Ch. 111..115: Breed Me, Daddy Alpha chapter 111-115
Favorite Sin 111
~Lyra
“I didn’t take a test yet because I was too scared to see the result,” I confessed, breathless, broken. “Because if it’s negative, then maybe I’m just losing it. And if it’s positive–if it’s really positive–then that means it’s real, and that means I’m actually pregnant with your pup, and I don’t even know what that looks like or what it means for me or for you or for school or for everything, and-”
I choked on a sob and buried my face in his chest again like it could hide me from the avalanche of words that wouldn’t stop pouring out of my mouth.
“And I know I’m just eighteen,” I mumbled into his shirt, the fabric soaking up my tears like it had done this before. “I know I’m young and dumb and I probably don’t understand half of what’s happening in my own
body.
My voice got quieter, but not calmer.
And definitely not sane.
“I don’t know how to be someone’s mother,” I whispered, but the words still came fast, all tangled.
“I don’t even know how to survive school without melting down in the bathroom twice a week. I don’t even like milk, Damon. Pregnant people drink milk, don’t they? Or is that a myth? What if I can’t give you what you want? What if the pup doesn’t even look like you? What if I’m too small to carry it–what if–what if I-”
“Shhh,” he murmured suddenly, and his hand moved up to cover my mouth, gently but firmly, palm flat across my lips. “Enough, kitten”
He lifted his hand gently, fingers brushing my jaw like he didn’t want to hurt me, just silence me, just touch me, and then he pressed his palm over my mouth.
His thumb rested just against the edge of my cheek, and his other hand slid firmly around my waist, gripping me like he was anchoring me to the earth while my mind spun out of control.
My breathing hitched.
My chest was still rising and falling too fast, and tears were still clinging to my lashes, but I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. His hand was there, but even if it hadn’t been, I think I still would’ve gone quiet, because his voice
had changed.
“Come here, kitten,” he said softly, and he moved his hand from my mouth just as his other one tugged me
flush against him, like I belonged there, like my body was made to fit into the shape of his, and suddenly wasn’t just standing anymore–I was held.
His palm gripped my waist tighter, dragging me even closer, until my chest was pressed aga
mouth was trembling just inches from his.
And then he kissed me.
his and my
It was the kind of kiss that swallowed every thought thad and replaced it with fire. My knees buckled. My head spun,
I moaned into his mouth without meaning to, and the sound made his grip on me tighten again like he
< Stop Overreacting Kitten
wanted more of it, like he wanted to own every little noise I made.
My fingers curled into the front of his shirt, clinging for balance, for breath, for him, because I was already falling again and only he knew how to catch me.
His hand slid down my back.
Lower.
Lower.
And then.
His hand grabbed my ass.
Like he’d been thinking about it all day. Like he wanted to remind me it was his.
Before I could even react, I felt the sting.
His palm smacked my ass with just enough force to make me gasp, my head jerking back, my lips parting as
this helpless, shocked moan spilled out.
My whole body froze for a second, like even my nervous system didn’t know how to process that much
sensation at once.
My chest was rising and falling so fast I thought I might actually pass out.
“Damon,” I gasped, my voice barely a whisper because I couldn’t get air in fast enough. “You just–oh my God,
you spanked me.”
“Yes,” he said, low and unbothered, his fingers still gripping my ass like it was his favorite thing in the world.”
And you liked it.”
I couldn’t even deny it.
I couldn’t say anything, because the truth was I was wet. Soaking. Throbbing. My thighs were squeezing
together and my stomach was fluttering and my brain was doing that thing where all it could think about was
his voice and his hands and his d**k and how badly I wanted to feel him inside me again, even if I was
already losing my mind.
I tried to say something. I really did. I opened my mouth to speak, to explain, to go back to the panic and the
test and the hormones and all the serious, terrifying things I’d come here to talk about.
But the words wouldn’t come.
Not with his hands on me.
Not with my body betraying me like this.
Not with my n*****s hardening and my cunt clenching and my thoughts running in circles ar
that I was probably pregnant and still ready to beg him to bend me over the nearest table an
again.
d the fact
.eed me
Damon smirked.
It was small. Just a tiny shift of his lips. But it was there. That dark, cocky, mine kind of smirk that made my heart stutter and my lower belly squeeze with filthy heat.
“Much better,” he murmured, brushing his mouth against my cheek like I was still his crying kitten instead of
Stop Overreacting Kitten
his needy Omega. “You breathe better when you’re in Daddy’s hands. You think better when your ass to red and your thighs are shaking. Isn’t that right?
Then he kept going.
Of course he kept going.
Because Damon doesn’t know how to stop when I’m already on the edge. He just pushes harder, speaks lower, touches deeper, and it makes me unravel faster every single time.
“You’re softer when you cry for me,” he said, his voice curling around my ear like it belonged inside me. You’re louder in bed, but your brain gets quieter. You stop panicking. You stop pretending you can handle things alone. You give me everything–your breath, your tears, your cunt–and you stop overthinking and just feel. That’s what you need, isn’t it? You need Daddy to take control again.”
My breath hitched.
I hated how true it felt.
I hated how quickly my body reacted to those words, how I clenched around nothing and whimpered softly against his chest like a pathetic little thing, all while my heart kept pounding like a warning bell.
I wanted to melt into him again.
I wanted him to say more.
But then it hit me again–hard and fast and terrifying.
The reason I came here.
The truth I hadn’t even processed yet.
I pushed against his chest just enough to make space between us, my hands shaking, my stomach twisting, my mind screaming at me not to say it–but it was already rising in my throat, choking me with its weight.
