Ch. 61..65: Breed Me, Daddy Alpha chapter 61-65
Favorite Sin 61
Who’s This?O
Who’s This?08
~~Lyra~~
I couldn’t stop moaning.
“Daddy,” I moaned, breathless and desperate and shaking, “oh my God, daddy, f**k, please, please don’t stop..
My head slammed lightly against the wall when he rammed into me again, so hard and so deep that my thighs actually trembled around his hips.
I didn’t care.
I didn’t care about anything.
All I cared about was how full I felt, how good he made me feel, how badly I wanted him to keep going until I
couldn’t walk for a week.
“You feel that?” I gasped, voice cracking as my nails dragged down his back. “You feel how wet I am? I’ve been like this for days. I couldn’t even f*****g think without getting soaked.
Every time I saw a picture of you in my phone I almost started humping my f*****g pillow like a pathetic little girl, but I didn’t, I swear I didn’t, I waited for you like a good girl, like your good little fucktoy, like your personal
little cumdumpster..”
He growled when I said that word.
His fingers dug into my ass harder. His c**k hit even deeper. His teeth found my neck again, biting down until I gasped and moaned louder than I meant to.
My breasts kept bouncing with every movement, my n*****s so hard they ached, and I couldn’t stop clawing at him. My legs were shaking. My arms were shaking. My voice was a mess of moans and cries and high,
breathy gasps.
And through it all, I just kept saying his name.
“Damon–daddy–oh God–please, harder, I missed this, I missed you, I missed your c**k, please, please don’t stop, I need it–I need it so f*****g bad-”
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t think.
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And every single time he pulled out and slammed back in, I felt myself spiral a little more.
“Make me come,” I whispered against his throat. “Please, daddy, please make me come. I want to come on your c**k. I want to come while you’re still f*****g me against the wall like I’m your personal f*****g slut–like I’m just a hole for you to fill and ruin and leave dripping–please, please, I’m so close-”
And then he slammed into me.
Harder than before.
So hard I actually screamed.
My back slammed against the wall again. My legs nearly slipped from around his waist. My vision blurred.
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Who’s
This?
My mouth opened but no sound came out. And then he growled something in my ear..something low and filthy and possessive that I couldn’t even process..and pulled out so fast my p***y clenched around nothing and I almost started crying.
But before I could say a single word..before I could beg or moan or even breathe..he moved.
Like fast.
Like I wasn’t even a person, just a toy he could bend and flip and use how he f*****g wanted.
He grabbed the back of my neck and dragged me from the wall, spun me around like a doll, and shoved me- not onto the floor, not onto the bed, not against the wall again–but onto him.
His back hit the floor, and I landed on top of him–but it wasn’t cowgirl.
No. Not even close.
Because the second I landed, he bent my legs backward, hooked my knees over his shoulders, and folded me in half–my back arched, my ass completely off the floor, my p***y spread wide and exposed with my ankles practically touching my ears. I was upside down, backwards, f****d–up and wide open with his c**k lining up to push in from above.
And I screamed.
Like full–body, unfiltered, holy–s**t–he’s–gonna–kill–me screamed.
Because I’d never felt anything like it in my life.
“Damon–what–what is this–oh my God, daddy–f**k, I can’t–this position–it’s–it’s so deep–I’ve never–f**k
My t**s bounced against my chest with every thrust. My throat kept catching on every moan. My p***y was so swollen and wet that the sounds–the f*****g sounds–were loud and messy and filthy as hell.
And I didn’t care.
“Daddy–f**k–f**k–oh my God–this position..I can feel it in my stomach–I swear I feel it in my f*****g ribs- I’m gonna come–f**k I’m gonna come so hard I’m gonna die..”
He grunted above me and slammed down again, and I saw stars. My body actually convulsed.
My legs trembled where they were locked over his shoulders.
My hands grabbed at nothing, fingers curling into the air like I could claw reality back into my palms.
And he didn’t stop.
He just f****d down into me, over and over, with this brutal rhythm that made me cry and moan and laugh like I was going insane.
My mouth wouldn’t close.
My eyes wouldn’t stay open.
