pointed at my reflection with both hands like I was on a game show and had just guessed the wrong answer.

“Does he like babies? I don’t know! I don’t know anything! He likes cigars, he likes cool, he likes growling in my ear while he’s balls deep inside me, and he likes saying ‘mine‘ like I’m some kina chew toy he doesn’t want to share.”

I pressed both palms to the counter, exhaled slowly, and stared at the sink.

“Okay. So maybe he doesn’t like babies. But what if he likes his babies? Like… maybe he doesn’t want to coo over someone else’s newborn, but if it’s his, he’d be like, ‘That’s my bloodline, don’t let it touch anything dirty, give it a knife.”

How Would He React?

I paused.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, blinking. “What if our baby has a knife before it has teeth?”

And then I laughed.

I actually laughed. Loud. Breathless. Slightly hysterical.

I clutched my chest and shook my head, and somewhere between the panic and the confusion and the hormone–fueled disaster running through my bloodstream, I felt something warm. Something scary.

Something… real.

Because as terrifying as it all is?

As absolutely chaotic and not–ready–for–this as I feel?

The idea of Damon holding a baby–our baby–with one hand wrapped protectively around its tiny little body while growling at anyone who looked at it wrong?

Kind of made my heart flutter.

And also my p***y clench.

“Okay,” I said to myself again, firmer now. “You can do this. You’re going to tell him. You’re going to march your maybe–pregnant ass right out of this bathroom and face the Alpha who ruined you, and you’re not going to cry. Or faint. Or throw up. Probably.”

I grabbed my phone. Stepped toward the door. Took one deep breath to psych myself up and remind myself that I was strong, I was grown, and I was about to go tell the Alpha who ruined my body and maybe gave me his baby that I was very possibly pregnant and extremely emotionally unstable about it.

And then, just as I opened the door to leave-

Boom.

I bumped straight into someone.

I stumbled back with a little gasp, and before I could even register what just happened, I looked up and there

she was.

Of course.

Tasha.

With her arms crossed and her b***h–face set to maximum. Standing in the doorway of the bathroom with two of her plastic little backup dancers flanking her like she was queen of the slut–shaming committee and I had just walked onto her red carpet pregnant and glowing.

And they weren’t just walking in.

They were waiting.

She had planned this.

“Oh wow,” Tasha sneered, looking me up and down like I was dirt. “Look who it is. The girl who let my dad f**k her. You slut. You couldn’t keep your legs closed for one summer, could you?”

I blinked.

How Would He React?

Once.

Twice.

Then I quickly tilted my phone screen away from her line of sight and clicked the home button before she could see the big bold notification from my Flo app practically screaming “YOU’RE LATE.” I shoved it in the back pocket of my jeans like it didn’t hold the entire record of my possibly life–altering s****1 choices.

And then I smiled.

Because I was tired.

Because I was hormonal.

Because I was this close to either bursting into tears or slapping someone.

And because I simply did not have the f*****g time.

“Oh please,” I said, rolling my eyes so hard they nearly flew out of my skull. “Enough, Tasha. Get out of the way. I thought we already had this conversation. You threw the fit. I survived it. We moved on. I’m not going to keep explaining myself to you like I owe you some kind of purity report on my vagina!”

She didn’t move.

So I stepped closer.

Shoulder to shoulder.

Not flinching.

“Grow up! Get over it! There is nothing you can do! Your Dad is my MATE! Just live with it,” I said, my voice low and cold now. “Now get the hell out of my way. I need to be somewhere.”

Favorite Sin 109

~Lyra~

But of course, she didn’t move.

Of course she didn’t let it go.

She scoffed so loudly. Her arms crossed tighter. Her face twisted up like she’d just swallowed a lemon. And then she went off–just like I knew she would.

“You were pathetic from the start,” she hissed, voice trembling now. “Throwing yourself around the house. Walking around in his shirt like you belonged there. Acting like your heat made you special. You’re not special. You’re just a desperate little slut who spread her legs for the first Alpha that growled at her,” I stood still.

My pulse pounded in my ears.

My stomach twisted.

My chest rose and fell faster than it should’ve.

But I didn’t speak yet. Not yet.

Because she wasn’t done.

“And now you’re what?” she spat, her lip curling. “Hiding your phone like you’re not freaking out over something. Maybe you are pregnant who knows.