“I think I’m pregnant,” I whispered again, louder this time, like I needed him to really hear it.
I didn’t know what reaction I expected.
Shock.
Denial.
Panic.
But all I got was calm. The same terrifying calm he always used when he was completely, totally in control of the situation–and everyone else just hadn’t caught up yet.
He didn’t flinch.
He didn’t blink.
He didn’t even loosen his grip on my ass.
He just said, “Then it’s fine, kitten.”
I blinked up at him, stunned.
Fine?
Fine?
Stop Overreacting Kitten
Was he being serious right now?
Did he understand what I had just said?
“-what?” I stammered, because my brain was still buffering like a bad Wi–Fi signal. “What do you mean fine
He looked down at me like I was adorable. Like I was dumb. Like I was his.
“Didn’t you expect it?” he asked, his voice low and maddeningly casual. “You really thought it wasn’t going to happen? Knowing we never–not once–used a condom? Or what, you didn’t pay attention in biology class,
kitten?”
My mouth dropped open.
The slap I gave his chest was instant, fueled by panic and embarrassment and the fact that my whole body was still throbbing from that damn spanking he gave me.
“Stop joking around, Damon!” I snapped, even though my voice cracked halfway through because my
emotions were all over the f*****g place.
“This isn’t funny. I’m serious. I came here because I’m scared and confused and maybe pregnant, and now you’re making dumb s*x–ed jokes while I’m literally falling apart in your arms!”
“What?” he said, completely unfazed, his hand still possessively cupping my ass. “I’m not joking. I’m being honest. You ride my c**k like it’s your birthright and then act surprised when your little Omega womb decides
to do what it was made to do? Your body takes me so well. It was meant to keep me. You soaked me up like
you were made for it, baby. Like you were begging me to knock you up.”
“Oh my God,” I groaned, pressing both hands into his chest again like maybe if I pushed hard enough I could
climb inside it and disappear. “You’re insane.”
“No,” he said with a smirk that made my thighs twitch. “I’m right.”
“I’m not dumb,” I muttered, and my voice was tight again, on the verge of snapping. “I know how it works. I just… I didn’t think it would happen this fast. I thought we’d have time and I’m not ready. I’m not ready,
Damon. I’m not.”.
“Then I’ll make you ready, kitten. Don’t be scared. I’m right here, okay?” Damon said softly.
“First thing we’ll do,” he continued, his voice low and deep and so calm it made my eyes sting again, “we’ll
stop by the pharmacy on our way home, alright? We’ll get the pregnancy test. We’ll know if it’s true. And no
matter what it says, you’re not doing this alone. You hear me? Don’t be scared anymore, kitten.”
My bottom lip wobbled.
I nodded slowly.
I swallowed the sob that was about to rise again because I believed him. I believed every word that came out
of his mouth, even if my brain was still too scrambled to process the size of what he was sa, He made it sound so simple. Like this wasn’t the scariest thing I’d ever faced. Like I could actually breathe through it.
But then he ruined it.
Because of course he did.
He’s Damon,
< Stop Overreacting Kitten
He looked down at me, his gaze slipping lower, and then his hand slid down the side of my body, cupping my waist, my ribs, his fingers brushing so close to the side of my breast that my n****e actually hardened in
response.
And then, so casually it could’ve been a grocery list, he said, “But I’m not gonna lie, kitten… your t**s are big
now.”
I blinked.
My mouth dropped open.
And before I could even get a breath in, he added, “Can Daddy suck them?”
Oh. My. God.
Favorite Sin 112
~Lyra~
“But I’m not gonna lie, kitten,” he murmured, his hand sliding up my side like he owned every inch of my skin,” your t**s are big now.”
I blinked at him, still trying to come down from the panic he’d just soothed out of me, and then my breath caught completely when he tilted his head slightly, licked his lips, and said-
“Can Daddy suck them?”
Oh. My. God.
I stared at him like he’d just asked to f**k me in front of the Moon Goddess herself. My mouth opened. My chest rose.
My n*****s–those traitorous, sensitive, aching little things–hardened instantly like they were excited about the invitation. And for one hot second, I almost said yes. I almost melted right there in his hands and whispered please like the needy little Omega I always became in his arms.
But then I remembered.
I remembered him smirking.
I remembered him making dumb jokes about biology class like I wasn’t standing in front of him sobbing about possibly being pregnant.
So I pulled back just a little. Just enough to pout.
And then I smirked right back.
“No,” I said sweetly, blinking up at him with the fakest innocence I could manage. “You can’t suck them. Not
after saying I overreact. That’s your punishment. You get to look, not touch.”
His eyes narrowed, but the corner of his mouth, twitched–like he liked the challenge.
“You sure about that, kitten?” he whispered, his voice suddenly dropping into that low, husky, dangerous tone that made my spine shiver and my thighs press together without permission.
“Because I think you’re bluffing. I think you want Daddy to pull your dress down and suck those sore, heavy t**s until you’re crying from how good it feels.”
My breath hitched again. Instantly.
He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, and my eyes fluttered like he’d just breathed into my
bloodstream.
“I think you want me to bite them,” he continued, his hand sliding around to the front of my h
made me whimper. “I think you want me to leave teeth marks. I think your little Omega body leaking for it.”
so slowly it
ready
“Shut up,” I whispered, but my voice wasn’t strong. It wasn’t sharp. It was barely even real. I was already shaking again, already breathless, already clinging to the fabric of my dress like it could protect me from the fact that yes, he was right, I was wet. I was aching. I was seconds away from begging.