And every single thrust made me feel like I was about to ascend and f*****g explode at the same time. “Daddy–please–I can’t–f**k I’m coming–I’m gonna come so hard–you’re going to break me..”
And then he stopped.
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Who’s This?0
Just for a second.
Just long enough for my brain to think I was going to get a break.
But I should’ve known better.
Because he didn’t stop to be kind.
He stopped to flip me.
PORE R
His hands gripped my thighs, strong and unforgiving, and in one smooth, brutal movement, he snatched me off the floor like I weighed nothing, like I wasn’t already soaking and trembling and seconds away from passing out. I barely had time to breathe before he twisted my body again–this time flipping me face down onto the cold marble, but he didn’t let go of my legs.
Oh my God.
Oh my f*****g God.
Because he bent my knees up behind me–like a frog, like a w***e–and sat on the back of my thighs, holding me completely pinned under his weight with my ass in the air, my face smashed to the floor, and my p***y exposed and open beneath him like it was made to be destroyed.
I let out a scream.
Not even a cute moan.
A real scream.
Because my ass was up, my back was arched in the filthiest f*****g position, and his c**k was already pushing back into me–from above again, but this time with gravity and pressure and his entire goddamn bodyweight holding me down like a helpless little fucktoy.
“Damon,” I gasped, voice muffled by the floor, “Daddy–please–what–what are you doing–oh my God–I can’t -I can’t move–I can’t even-”
“You don’t need to move,” he growled behind me, voice so deep and nasty it made my whole body convulse.” You just need to take it.”
And I did.
I took it.
I took everything.
Because the second he started thrusting into me in that position–knees pinned under his weight, ass up, chest down, p***y leaking all over the marble–I lost every single thought I’d ever had. He was grinding so deep into me, hitting spots I didn’t even know existed, pulling back just enough to make me ache before slamming in with this sick, brutal rhythm that made my jaw drop and my eyes roll back.
I was stuck.
Fully restrained under his hips. Legs bent and shaking. Arms stretched above my head. Face pressed to the floor like a dumb little ragdoll while he ruined me from behind like it was his f*****g job.
And my moans?
They were constant.
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Who’s Thrs70
“Oh my God–oh my God–f**k, daddy–please–please don’t stop–please don’t stop–oh my f*****g God–l
can feel you in my throat–this position–what the f**k–why does it feel so good–why does it feel this f*****g good-”
I was crying now.
Actually crying.
Tears dripping down my cheeks and onto the marble from how hard he was f*****g me. My cunt was so wet the sound of it echoed in the room–every slap of skin on skin.
“You wanted this?” he growled, slapping my ass so hard it echoed. Then take it, Lyra. Take every f*****g inch like the c*m–dumb slut you are.”
And I did.
I f*****g took it.
I screamed his name.
I begged like I’d never begged in my life.
I came so hard my body convulsed beneath him, my p***y squeezing around him like it never wanted to let go, and still–he didn’t stop.
Because Damon Thornvale wasn’t here to make love.
He was here to break me.
I didn’t know how long I laid there.
My body was still twitching.
My legs were numb. My throat was sore. My cunt felt like it had been torn apart and kissed back together all in the same hour. The marble was cold beneath me, but Damon’s skin was hot, stretched behind me, warm and solid as his chest pressed to my back and his hand slid slowly down the curve of my thigh.
For a second, we didn’t say anything.
There was just breathing. Heavy. Uneven. Mine fast and shaky, his slow and controlled like he hadn’t just f****d me into the f*****g stone.
Then I felt his lips graze my shoulder.
Lazy.
Possessive.
Warm.
“So,” he said, voice low, still soaked in that post–orgasm growl that made my insides clench all over again, what’ve you and Tasha been up to since I left?”
I blinked slowly, my breath catching a little as my brain tried to focus on anything besides the c*m still dripping down my thighs.
“Nothing much, really,” I said, voice hoarse, light, a little too casual for someone who just got wrecked
< Who’s This?03
face–down on the floor. “She’s been annoying. You know, typical Tasha shit.”