Maybe you’ll be the next little sob story who drops out before second semester and shows up in a year with spit–up on your hoodie and a baby on your hip begging him to remember you. You really think he’ll stay? You think he wants you? Please.”

That was when I laughed.

Like actually laughed.

Loud. Sharp. Rude.

The kind of laugh that made both of her little friends blink and shift uncomfortably.

And then I looked her in the eye and stepped forward, close enough that she had to tilt her chin me, and I smiled the way only an Omega who’s been claimed can smile.

o look at

“You’re right,” I said sweetly, “I did walk around in his shirt. You know what else I did in that shirt? I moaned into it. I came in it. I bled my heat into it while he held me down and filled me so deep I couldn’t walk straight

the next day.”

She flinched.

I kept going.

“Your breath stinks!” I snapped, heat rushing into my cheeks as I took a bold step forward, “Seriously,

it’s like something died in your mouth, came back to life, and is now rotting all over again. I don’t know if it’s garlic o just jealousy decaying in your throat, but girl, it’s foul. So do us all a favor–get out of my way. Now

Get Over 11

I felt my chest rising and falling too fast. My hands were clenched. My body was vibrating with tension, but didn’t stop. I didn’t shrink. I stood straighter, chin up, heart pounding like a war drum. I looked Tasha dead in the eye, and I let my voice drop lower, cooler, sharper.

“I don’t think you want to get me angry.”

She blinked, looked me up and down, and then smirked. She looked like she was about to say something that she thought would hurt me, something she had stored up for weeks, but I was already prepared for it I could

see it coming.

“Or what, you little Omega?” she spat, her lips curling like I was something stuck under her shoe. “You gonna whimper? Cry for help? Maybe sob until my dad comes and carries you away like the pathetic little

heat–w***e you are?”

That was it.

Something in me snapped.

My hand moved faster than my brain could catch up. There was a loud, echoing slap as my palm collided with her cheek, and the force of it turned her face to the side…

Her hair whipped across her shoulder, her jaw dropped open in stunned silence, and for one long second, everyone in the bathroom froze.

I stared at her, breathing hard, and then–out of the corner of my eye–I saw my reflection in the mirror.

And I gasped.

My eyes.

They weren’t their normal color.

They were glowing. Bright gold. Burning. Like light had poured into them and stayed there. It wasn’t a trick of

the lighting.

I didn’t feel scared.

I felt strong.

“Yes,” I whispered to myself, heart racing. “I’m no longer a weak Omega.”

Tasha was still stunned, her hand pressed to her cheek, her lips trembling. She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. She had no idea what she’d just triggered.

“I have had enough of your insults, Tasha,” I said, my voice louder now, rising with the heat inside my veins. Do you hear me? It’s choking me. It’s making me sick. You’ve always had a mouth. Always. Since I got to know you. You love to talk. You love to throw shade and act like you own the world becaus into it with a rich daddy and an attitude problem.”

were born

I stepped closer again. She didn’t move. Her eyes were wide. Her friends were frozen, watching the show with their mouths slightly open.

“But talk is cheap,” I went on. “Anyone can run their mouth. Anyone can throw insults and pretend to be a queen. But you? You never do anything. You never move. You never fight. You just talk.”

I raised my brows at her and tilted my head.

“Why don’t you do something instead of flapping your lips like a busted ceiling fan, huh?” I challenged my

Get Over It

voice drenched in disgust. “You can’t, can you? You know why?”

I leaned in, just enough for her to hear me breathe.

“Because your dad would rip your tongue from your mouth and tie it around your neck like a bow the second you laid a finger on me.”

I let those words hang in the air like smoke.

“You know he can, right?” I added, just for good measure. “You know what he is. What he does. What he would do to protect me. So f**k off, Tasha. Before you push me–or him–any further.”

There was silence.

And then, finally, one of her friends spoke up in the quietest voice I had ever heard come out of a girl with glitter eyeliner.

“Let’s go, Tasha,” she said quickly, stepping in and pulling at her arm. “You know how your dad is…”

Tasha didn’t move at first. She looked shaken. Her face was still burning red from the slap, her expression

cracked with a mixture of rage and disbelief. Her lips parted like she wanted to scream, but nothing came

out.

So she just glared at me.