Damon’s Hunger
“I think you’re going to let me do it anyway,” he said, his voice thick and hungry now, his nose trailing down the side of my cheek. “Because you’re mine, kitten. And those perfect t**s? They’re Daddy’s.”
And then he went further.
Because of course he did.
He doesn’t stop when I’m trembling. He doesn’t stop when I’m trying to hold myself together. He waits for it. He feeds on it. And once he sees that little crack in my voice, that stutter in my breath, that squeeze of my thighs–he goes straight for the kill.
“You know what I think, kitten?” he whispered, and his mouth was right at my ear now. His breath sent a full–body tremble down my spine. “I think they’re already swollen because your body’s preparing. It knows.
Your t**s are getting ready for our pup.”
I gasped.
Not softly.
Not politely.
I gasped so hard my whole chest jerked. My hand flew to his wrist like I was going to stop him, like I was going to say no, stop, be serious, Damon please, but I didn’t say any of those things. Because the second he touched the curve of my breast, the second he gripped the weight of it and brushed his thumb over the
sensitive top–I forgot what words were.
“I think they’re sore because your body’s getting full,” he murmured. “You feel it, don’t you? That tightness?
That heat? That need?”
“Damon,” I breathed out, and it sounded like a plea, but I didn’t even know what I was asking for anymore.
“Let Daddy suck them,” he whispered, his lips brushing my jaw as his hand slid back to the neckline of my
dress. “Let me bite them. Let me worship them.”
“No,” I said, but it came out too soft. Too wet. Too broken to mean anything. “No. You can’t. Not after saying I
was overreacting–this is my punishment for you.”
He chuckled low in his chest, and the sound vibrated against me.
“Are you sure about that, kitten?” he asked, and his fingers didn’t stop. “Because your body’s saying something else.”
His hand dipped lower, grazing the side of my breast now, thumb tracing just beneath the fabric like he was
memorizing the way it fit around my n****e.
“You’re shaking,” he said, his voice dripping into something darker, something hungrier. “You’re blushing. You’re soaking through your panties, and I haven’t even pulled your cloth down yet. You’re going to tell me no while your t**s are begging to be sucked?”
“I’m not “I tried to say, but the words cracked apart before I could finish.
Because it wasn’t true.
I was shaking.
I was wet.
I was aching in places I didn’t even know had nerves.
<Damon’s Hunger
And I was trying. I was trying so hard to stay firm, to keep my hands planted against his chest instead of letting them slide up into his hair and yank his face down to my t**s where I really wanted it. But he kept
going.
“You want my tongue, don’t you?” he whispered, his hand finally, finally sliding into my dress to cup the fuff weight of one aching, swollen breast.
“You want me to drag it over your n****e. You want me to suck until you cry. Until your milk comes in. Until
this tight little body starts leaking for me.”
My knees buckled.
I whimpered–like actually whimpered–mouth open, throat tight, and every inch of my body screaming at me
to give in.
But I didn’t.
Not completely.
I shook my head, weakly. I clutched his wrist like I was going to push him away. I opened my mouth to say
something bratty and mean, something like you wish or earn it, but all that came out was this soft, wrecked
moan as his thumb flicked my n****e through the fabric.
He leaned in closer.
Mouth at my ear again.
“You can’t fight me, kitten,” he whispered, and my eyes fluttered shut. “Not when you’re this wet. Not when
your t**s are this ready. Not when your little Omega cunt is already pulsing like it knows I’m about to knot you
again.”
I gasped.
Loud.
Desperate.
Soaked.
I couldn’t move.
I wanted to resist. I wanted to say no again, just to be bratty, just to feel like I still had control over my body
and this terrifying situation and the chaos in my chest. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I was frozen in place, my thighs shaking, my breasts heavy in his hands, and all I could think about was how badly I wanted his mouth on me.
I wanted his mouth on me.
Not in a vague, dreamy way. Not in a passing thought or a maybe–later kind of ache. No. I wanted it with every
nerve ending in my body. I wanted it with my whole chest, with my soaking panties, with the heat crawling up
my spine and the hunger twisting my stomach so hard it hurt. My breasts felt full. Aching they were begging for his tongue. My n*****s were so hard it was painful, and the only thing I could think about was how it would feel to finally have him on me again–his mouth, his hands, his breath.
I couldn’t fight it anymore.
I couldn’t pretend.
My fingers shook as I clutched the front of his shirt, dragged him closer, and finally said it.
< Damon’s Hunger
“Take off my clothes, Damon,” I whispered, and even though my voice was trembling, I meant every word.” Take them off. Please. I want you to suck them.”
His eyes locked on mine, and the second I saw the look there–dark, hungry, feral–I knew I’d just started something I wasn’t ready to finish.
But I didn’t stop.
I couldn’t.
My voice was already spilling again, frantic and messy and too loud, but I didn’t care anymore. I wanted him. I needed him.
“Suck them,” I said, breath hitching as I pressed my chest against his hands like I was offering myself on a silver f*****g platter. “Make it stop hurting. They feel so tight. So sore. I want your mouth. I want you to use your tongue. I want you to bite down and leave marks and make me cry. Please, Damon. Please.”
My thighs were shaking now. My dress felt too tight, too hot, like it was choking me. I didn’t want to be covered. I wanted to be bare. Open. I wanted to be used.
“Oh f**k,” I moaned, my body arching up into him. “Please, Daddy. I can’t take it anymore. My t**s need you. I need your mouth on them or I’m going to lose it.”