48 Points
I reached for the silk shirt he’d thrown on the chair earlier and tugged it over my head, dragging myself up to sit on shaky legs. He stayed on the floor behind me, lounging like he was watching art, eyes still burning into
the back of my neck.
I was about to say something else–some joke, something dumb and flirty–but then my eyes caught on
something by the window.
A photo.
Folded down. Tucked halfway under a stack of unopened mail.
I tilted my head.
“What’s that?”
I reached over, curiosity getting the better of me, fingers brushing the edge of the glossy frame as I pulled it
closer.
It was a picture.
Old. A little dusty.
Elegant.
A woman with high cheekbones, dark hair swept up in a way that screamed class and power, standing beside Damon in what looked like a black–and–white wedding photo.
My breath hitched slightly.
She was beautiful. Not soft. Not innocent. But elegant in a way that made my chest tighten.
I turned to him slowly, holding up the frame as my voice went quiet.
“Oh wow,” I said, blinking, my fingers tightening slightly around the edge. “Is this your wife?”
I licked my lips. My voice dropped lower.
“So tell me something, Damon.”
My fingers tapped the photo once.
Then again.
Then I looked him straight in the eyes and whispered:
“Am I just her replacement?”
Favorite Sin 62
I held the photo tighter.
Tighter than I meant to.
My fingers were actually trembling, and not from the s*x. Not from the ache in my thighs or the c*m still dripping down my leg or the f*****g bruises on my hips. This was different. This was rage. This was realization. This was the sick, stupid silence that came with remembering something you should’ve
remembered but were too busy getting ruined to think about.
I let out a laugh.
Dry.
Sharp.
“Wow,” I muttered, still staring at the photo. “I actually forgot you had a wife.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
My head snapped up.
“No, really, Damon. I forgot. That’s how far gone I’ve been. That’s how deep in your c**k I’ve been. That’s how dumb you’ve made me. I mean–God–I’m here f*****g you like it’s the last thing I’ll ever do, like I don’t have a single brain cell left, and all this time you’ve got her-“I held up the frame like it was evidence in court “– sitting right here in a frame beside the goddamn mail. Not hidden. Not stored away. Here.”
I tossed it on the floor.
It landed with a thud.
“I mean, what the f**k, Damon? Are you married? Is she dead? Are you divorced? Is this like some psycho grieving widower thing or am I just your little side f**k while she’s in the other room doing yoga and drinking cucumber water?”
He opened his mouth.
I cut him off.
“No. Don’t talk yet. I’m not done.”
I stood there, half–naked in his shirt, trembling with leftover pleasure and now very fresh fury. “You keep calling me good girl, keep whispering all this possessive Daddy s**t in my ear, keep filling me up like you own me–but I’m sorry, was that her job first? Is that why you know how to do all this so well? Did she like being pinned down and choked too, Damon? Did she call you Daddy too? Or am I just the new model with less emotional damage and tighter p***y?”
He looked like he wanted to interrupt again.
I didn’t let him.
“Oh no, you don’t get to play silent right now. You don’t get to dominate and disappear when it’s convenient. You f****d me. On the floor. Against the wall. Folded me in half like a f*****g paper doll. You told me to take
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The Dark Truth
It. And I did. I gave you
everything. And now I’m standing here looking at this woman–this woman in pearls and silk and grace–and I’m asking myself what the f**k I am to you. Because I don’t wear pearls. I wear pigtails and lip gloss and call you Daddy while you f**k the sanity out of me.”
My chest was heaving.
I didn’t even realize I was crying until I tasted salt.
“So tell me, Damon. Where is she? Where the f**k is your wife? Because this photo–this perfectly preserved, perfectly folded little photo–it wasn’t shoved away in a drawer. It was sitting right out in the open. Like a
goddamn shrine. Like a reminder. Like she still f*****g lives here.”
He said nothing.
I laughed again.
Louder this time.
“Holy s**t. Is she here? Is she f*****g here? Are you f*****g her too? Is that what this is? You f**k her in your bed like a husband and then you f**k me on the floor like a w***e? Do I get the marble and she gets the mattress? Or do you rotate us depending on your mood?”