Hard.

“This isn’t over,” she hissed.

I rolled my eyes, slowly, dramatically, like I was auditioning for the lead role in a teen villain soap opera.

“Yeah,” I muttered with a bored sigh. “Typical line of every movie villain right before they fall into a pit of their

own stupidity.”

And with that?

I walked past her.

~~

I didn’t even pause when I walked out of that bathroom. I didn’t look back. I didn’t check if Tasha was still glaring or if her girls were whispering behind her. I didn’t care. My hands were shaking. My heart was pounding. My chest was tight. And all I knew was that I needed to see him.

Damon.

I needed to see his face. Hear his voice. Feel his arms around me and bury myself in that scent that always

ate period. made the whole world fade. I needed to tell him. About the test I hadn’t taken yet. About About everything. I didn’t want to say it over the phone. I didn’t want to explain it in fragments. I needed to be

near him.

Would the school let me leave without closing?

Hell yeah, they did.

No one stopped me. No one asked where I was going. No one even looked me in the eye. Because they knew. They could feel it. Damon wasn’t just my protector. He was fear. He was dominance. He was power. And anyone with a working brain cell knew not to cross his line–not even the front gate guards. I walked straight

Get Over It

out without even blinking.

I was outside, standing on the sidewalk, trying to flag down a cab when I grabbed my phone and called him. My fingers were trembling. My throat felt tight. I pressed the call button before I could talk myself out of it. And the moment the line connected, I heard his voice.

He picked up on the first ring.

“Hey, kitten,” he said, and his voice was so warm and deep and full of concern that I nearly burst into tears right then. “Talk to me. Are you okay? The school hasn’t closed yet, has it? It’s not time. Talk to me. Did Tasha touch you? Did any guy look at you? I swear to the Moon Goddess, if anyone laid a finger-”

He was about to finish that sentence–voice rising, protective, furious–but I cut in before he could spiral.

“It’s okay, Damon,” I said softly, blinking back the tears I hadn’t even realized were forming. “I’m fine, okay? I just… I really need to talk to you about something.”

My voice cracked.

And then, just like that, it happened.

I burst into tears.

I didn’t even know where it came from. One second I was standing under the sun, phone pressed to my ear,

and the next my throat tightened and my chest caved in and I was gasping like I couldn’t breathe.

“Kitten,” he said immediately, his voice going soft but sharp with panic. “Why are you crying? Tell me. What’s

wrong? Talk to me.”

“I’m scared, Damon,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t tell you on the phone.

It’s too much. I… I need to see you. Where are you? Can I come meet you?”

There was a pause on his end.

Just a breath.

Then he said the words I needed more than anything.

“Yes, kitten. Come meet me,” he said gently, like he already knew I was breaking. “I’m in the middle of a meeting with some of the leaders from the surrounding packs, but by the time you get here, I’ll be done.

Come to Daddy, okay?”

I wiped my tears with the back of my hand and nodded, even though he couldn’t see me.

My breath was still shaky. I could feel my heartbeat in my throat. I opened my mouth to say okay again–but then his voice dipped lower.

“And Daddy’s gonna wipe those tears away with his dick.”

I choked.

Like actually choked on my own breath.

The tiniest little laugh ripped right out of me, halfway between a sob and a wheeze, and then I covered my mouth with my hand as more tears spilled down my cheeks, but I was smiling now.

“You’re such an asshole,” I whispered, my voice wet and shaking but laughing, because only Damon would say something like that while I was literally crying in the street. “I’m serious, Damon.”

< Get Over it

“And I’m also serious,baby,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “But I made you laugh.”

I sniffled.

Then laughed again.

Then wiped my cheek with the back of my sleeve as my voice broke all over again.

“You’re the worst,” I said, giggling and crying all at once.

“No, baby,” he murmured with a husky voice that made my thighs twitch. “I’m yours. And I’m waiting.”

And just like that, I wasn’t just scared anymore.

I was running to him. Let’s see what he has to say.

Favorite Sin 110

Lyra

I didn’t even wait for a ride. I swear my legs were moving before my brain caught up, and the next thing I knew I was running. Like actually full–on running down the street, hair flying, tears drying on my cheeks, heart pounding like some kind of war drum in my chest.