His breath punched out of him in a low, rough groan that made my walls flutter.
He moved quickly then, gripping my cloth strap, sliding it down my shoulder like he’d been waiting for this moment since the second he saw me. My n****e brushed the air and I gasped–the sensation so sharp and raw I almost cried from how good it already felt.
“Oh look at my babies”
His head dipped.
His mouth opened.
I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, already feeling that first wet pull of his tongue in my imagination.
But before his lips could touch me-
“Damon!”
The door burst open.
I flinched.
His hand froze on my dress.
My breath died in my throat.
I didn’t even have to look. I already knew. I recognized the voice like a trauma response.
I didn’t turn around immediately.
I couldn’t.
I was still shaking. Still leaking Still wide open and so close to coming undone in his hands, and now this b***h had the audacity to walk in uninvited.
My hands clenched.
Damon’s Hunger
My body tensed.
My jaw locked.
And I didn’t even think.
I just said what I was already feeling.
“This b***h,” I muttered under my breath, eyes still locked on Damon’s, chest heaving, my cloth half–off,
Favorite Sin 113
~Damon~
I honestly thought she was in real danger when she called.
Her voice had cracked over the line. She sounded like she couldn’t breathe, like something had gone terribly
wrong, like someone had touched her, or worse.
My entire body had tensed before she even said my name. I was ready to kill. Ready to rip a throat out
bare–handed. I thought she’d been hurt. I thought someone had laid a hand on what belonged to me.
But she came here.
Trembling.
Tear–stained.
Still dressed in her little school uniform and breathing like her lungs didn’t work right.
And she said she might be pregnant.
Oh, my sweet little kitten.
I won’t blame her.
Still young. Still figuring out what it means to be an Omega, still new to the fire inside her. Her mind doesn’t
understand what her body already knows.
Of course she’s scared. Of course she’s confused. She’s still learning what it means to carry power between
her legs.
But now?
She’s mine.
And she’s about to be the mother of my pup.
She tried to resist me when I touched her.
Tried to pout and punish me for making her laugh when she wanted to cry.
She told me I couldn’t suck her t**s.
But her body told me something different.
The second I whispered in her ear–Are you sure?-her thighs clenched. Her breathing broke. And when I pressed my hand against the soft curve of her breast, her n****e pushed back against my palm like it was
begging me to keep going..
She gave in faster than I thought she would.
She looked me in the eye and whispered it–Take off my clothes, Damon.
Her voice cracked.
Her chest heaved.
Her mouth parted like she needed my tongue more than she needed air.
What Are You Domg Here?
Please, Daddy. Suck them. Make it stop hurting.
I swear to the Moon I was about to drop to my f*****g knees.
I was going to peel that dress down and pull her t**s into my mouth and suck until she whimpered, until her back arched, until she clawed at my hair and begged me to keep going.
I was going to leave her t**
s red and wet and sore and mine. I was going to bite them. Kiss them. Worship them like the perfect Omega offerings they were.
She needed it.
She wanted to be licked like cream.
She wanted to be eaten until she cried.
And I was going to do it right f*****g there.
Against the wall.
With her dress pulled down, her t**s bouncing in my mouth, her knees weak and her voice hoarse from
moaning my name.
I didn’t care where we were.
I didn’t care who was still in the pack house.
She came to me.
She ran to me.
She begged me.
That sweet, breathy little voice of hers cracked open my f*****g chest when she said take off my clothes,
Damon. And when she followed it with suck them, Daddy, make it stop hurting, I nearly blacked out. My c**k
was already hard. Painfully hard. So hard it was pressing against the inside of my slacks like it wanted to
tear through and bury itself in the soaked heat between her thighs.
I was going to bend her backward right into the wall and drag her dress down to her waist so I could see
everything.
I was going to spread her legs with my thigh and pin her there, sucking one tit while squeezing the other,
switching back and forth until her body went limp in my hands.
I was going to make her cry. Not from fear. Not from sadness. From relief. From pleasure. From being
worshiped so deeply she forgot her own name.
I was going to growl against her chest while I marked her with my tongue.
I was going to lap over her n****e until it was raw and red and slippery, then suck it hard while she begged for
my c**k like the needy little Omega she was born to be.
I was going to whisper how good she tasted. How full her t**s felt How she’d better start getting used to it, because when that test came back positive, I wasn’t letting her wear a single bra until the pup was born.
I was going to suck until I tasted milk.-
And then?
What Are You Doing Here?
I was going to flip her over, right there in the middle of the damn room, bend her over the arm of the couch and rip her panties straight off her thighs with my teeth.
I was going to sink my fingers into her wet, pulsing cunt while my mouth stayed latched to her chest and growl mine between every suck, every bite, every filthy, sacred, primal kiss against the body she gave to me.
Because she is mine.
And I don’t care that she’s eighteen.
I don’t care that she came in crying.
I don’t care that she’s terrified.
Because I saw it the second she looked
She didn’t come here to be saved.
She came here to be claimed.
And I was going to do it.
Right f*****g there.
e with tears on her lashes and arousal on her breath.
Until the whole house heard her cry out Daddy while my knot split her open and my c*m filled her womb
again.
But then that door opened.
And that f*****g voice cut through everything.
“Damon!
That voice stole the sound of Lyra’s next moan from my` `mouth.
It stole the taste of her tit from my tongue.
It stole the sacred moment when I was about to ruin her completely and make her forget why she was ever
afraid.
I didn’t even look at her at first.