I took a step toward him.
Then another.
Until I was right in front of him, right in his space, right where he’d just f****d me senseless and now stood there like I wasn’t tearing apart in front of him.
“Because if that’s what this is,” I whispered, “if I’m just the fucktoy to your actual wife…tell me now. Tell me before I sink even deeper. Tell me before I lose my whole f*****g mind over a man who was never mine to begin with.”
My throat felt like it was closing.
My knees were shaking.
My heart was pounding so hard I felt it in my ears.
“Say something,” I choked. “Say anything. Lie to me. Tell me she’s dead. Tell me you left her. Tell me I’m your only one. Just–just f*****g say something before I start screaming.”
And then I waited.
Staring at him. ̈ ̄ ̄
Hating him.
Needing him.
Shaking with the kind of emotional whiplash only an eighteen–year–old girl completely consumed by an older man could ever feel.
~~
The silence stretched.
And I swear to God, I was about to scream.
< The Dark Truth
+8 PROS
He was still standing there. Watching me. Breathing like a beast. Eyes burning through me like my words had cut him open – and maybe they had, maybe I wanted them to – but f**k, the way he just stood there made
something inside me snap.
“You’re not gonna say anything?” I flung my arms out. “You’re just gonna stare at me like I’m crazy when I’m literally trying to make sense of your entire f*****g life? You just f****d me so hard I can’t even walk straight, and now I find out there’s a wife involved and you suddenly turn into Mr. Silent and Mysterious like you didn’t just have your c**k so deep in me it knocked every goddamn thought out of my brain-”
I didn’t even get to finish.
Because the second those words left my mouth–he moved.
Fast.
So fast I couldn’t even scream.
His hand wrapped around my throat, not choking me, not yet, but firm enough to make me gasp and stumble backward as his other arm snatched me by the waist and slammed me against the wall. My back hit the concrete. My breath left my lungs. And his body was right there–hard, hot, radiating dominance like it was pouring out of his goddamn skin.
“Look at you,” he growled, voice like thunder, voice like s*x, voice like punishment wrapped in silk and sin.” Running your mouth like a f*****g tap.”
I tried to breathe.
I couldn’t.
Not with him that close.
Not with his hand still gripping my throat like it belonged there.
“You want to know the truth?” he hissed, lips brushing my ear, c**k hard again against my thigh like my little
thing about me,
tantrum had turned him on. “You want to throw accusations like you know a single f***** ?
about my past, about her?”
I opened my mouth.
He shoved two fingers in before I could speak.
Just like that.
Right between my lips, deep to the knuckle, stretching my mouth wide around his thick fingers as he growled low in my ear, “Do you want me to f**k this mouth again, little girl?”
My legs almost buckled.
I was shaking all over.
He pressed harder. His fingers curled against my tongue, soaking them in spit, rubbing slow and deep like he owned the inside of my mouth. And I couldn’t do anything–couldn’t breathe, couldn’t argue, couldn’t even think–because holy f**k it felt too good and too wrong and too him.
“That’s what you want, right?“/he snarled, pulling his fingers out slow, letting my spit trail from his hand to my lips like a string of f*****g surrender. “You don’t want the truth. You want me to shut you up with c**k and bruises until your only thoughts are yes, Daddy and f**k me harder.”
The Dark Truth
I whimpered.
Actually f*****g whimpered.
Like the needy, shaking, ruined mess that I was.
“You’re eighteen,” he said darkly, his hand sliding down my throat, over the shirt that was still clinging to my sweat–slick skin, down to my bare thigh, “but you’ve got a mouth like a w***e and a cunt that screams to be
filled. You stand here demanding answers like you’re in charge, like you get a say, like this isn’t mine-” his
hand slid between my thighs so fast I gasped, “-this soaked little p***y, this dripping mess you keep handing to me like it’s all you’ve got.”
I moaned.
I didn’t mean to.
But f**k, my body betrayed me.
He shoved his thigh between mine and pressed up, grinding slow, making my clit scream through the thin fabric of his shirt as I bit my lip and whimpered into his chest.