And I didn’t care how insane I looked. I didn’t care if people saw me and thought oh my God, she’s losing her

mind, because I was losing my mind.

I had to get to him. I couldn’t breathe properly. My whole body was shaking, and I just–I needed to see his face. Right now. Immediately. Or I was going to implode.

And yes, okay, maybe I could’ve waited for a cab or ordered a ride or something normal, but nothing about

this felt normal.

Not the panic inside me, not the way my heart hurt, and definitely not the late–ass period I hadn’t told anyone. about. It was like the moment I said it out loud, something inside me snapped, and now I couldn’t stop

moving until I was in his arms.

By the time the pack estate came into view, my chest was on fire. Like actual fire. My lungs were screaming and my feet felt like they were going to fall off, but I didn’t slow down.

I kept going. Because the second I saw those gates, I knew I was close. I knew he was behind them. And suddenly all I wanted was to throw myself at him and cry and maybe scream and maybe kiss him until I

couldn’t remember my name.

I didn’t wait at the gates. The guards saw me and opened them like they already knew not to stop me. Because duh. Damon was Damon. And I was his Luna. Or his problem. Or both.

Either way, nobody dared say a word. I ran straight into the house, not even stopping to catch my breath, and the second I hit the floor, one of the maids literally gasped and started talking into her earpiece like I was the

freaking president.

“She’s here. His Luna. She’s here for Alpha Damon.”

Yeah. That’s right. Tell them. Announce me. The desperate, possibly pregnant, emotionally unstable little

Luna is here to shake s**t up.

I followed the sound of voices because I already knew where he was. Deep voice. Commanding. Quiet enough to scare you. Loud enough to make grown men shut up. Damon.

I heard him before I saw him. And I didn’t even hesitate. I saw the big oak doors. I heard the meeting going on inside. And I did not care. I didn’t knock. I didn’t pause. I didn’t wait for permission like some polite little

schoolgirl.

Nope.

I shoved the doors open and walked straight in.

And oh my God.

Eight Alphas,

What’s Wrong Kitten?

Eight grown, powerful, insanely intimidating Alphas in full sults sitting around this long–ass table looking like they were about to solve world hunger or declare war or something.

And at the head of it all?

Damon.

My Alpha.

He looked up like he felt me before he saw me, and the second our eyes locked, I swear I stopped breathing.

His face changed. Like instantly. His jaw clenched. His nostrils flared.

His body straightened like he’d just scented danger, except I wasn’t danger. I was his Omega, and I was about to cry again because the second I saw him I remembered why I’d come.

One of the men stood and tried to speak. “Alpha Damon, I don’t believe this meeting…”

“Out,” Damon said. Just that one word.

And everything froze.

“But Alpha-”

“I said out,” he growled, louder this time.

And they left.

Like no questions. No hesitations. No attitude. Just chairs scraping and suits disappearing like they’d all suddenly remembered they had other places to be. Within seconds, the room was empty.

Except for us.

And then he was moving.

Fast.

He didn’t even blink before he reached me, and the second he touched me I fell apart. His arms wrapped around me, and his mouth crashed into mine, and I just melted.

I didn’t care that I probably looked crazy or that my lips were salty with dried tears. I kissed him back like he was air and I’d been drowning.

I clutched his shirt like it was the only thing keeping me upright, and when he finally pulled back and looked into my face, I forgot how to think.

“What happened?” he whispered, voice tight and full of something sharp and scared. “Talk to me, kitten. What’s wrong? Did someone hurt you?”

The moment Damon said it-“What happened?“–something inside me just collapsed.

I didn’t even try to hold it together anymore. I couldn’t. It was like those two words opened a trapdoor in my chest, and everything I’d been trying to swallow down just came pouring out of me in one huge, ugly, embarrassing, uncontrollable flood.

My mouth opened to speak, to explain, to say something, anything, but nothing came out. Not a single word. Only this horrible, tight, gasping sob that felt like it was being ripped from my throat with claws.

My whole face crumpled.

< What’s Wrong Kitten?

And then I was crying.

Not cute crying.

Not graceful, soft, single–tear–down–the–cheek movie crying.

No.

I was full–body sobbing, arms shaking, knees buckling, face soaked, chest heaving like I couldn’t get enough

air

And even as I cried, I hated myself for how dramatic it looked, for how messy it sounded, but I couldn’t stop. My emotions weren’t listening to me anymore. They were in full rebellion mode. And my body? My body just

wanted him.