My hands were still on Lyra.
She was frozen.
Her n****e was still bare.
Still pink.
Still mine.
And her breath was still heavy with the whimper she never got to release.
She whispered it so quietly I almost missed it.
But I heard her.
“This bitch.”
I turned my head slowly, eyes narrowing with every second that passed, until I saw her standing there in the doorway like a f*****g storm.
What Are You Doing Here?
Camilla.
Of course.
Her hair was wild. Her eyeliner smudged. Her skin pale and sweaty, her pupils so wide they looked like ink had spilled across her eyes.
Her mouth was curled into a twisted little smile, but her hands were shaking, and she had that look–the one I’d seen before. Too many times.
“Camilla,” I said slowly, my voice low and sharp. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She didn’t answer at first.
She laughed.
Not a normal laugh.
It was brittle. The kind of sound you hear when something is unraveling at the seams and trying to pretend
it’s fine.
“Who gave you the right to come here?” I asked again, stepping in front of Lyra now, not to cover her, but to confront the disrespect. “Huh? Who the f**k told you you could walk into my house without knocking, without being invited?”
Camilla just tilted her head and giggled again.
Then she reached into the pocket of her coat, pulled out a small bag of white powder, and without hesitation,
she opened it, sniffed hard, and threw her head back.
Her entire body jerked like it was trying to snap itself into reality. She smacked the side of her own head like
she was trying to beat the high into her bloodstream.
Oh damn she’s back to taking drugs.
Behind me, I felt Lyra flinch.
Camilla stared at me with wide, glassy eyes.
“You f*****
g bastard,” she spat, stumbling forward now, her voice cracking at the edges. “You were going to
f**k her, weren’t you? You were about to have your mouth all over her before I walked in.”
She took another step.
“Damon,” she screamed suddenly, her voice raw and broken. “Why can’t you f*****g love me?”
Her hand flew to her face again. She sniffed, loud and messy, and rubbed her palm over her nose like it would
erase the shame bleeding out of her.
“I gave you everything,” she yelled. “l/f*****g did a boob job for you, Damon. You told me you liked them bigger, and I did it. I bled. I got cut open. I laid on that table and let them carve me just so you’d we me
again. And you haven’t even touched me!”
I didn’t speak.
I didn’t even blink.
I looked at her like a stranger.
What Are You Doing Here?
Because that’s what she was now.
She wasn’t my past.
She wasn’t my lover.
She wasn’t anything.
Not anymore.
But she wasn’t done.
Camilla never knew when to stop. Not when she was sober, and especially not when she was coked up and drowning in her own delusions.
She stood there in the middle of my office, swaying slightly, her eyes glassy, her cheeks flushed, her lips twitching like she couldn’t decide whether to scream or cry or throw herself on the floor and beg.
And then she did it again.
She reached into that same coat pocket, pulled out another small hit of powder, and snorted it like oxygen. She shook her head like she was trying to knock sense into herself, but it only made her voice louder,
sloppier, more desperate.
“What does this b***h have that I don’t, huh?!” she screamed, voice cracking as her eyes locked on Lyra like
she was trying to burn a hole through her.
I didn’t answer.
My hand was still on Lyra’s breast.
She was still trembling.
And I could feel her heart racing under my palm like a bird caught in a fist.
“She’s f*****g stupid and fat, Damon!” Camilla shouted, spit flying from her mouth as her mascara smeared lower across her face. “You’re going to throw me away for some tight b***h who doesn’t even know what the
f**k she’s doing?!”
Her voice cracked again.
But she didn’t stop.
“I’ll tighten my p***y if that’s what you want,” she snapped, eyes wide, teeth clenched. “I’ll go get f*****g stitches if that’s what turns you on. I’ll make it brand new. Just for you. Damon, please–please, I want you. I want you so f*****g bad. I need it. I need you to f**k me. Right now. I’ll get on my knees. I’ll crawl. I’ll let you do whatever the f**k you want to me. Just don’t leave me for her.”
Her hand reached for her shirt, fingers fumbling at the buttons as she stumbled another step closer. She popped one open. Then another. Her t**s were out now.
ht. I’ll
“I’ll show you,” she whispered. “I’ll show you I can be better. I can be whatever you want, I’ll lose grow my hair out. I’ll bleach it if that’s what you like. You want someone quiet? I’ll be silent. You want a
w***e? I’ll spread my legs right f*****g now.”
She reached down to her waistband, tugging at her pants like she was about to strip in the middle of the
room, in front of both of us.
What Are You Doing Here?
“I’ll let you slap me,” she begged. “Choke me, f**k me anywhere. Any time. You can come in my mouth and
leave. I won’t even ask for anything back. Just–please. Please don’t act like I’m not good enough. I can be
her, Damon. I can be better than her,”
“Stop this nonsense Camilla!”
Favorite Sin 114
Lyra
Okay folks. Camilla has officially gone cray cray.
Like, I’ve seen some wild s**t in my life. Girls fighting in the bathroom over lip gloss. Two boys pissing in the
same urinal like they were holding hands spiritually.
A girl in my class once pretended to faint during a test just to get out of answering a math question. But this? This right here? This was next–level. Like, I’m talking full–blown Netflix series, season finale drama with
extra cocaine and desperation sprinkled on top.
You know, honestly, I always thought stuff like this only happened in movies. Like, the kind of scene where the ex–girlfriend shows up wearing smeared eyeliner and trauma and begs the rich older man to pick her while the new girl stands in the corner looking all innocent and untouched.