“Talk all that s**t, Lyra,” he growled. “Go ahead. Ask me your little questions. Cry about the wife. Scream at the picture. But don’t f*****g pretend you don’t know what you are.”
I clawed at his arms.
He grabbed my face again.
“You’re mine,” he snapped. “Not hers. Not anyone else’s. Mine. You know it. I know it. Your p***y
knows it.”
His hand slammed behind my thigh and yanked me up. I wrapped around him before I could stop myself, legs trembling around his waist as he carried me across the room again–this time to the nearest chair. A black leather throne that looked like it was made for punishment.
He dropped into it with me straddling him.
And he didn’t even hesitate.
He slapped my p***y through the shirt.
I screamed.
He did it again.
“You want to know where my wife is?” he hissed, rubbing me through the soaked silk. “You want to play detective while your p***y begs to be f****d again?”
“Yes,” I gasped. “Yes, I do, but–I can’t–I can’t think when you do that—”
“That’s the point, baby,” he growled. /Thinking’s not what you’re for. This little mouth and this little cunt- that’s what you’re for.”
His fingers pulled the shirt up. My thighs spread on instinct. My whole body arched like a drugged little sl begging to be used.
“Open your mouth again,” he said, voice low, voice deadly.
I obeyed.
The Dark Truth
He shoved his fingers in again, deeper this time, f*****g them into my throat while his other hand slapped my p***y hard enough to make me cry.
And I did.
Tears sliding down my cheeks as I gagged on his fingers and rode his hand like I was losing my goddamn
mind.
I couldn’t think.
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t stop moaning.
And through it all, I just kept hearing his voice–low, cruel, dominant.
“She was never you,” he snarled. “And you will never be her. You’re worse. Dirtier. Wilder. Filthier. And I f*****g
love it.”
His hand grabbed my throat again as he slammed me on the leather chair. f**k.
Not enough to choke.
Just enough to make my vision tilt, my brain fuzz, my breath stutter like it belonged to him.
He was under me–hard, huge, dangerous–his leather chair creaking beneath us like it knew what was coming. And his voice–oh my f*****g God–his voice was pure goddamn poison. Slow. Dark. So f*****g calm it made my stomach flip.
“Why don’t I f**k you again,” he said, voice low and venom–slick, “right here in this chair….and tell you who the f**k my wife is while I’m balls deep in this soaked little p***y you keep handing me like it’s a f*****g gift?”
“Would you like that kitten”
I gasped.
Like loud. f**k can he be more hotter!!!
Royalty Writes
Hey dear my dear readers. I know you would have been waiting for an update. I am sorry it came late okay. Enjoy
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Favorite Sin 63
~Lyra~
I didn’t even get the chance to breathe.
Because the second those words left his mouth, he grabbed me.
His hands slammed down on my hips like he was done pretending, done letting me run wild, done letting me act like I had any control over this. And then he dragged me forward, yanked my soaked little cunt right over his c**k, and slammed me down so f*****g deep I swear I blacked out for a second.
My whole body convulsed.
My mouth opened.
And the sound that came out of me didn’t even sound human.
“Oh my f*****g God–Damon..fuck..Daddy..shit..I wasn’t ready..why the f**k does it feel even bigger now..I swear to God I can feel you in my ribs..”
He didn’t answer.
Didn’t give me a second to process.
He just thrust up again, brutal and slow, grinding deep into my core like he was trying to carve out every thought I’d ever had. And I couldn’t stop the words pouring out of my mouth because I was overstimulated and ruined and shaking all over again.
“You can’t just say that..you can’t just say you’re gonna f**k me while talking about your wife–do you know how insane that is–I’m literally leaking all over you and you’re about to give me trauma and orgasms at the same time–I don’t even know if I should cry or moan or scream–oh my God–I think I’m doing all three-”
He slammed up into me again.
I screamed.
My legs started shaking instantly. My clit throbbed. My n*****s were already tight, brushing against the silk shirt that was still clinging to my body like it had given up trying to hide anything.