He didn’t even flinch.

He didn’t look shocked..

He didn’t try to stop me or tell me to calm down.

He just caught me.

Immediately. Without hesitation. Like his arms had been waiting for this exact breakdown.

He pulled me into his chest so fast and so tight I thought he was going to crush me, and I didn’t care. I buried my face in his shirt, clutched fistfuls of fabric like I needed it to breathe, and let it all out. I cried so hard I

couldn’t see straight.

My makeup was absolutely ruined. My body wouldn’t stop shaking. My thighs kept pressing together like they didn’t know if they wanted to close or open. And through it all, he just held me.

He pressed his hand to the back of my head and stroked my hair gently, slowly, tenderly, like I was this precious little thing that might fall apart completely if he didn’t keep touching me.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he whispered against my hair. “I’ve got you, kitten.”

I whimpered.

Actually whimpered.

My knees gave way completely and he just adjusted, wrapping one strong arm under my thighs and lifting me off the ground like I weighed nothing.

And even though I was still crying, something about being held like that so easily, so tightly, so completely- made my brain short–circuit in the worst, dirtiest, most confusing way.

And then..

Then he leaned down, his lips brushing the edge of my ear, and said the filthiest, most ridiculous thi ever heard whispered to a crying girl in her Alpha’s arms.

“What’s wrong, kitten?” he murmured, voice low and syrup–thick. “You miss Daddy?”

I swear my whole body tensed at once.

‘e

Heat slammed between my thighs like a door being kicked open. My breath hitched. My fingers curled even tighter in his shirt.

< What’s Wrong Kitten?

I was still crying. Still shaking. Still completely emotionally wrecked. And yet my n*****s hardened. My core throbbed. And my Omega hormones lit up like someone flipped the switch back to heat mode.

I couldn’t even answer him.

I just whimpered again, this tiny cracked sound that barely escaped my throat.

He knew.

He f*****g knew.

And then he made it worse.

So much worse.

“You miss Daddy’s c**k?” he whispered right into my ear, so close I could feel the heat of his breath slide down my neck like a finger.

My stomach dropped. My thighs jerked. I felt myself throb. Like full–on pulse between my legs. My face flushed so hard I felt like it might peel off. And my tears kept coming, but now they were tangled with

something hotter.

“I know you do,” he said softly. “I know you miss the way I stretch you open. The way I fill that tight little hole until you’re whining into the pillow, begging for Daddy to stop but taking it anyway.”

My breath hitched again.

It wasn’t fair.

I was a mess. A sobbing, confused, maybe–pregnant little Omega who came here to tell him something important, and now I was leaking between my legs just from hearing his voice. My body wasn’t listening to me anymore. My body only listened to him.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured. “Anything, baby. You say the word, and Daddy will give it to you. You want comfort? I’ll hold you all night. You want c**k? I’ll bend you over the f*****g table right now and f**k you full again. You want both? You’ll get both.”

I tried to speak.

I really did.

I opened my mouth. I pushed out this tiny sound that was maybe a syllable. But it broke off again. I hiccupped. My shoulders shook. My brain felt like soup. I couldn’t tell if I wanted to scream or kiss him or sink into the floor and disappear or wrap my thighs around his waist and beg him to f**k the truth out of me.

He leaned back just enough to look at my face.

I was sure I looked wrecked.

Eyes swollen. Lips trembling. Nose running. Still trembling in his arms like I’d lost control of every

But he didn’t flinch.

He looked at me like I was beautiful.

Like I was his.

And when his thumb brushed a tear from my cheek and he kissed the corner of my mouth, I finally found my

voice.

What’s Wrong Kitten?

It cracked.

It trembled.

But it came out.

.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” I whispered. “I think I’m pregnant, Damon.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I said quickly, breath shaking. “I’ve never been this late before. Not even close. I thought maybe I was just stressed or maybe it was my diet or something stupid, but I feel I’m pregnant, and my boobs hurt, Damon.

“They hurt. And they look different, and my heat was off, and my scent changed, and I didn’t say anything because I was scared and I didn’t want to sound crazy, and then Tasha started saying s**t and I just…

His whole body froze.

And I stopped breathing.