But no. Nope. This was real life. This was me, standing half–dressed, n****e still out, body still shaking from the way Damon had just been whispering into my skin–and there she was.
Camilla.
Fully naked now.
Like, full–on titties out, no shame, coochie one sneeze away from saying hello kind of naked.
And I just stood there. Watching. Blinking. Trying to process the absolute chaos of the moment while Damon didn’t move a muscle behind me. His hand was still on my tit. Still cupping me like I was sacred. Still holding
me like Camilla wasn’t even breathing the same air.
And I’ll be real with you.
The doctor did a really good job on her boobs.
Like, no lie, I was standing there watching this grown woman sob and spiral and beg for s*x, and I still had
the mental capacity to think, Damn. Those are symmetrical. Not jiggly in a weird way. No side dents. Just two full, bouncy, silicone–packed offerings right there in the room.
But still.
What the actual f**k.
She was pacing in circles, muttering to herself, sniffling like she was trying to inhale the walls, crying and swearing and throwing out words like slap me, choke me, f**k me anywhere while her hands kept twitching
like she wanted to touch herself or stáb someone–I honestly wasn’t sure which.
I was still riding the high of him saying I’m going to suck your t**s until you cry, and now there was a drugged–up ex standing ten feet away shaking her fake t**s at him and begging to be used like a doormat.
What the hell was I supposed to do with that?
Scream?
Run?
Clap?
She Might Be Dead
“I’ll do anything.” Camilla sobbed, her voice all shaky and dripping in shame now. “I’ll get on all fours. I’ll let you call me whatever you want. You want a c*m rag? I’ll f*****g be one.”
“I’ll let you f**k me anywhere,” she sobbed, stepping closer, body still trembling and glossy with
sweat. “In your office. In the hallway. In the damn garden. I’ll let you slap me. Spit on me. Call me nothing. I’ll let her watch. I’ll let her laugh. I’ll let you ruin me as long as you don’t pick her. Don’t choose her, Damon
I blinked again.
I felt his c**k hardening against my thigh.
I felt my p***y clench so hard I nearly cried.
Then I glanced up at Damon.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t flinch.
Didn’t even twitch.
His jaw was tight. His chest wasn’t rising like it should’ve been. He looked like a wolf about to snap
someone’s neck just for breathing wrong. And the only thing he touched was me.
Me.
The one who was standing here watching this naked, coke–dusted woman beg for what I already had.
But honestly I’ve had enough. Okay. That’s it. I can’t take this anymore. I really tried. I stood there. I kept my mouth shut. I watched. I let her have her little dramatic monologue, t**s out and dignity in the toilet, but I am
at my limit.
Because this b***h?
This actual naked, powder–sniffing, breakdown–having, tit–jiggling, p***y–offering woman just looked me dead in the eye and told Damon she’d let him spit on her and f**k her in front of me like that was supposed to
scare me.
No, ma’am.
I don’t scare easy.
I moan when he growls, cry when he bites, and c*m when he calls me his. You think your t**s are going to
make him blink when his hand is still squeezing mine?
I laughed.
Like actually laughed.
Out loud.
Not a little snort or a fake, petty giggle. No. I laughed like I had just witnessed the most insan life and my only defense mechanism was losing my s**t entirely. I could feel it bubbling up in champagne fizz and madness, and I just let it rip.
ene of my hest like
“Oh my God,” I said, breathless from laughing, one hand covering my mouth while the other clutched Damon’s shirt for balance. “You’re serious. You’re actually serious. This isn’t a prank or a bet or a hidden camera show. You really just said all of that out loud. Like, on purpose. With full chest.”
She Might Be Dead
Camilla twitched.
Literally twitched like she wanted to lunge at me but forgot she was naked, high, and emotionally collapsed.
“No, no, go ahead,” I said, stepping forward just slightly, still in Damon’s arms but no longer hiding behind him. “You’ve already offered him your stitched–up p***y and your spit–filled mouth. You might as well throw in your credit score while you’re at it. Or a kidney. Want to carve his name into your tit next? Because honey- newsflash–he’s not touching you. At all. Not now. Not ever.”
Her eyes widened.
Her lips trembled.
Good.
Because I wasn’t done.
“You wanna know what I have that you don’t?” I asked, tilting my head like I was about to give her skincare advice. “I have his hands on my body. I have his scent on my skin. I have his voice in my ear when he calls me his kitten and tells me to open wider. I have the bruises on my hips from the last time he knotted me so deep I sobbed into the pillow and begged him not to stop.”
I could feel Damon breathing behind me.
And still?
He didn’t let go.
“I didn’t need to beg,” I said, softer now, slower, like I was explaining something to a child who couldn’t quite grasp the reality of the situation. “I didn’t need to cry or plead or sniff a f*****g drug off my palm like it was my only hope. He wanted me. Just like this. Crying. Needy. In heat and dripping for him. And he hasn’t looked away once.”
Camilla’s mouth opened.
But nothing came out.
Because what could she possibly say?
She was standing there naked, shaking, drugged, sobbing, t**s bouncing, offering to be slut while I stood there wet and claimed. And she couldn’t compete.
Not even a little bit.
“Now take every f*****g dignity you have left and leave!”
“You f*****g w***e!!”
That was the last thing she screamed before everything exploded into something that felt like a nightmare someone forgot to wake me from.
One second, Camilla was across the room, still naked, still sweaty, still shaking like a Hallow that had been left out in the rain,
decoration
She was standing there like a rejected porn star with no self–control and a pocket full of powdered decisions.