“She was my wife,” he growled, voice low, dangerous, vibrating straight through my spine as he thrust up again. “Her name was Camilla. She died ten f*****g years ago. You think I would keep her around? Keep her in this house? You think I’d touch you if I was still touching her?”
I tried to answer.
But I couldn’t.
Because his c**k was already hitting too deep again. Too hard. Too f*****g good. My body was clenching around him like it wanted to eat him, like it needed him to stay there forever.
“You’re not a replacement, Lyra,” he snarled, grabbing my hips tighter, slamming me down over and over until my moans turned into sobs. “You’re not second best. You’re worse. You’re filthier. Louder. Needier. You don’t shut up. You don’t listen. And you make me so f*****g hard I forget I ever had a past.”
“Oh my God–f**k–f**k, Damon–Daddy, I swear I’m gonna die like this–your c**k’s in too deep-I can’t even
His To Keep
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sit still—it keeps hitting this spot like you’re trying to pull the orgasm straight out of my f*****g soul–I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore–I think I forgot my own name–just keep going–please keep going–f**k
I was riding him like my life depended on it.
Except I wasn’t even doing it. He was making me. He was forcing me to bounce. His hands were locked around my waist and he was just using me, dragging my soaked p***y up and down his c**k like I was a toy built just to take it. And I was. I felt like it.
Like I didn’t exist for anything else but this.
“But you want to know about her?” he grunted. “You want to hear about the wife while I f**k you stupid?”
I nodded–too hard, too fast.
“Yes–yes–I want to know–I need to know–I can take it, I swear–I’m already a mess, just give me the truth- I’ll take it with c**k–I’ll take it with everything–f**k–Damon-”
“She was a good girl,” he growled, dragging me down hard. “Too good. Too soft. She didn’t fight me. Didn’t scream at me. Didn’t talk back like you do.”
I clenched.
So f*****g hard around him I almost screamed again.
“She died in a car accident,” he went on. “Ten years ago. Drunk driver. Hit her head–on. I held her while she bled out in my arms.”
My body stilled.
Just for a second.
But he didn’t stop.
He didn’t let me pause.
He just slammed back up into me and forced the orgasm out of my silence.
“She bled all over me. And I haven’t touched anyone since. Not until you.”
My mouth dropped open.
I moaned.
Loud.
So loud I almost scared myself.
“Oh my God–f**k–f**k–Damon–I’m gonna come–don’t stop–please don’t stop–keep going–keep going- tell me more—I want to know–I need to know–I want to feel everything–I want to feel your wife’s ghost and your rage and your f*****g guilt all inside me while you break me open-”
“You’re sick,” he growled, slamming me down again.
“I know,” I sobbed, nails clawing at his shoulders as I rode the edge. “I know–I’m sick–I’m so sick and needy and wrong–but I’m yours–I’m your mess–your little fucktoy–your cumdump–I don’t care if I’m second–l don’t care if I’m nothing–just don’t f*****g stop-”
His To Keep
“You’re not nothing,” he hissed. “You’re everything I shouldn’t want. Everything I swore I’d never touch again.”
And then he flipped me again.
Fast.
Brutal.
He yanked me off his lap, bent me over the armrest of the chair, and slammed into me from behind so hard my scream hit the windows.
“You’re everything!“he growled.
“Then why did you keep her photo?” I moaned out. “Why was it there–right there–next to your goddamn mail
like she’s still here–like she still matters more than me-”
His hand slammed across my ass so hard the crack echoed like a gunshot.
“She doesn’t matter more than you,” he snapped. “But she’s the reason I didn’t touch anyone for a decade. Until you. You–eighteen, mouthy, filthy little you–you ruined every promise I made to myself.”
“Then break them,” I sobbed. “Break them all for me. Ruin yourself. Touch me again. Use me. Make me forget who she is. Make me forget who I am.”
“You don’t know what the f**k you’re saying.”
“I do. I know I’m shaking. I know I’m dripping. I know I’m your little fucktoy and I don’t give a s**t if I’m twisted and insane and wrong for liking this–just keep going–don’t stop–please don’t stop-”
“You think I don’t know what I’m saying just because I’m eighteen?” I hissed. “You think I don’t understand what this is? I do. I understand it too well. I feel it. Every time you touch me. Every time you growl in my ear like I’m something you’re trying to resist but can’t.