I didn’t even flinch when she screamed it. I was already holding Damon’s shirt, already smirking like I had won, because I had.
She Might Be Dead
But then?
She moved.
And it happened too fast.
One second she wa
crying and sniffling, and the next she was rushing me with her hand out and this tiny
little bag clutched between her fingers.
I didn’t even see it clearly until it was too late. I thought she was going to slap me or scream in my face or maybe try to pull my hair like we were in some sad girl–fight outside a club, but no. Oh no. What she did?
She shoved the powder into my
y nose.
She slammed it against my face so hard I stumbled back with a gasp that I couldn’t control.
And the moment that bag hit my nostril, I inhaled it. I didn’t mean to. My body just reacted. I gasped. I breathed in. And whatever the f**k she pushed into me–it hit my brain like fire.
It was like something sliced into my skull from the inside. Like all the light in the room exploded behind my
eyes.
My vision went white, then black, then spinning. I couldn’t feel my fingers. My mouth dropped open, but I
couldn’t speak.
My lungs were trying to pull air in, but nothing felt right. My entire face felt like it was vibrating and my heart started pounding like it was trying to escape.
My knees buckled.
My head tilted back.
And I heard it.
“Camilla..”
That was the last thing I said.
My brain was short–circuiting. My limbs were buzzing. My chest was hot. I couldn’t focus on anything but the heat crawling up my neck and the sharp, metallic taste that filled my mouth.
And then Damon moved.
So fast.
Too fast.
I didn’t even see him leave me.
I didn’t even see the moment he shifted. I just felt it in the air.
And then I heard the sound.
Crack.
It was awful.
It was loud.
It sounded like bones snapping in half.
She Might Be Dead
I couldn’t even scream.
My eyes were half–open, and I saw her–Camilla–on the floor, still naked, still twitching, then not twitching at
all.
Her legs were twisted the wrong way. Her body was bent in angles that didn’t make sense. Her arms were limp. Her chest wasn’t moving. And her eyes?
Her eyes were open.
They were looking right at me.
But she wasn’t blinking.
She wasn’t breathing.
She wasn’t screaming anymore.
She wasn’t anything.
I wanted to step back.
I wanted to say something.
I wanted to scream or cry or throw up or ask Damon what just happened or even try to reach for him, but my body wasn’t listening to me anymore. My vision was shaking. My ears were ringing. My chest was tight. My legs gave out and the floor tilted and I couldn’t keep up with it anymore.
Everything went quiet.
And then?
Black.
Favorite Sin 115
~Lyra~
I know you’re probably wondering why Damon wasn’t fast enough. Why he didn’t grab me, shield me, kill her before she even got close. And trust me, I get it. You’re pissed. You’re screaming at the ceiling right now like.
“How the hell did the big bad Alpha just stand there while his girl got ambushed by a coke–dusted ex with a death wish?” I get it. I really do.
But you need to breathe and sit your ass down because I’m telling you now–don’t be mad at Damon. Please don’t. If you were in that room, if you had felt what I felt, if you had watched everything go down the way it did, you’d understand.
The thing here is that it happened so f*****g fast. Too fast.
I didn’t even see it coming. One second I was laughing, full–on throwing verbal knives at Camilla like the little cocky Omega I am, still dripping, still panting, still high on the way Damon had been holding my breast.
My p***y was literally still pulsing from the sound of his voice in my ear. And then the next second–boom. My whole world cracked in half.
That b***h slammed something into my nose, and my body betrayed me. I gasped. I inhaled. I didn’t even mean to, but the powder went up fast and fierce, and everything went blurry, hot, and loud in my head.
So no, I won’t blame Damon. I won’t hate him for not stopping it. I won’t accuse him of freezing. Because you
know what he did?
The second he realized what happened? He turned into death. Straight–up destruction. And he made sure she
never took another breath again.
Well yippee that b***h is dead. A moment of silence for her y’all. May her soul rest in chaos not peace. lol.
Now back to my story, So if you’re mad at him, let it go. I’m not. I’m alive. I’m fine. I’m awake now.
We were back in the house. Not beside a corpse. But in Damon’s room. His bed. Our space. I felt his presence before I even opened my eyes. His arms. His warmth. His voice.
“Lyra,” he whispered.
My lips parted slowly. My throat burned. My body felt like it had been dragged through fire and ice and then
dunked in fog, but I found the strength.
“Damon,” I whispered.
His hand was on my cheek instantly. Gentle, Rough and Warm. All the things he always is. I opened my eyes
and met his, and I swear, I saw the entire f*****g universe collapse and rebuild in his gaze.
“Hi, kitten,” he breathed, like the sound of
“Hi, baby.”
y voice had just pulled him back from the edge of hell.
He was staring at me like he couldn’t believe I was really awake. Like he was afraid to blink in case! disappeared again.
“How do you feel?” he asked as he reached to cup my face.
Big Baby Damen
“I am so sorry I didn’t react faster than I should have. I am very sorry, baby. I should have seen it. I should w moved. I should’ve…”
“Stop,” I said softly, my fingers brushing his lips.
He froze.
“You did what needed to be done,” I told him. “You didn’t just react. You ended it. You made sure she never got the chance to do it again. You didn’t hesitate. You saved me. That’s what matters.”
His throat bobbed like he was trying not to choke on emotion. I’d never seen Damon this wrecked. Right now, he wasn’t the big bad Alpha. He was just a man. A man who almost lost his girl.
“You were so still,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to mine. “Your body went limp. You weren’t breathing right. I thought I lost you. I swear to God, Lyra, I almost lost my f*****g mind.”