“Every time your c**k throbs inside me like it wants to claim me forever.
“I know what I’m saying. I know what I’m doing
. I’m begging you to destroy me, and I’ll beg again I want every piece of you inside me until I can’t breathe without tasting your f*****g name.”
He didn’t speak.
He didn’t move.
He was just standing behind me, breathing hard, c**k still twitching like it hadn’t finished making a mess of
me.
And when he finally spoke, his voice was so low, so tight, so chained, I could hear the restraint bleeding through every word.
“You want all of it?” he growled. “You want the filth and the truth and the blood and the ghosts?”
“Yes,” I gasped, panting against the leather as I turned my head, licking my lips, eyes half–lidded and f****d out but still burning for him.
“I want the parts of you that you haven’t even looked at since she died. I want the parts that still remember how she smelled and the parts that pretend they don’t. I want the guilt. The shame. The dirt. The lust. I want to sink my nails into the part of you that belongs to her and f*****g steal it.”
He thrust again.
His To Keep
So deep I screamed. f**k.
My orgasm exploded without warning, sharp and violent, ripping out of me like fire, and I couldn’t stop
shaking.
He groaned behind me, low and feral, and finally pulled out.
My body dropped forward. I couldn’t hold myself up. I collapsed over the arm of the chair, breathing in hard, gasping like I’d just drowned and come back to life in the same minute.
I didn’t say anything.
I couldn’t.
Everything hurt.
Everything throbbed.
My p***y was so swollen and tender it felt like it had been claimed by war and crowned with pleasure all in
one brutal act.
He stood up behind me, adjusting his pants, not even wiping off the mess he left behind. I turned my head just enough to see him walking away.
“Where–where are you going?” I asked, voice wrecked, breathless, cracked beyond repair.
He didn’t answer.
Just muttered, “I’ll be right back.”
Then walked into the bathroom.
And I just laid there.
Still folded over the arm of the chair, my thighs twitching, my chest with sweat, my cunt wrecked and leaking and still aching from how deep he’d been inside me.
But I couldn’t help it.
I smiled.
I actually f*****g smiled.
Not a sweet smile.
Not a relieved smile.
A dirty, wicked, f****d–up little grin that curled across my face like a secret.
Because thank God she was dead.
Camilla.
Gone.
Buried. Burned. Whatever.
I didn’t care how it happened. I didn’t need the obituary. I didn’t need the backstory. I didn’t need a timeline or closure or any of that dramatic adult grief bullshit.
She was gone.
<
< His To Keep
Which meant Damon was mine.
All mine.
No ring on his finger.
No quiet, elegant woman sipping tea in his bed.
No one to call him husband except me when I screamed it during s*x just to hear him growl.
I arched my back a little, winced at the soreness, and bit my lip because I liked the sting. It reminded me that
I’d earned this. That I’d taken him. That I’d f****d him so hard the ghost of his dead wife probably felt it
wherever she was.
Yay me.
Don’t judge me, folks.
Seriously.
Don’t.
If you were in my shoes–if you were eighteen and dripping and throbbing and freshly f****d by a man who made your bones vibrate–wouldn’t you be happy too?
Wouldn’t you laugh a little knowing the woman who came before you was out of the picture forever?
I wasn’t a saint.
I wasn’t the good girl in anyone’s story.
But I was the one in his bed now.
I was the one he just shoved against a chair and filled so deep I still couldn’t close my legs.
I was the one he wanted so badly he forgot how to breathe.
So yeah.
Camilla was gone.
And I was f*****g glad.
Because if she were still here, I’d probably have to kill her.
And something told me Damon would still f**k me after.
Royalty Writes
Thank you all so much for your support. But hold up a goddamn minute did Damon just lie to Lyra?
Hmmm. I hope you are enjoying the story so far
”
Favorite Sin 64
~Damon~
f**k.
f**k.
What the hell have I done?
Why did I lie to her?