I pressed my hand to his chest.
“You didn’t,” I said. “You didn’t lose me.”
“I’m fine,” I whispered as I tried to sit up, even though my head was spinning and my limbs felt like they’d been replaced with wet noodles.
My whole body felt like it had been tossed in a blender and then microwaved, but I was determined. I had to
see him. I had to touch him. Damon was holding me like I was made of glass, but I could feel the tension in
him. Like he wasn’t just scared–I mean, yeah, scared–but also… ashamed?
I reached out and cupped his face with my hand, my palm barely steady enough to not shake as I slid my
thumb across his cheekbone. His skin was warm. His stubble was rough against my fingers. His eyes were
so dark they looked almost black in the dim light of the room.
And then I noticed something.
His lashes were wet.
My brows furrowed and I tilted my head, squinting up at him as I blinked slowly through the fuzz still
clouding my vision.
མ་བ་དམ་ལག་དང་མ་ཤ་ནས་དངགས་
“Were you crying?” I asked softly, staring right into his face like I was trying to catch him in the act of being
human.
And then–poof.
He stood up so fast I almost fell back into the bed.
He cleared his throat in that obnoxiously masculine way, the kind of throat–clearing that said, I’m a man and I definitely wasn’t just showing any emotion like a human being because I am made of steel and rage and testosterone and unprocessed trauma.
walk across it “Impossible, kitten,” he said, suddenly pacing like the floor was going to catch fire if he did fifty times. “How would a big bad Alpha like me cry? Hmm? I kill. I destroy. I burn kingdomsbury secrets.
I don’t do…” He waved a hand dramatically. “I do not do any such thing as crying.”
I stared at him.
Seriously?
He was really out here pulling the ‘big strong Alpha who doesn’t cry‘ card like I didn’t just see the man holding
Big Baby Damon
me like I was the last breath in his lungs not even five minutes ago.
“Damon,” I called out, my voice sharp but small, hoping he’d just stop for a second and look at me. He didn’t.
He kept talking like he was reading his own edgy mafia romance cover.
“I have carved out throats with my claws. I have torn apart packs. I’ve silenced men with one look. Crying?” He let out a short, dismissive sound. “Please. I do not have tear ducts. I have shadows. I have darkness. I
have-”
“Damon,” I said again, louder this time, interrupting his tragic little villain monologue before he started quoting poetry and brooding out the window like we were in some gothic werewolf novel with rain tapping on the glass.
Then he stopped.
“I was scared, kitten.”
That’s what he said, and the way it came out of his mouth made me freeze. Not because I didn’t believe it, but because I had never, in my wildest, most dramatic little eighteen–year–old imagination, thought I’d hear that tone from him.
Damon always spoke like thunder. Like sin wrapped in control. Like nothing in the world could shake him. But
right then? His voice didn’t sound like Damon, the Alpha. It sounded like Damon, the man who almost lost
something he didn’t know how to live without.
“I know this is so unlike me, okay,” he continued, and I swear he was pacing again, his hands flexing at his
sides like he didn’t know what to do with all the weight pressing down on his chest. “But I was a bit scared.
You–and our baby…” His voice caught for a second, and it made my heart skip, because he said it. He said
our baby. “…you could’ve been gone. And I couldn’t stop it.”
I just stared at him. I didn’t interrupt. I didn’t even blink. I was trying to hold onto every word.
“I know you know me as the man who’s never cried,” he said, and now his eyes were shifting around like he
couldn’t bear to look directly at me.
“I know. I know how I look. How I act. I’ve trained myself to be stone. I’ve built myself into something ruthless.
I kill. I destroy. I silence. I do not break. I do not feel. I do not cry.”
He paused like he was fighting with himself now. Like even speaking this much truth was physically painful.
“But I tried so f*****g hard to control it,” he muttered. “I really did. I tried to stay cold. I told myself you’d be
fine. I told myself to stay still, stay sharp, wait for you to breathe again. But you didn’t. Not right away. And
my body–my wolf–he just…”
He trailed off, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon through every emotion known to man.
And honestly, I couldn’t help it.
I smiled.
Not because I thought it was funny. Not because I was brushing it off. But because seeing Damon, the an who’s choked people with one hand and ripped throats out with the other, stand there looking like a sad little mountain of muscle and guilt, confessing that he cried over me?
It made my chest warm in the most ridiculous, tender, possessive way.
< Big Baby Damon
So I stretched out my hand, still weak and slightly trembling, and said, “Come here.”
His eyes finally met mine.
And that was all it took.
He walked to the bed slowly, not like the predator he usually was, but like a man who was still afraid he might break something if he moved too fast.
He climbed in beside me without a word, shifted until his head was resting right on my chest, and curled one arm around my waist like he was afraid I’d vanish if he didn’t hold on tight enough.
I wrapped my arms around him, holding him against me, his head right above my heart.
“There,” I whispered, letting my fingers stroke through his hair. “Feel that? Still beating.”
He didn’t say anything.
His breathing was heavy. His body was tense.
I could feel all of it–the fear, the anger, the love he didn’t know how to name yet.
And because I’m me, and because being soft for too long makes me emotionally itchy, I rolled my eyes and
smiled.
“You’re such a big baby,” I whispered down at him, and when he still didn’t move, I added, “You know that, right?”
Nothing.
No reply.
Just silence and warmth and the weight of everything that almost happened pressing down between us.
So I did what I do best.
I cracked a joke.
“Wanna continue from where we stopped?”