I kept pacing the bathroom like a f*****g maniac, trying to get my breath back, trying to ground myself in something that wasn’t the memory of her cunt squeezing me like it was sculpted to break men apart.
The air in the room was thick with steam and the smell of sweat and s*x. My skin was still burning from the way her nails raked down my chest, from the way her mouth trembled when she asked me the question I never wanted to hear–why did you keep her photo?
And Nied.
Not because I’m a coward. Not because I’m cold.
But because I didn’t want what we have to end.
That was the f*****g truth.
That’s the part I didn’t say.
I didn’t tell her my wife was still alive that Camilla lost her mind because of her drinking and drug habit.
I didn’t tell Lyra that I sent Camilla to rehab not because I loved her, but because she was a menace and nearly killed our daughter because of her addiction.
But more than anything–I didn’t tell her because Lyra is young. Too young. Just eighteen. Too f*****g dangerous.
She feels everything with her whole body, her whole mouth, her whole soul.
And she could make one stupid decision in a moment of panic that would tear this whole f****d–up thing apart. Walk away. Shut down. Decide she’s better off. Decide I’m just like every other goddamn man that’s ever taken too much from her.
I couldn’t risk that. I can’t risk that.
Because I need her.
God help me, I need her.
Not just her lips. Not just her body. Not just the way she arches her back when I grip her throat and slam inside her like I’m trying to erase her past.
I need the way she cries when she comes. The way she pants and claws and begs like she was born to be on my c**k. I need the sound of her voice–filthy, cracked, unraveling–as she whispers “Daddy” like it’s not just a kink but a f*****g claim.
I can still feel her.
< She’s Back
My c**k is still hard. Still throbbing. Still twitching from the way she milked me dry.
Her p***y is the tightest f*****g thing I’ve ever felt. Not just tight–it’s alive. It’s f*****g aware. It clenches
when I curse.
Pulses when I growl. Squeezes when I slap her ass and spit in her mouth and tell her she was made to be ruined by me. She responds to me like her body knows me. Like it’s not just s*x–it’s submission. Worship.
Madness.
I can still feel her cunt swallowing me, still dripping down my balls, still warm and slick from the way she came three times in one goddamn session.
I still see her face–mouth open, eyes rolled back, drool on her chin from how hard she moaned when I told her she wasn’t a replacement, but something worse. Something more. Louder. Filthier. Mine.
The silk shirt she was wearing is still in the corner. Soaked. See–through. Her n*****s were so hard when I touched her, they could’ve cut glass. Her thighs shook.
Her stomach quivered. Her legs opened for me like they belonged that way. And when I slammed into her from behind, bent her over the chair like she was a f*****g ragdoll, she screamed like I’d just saved her from
drowning.
She calls me Daddy like she knows it makes me weak.
She smiles while I f**k her like I’m going to hell and she’s riding me there.
God, I love her mouth. Her mouth that never shuts up, that talks while she rides me, that keeps talking even when she’s crying from overstimulation and saying she’s going to die on my c**k. I love the way she whispers “I’m yours” when I knot her down, when I grip her by the waist and slam her so deep her voice breaks.
I love everything about her.
And I hate it.
Because it means I’m falling for her.
Not just her body.
Her.
Her chaos. Her wildness. The way she doesn’t apologize for anything she feels. The way she cries and laughs and begs and curses all in the same breath. The way she looks at me like I’m the first man who’s ever seen
her.
And I don’t want it to stop.
I don’t want her to wake up one day and decide she regrets me. I don’t want her to take back the way she moaned “f**k, Daddy, it’s too big, it’s too much, I’m gonna break” while I told her to shut up and take every inch. I don’t want her to stop throwing that filthy little smirk at me when she’s still leaking down her thighs
and asking if I’m going to fill her again.
So I lied.
I f*****g lied.
I told her Camilla was dead,
And now I can’t breathe.
She’s Back
My lungs feel like they’re made of glass, every inhale dragging across the inside of my ribs like broken shards. My grip on the sink tightens until it creaks beneath my palm.
What the f**k is wrong with me?
૧૪ એમ તે વિશ
I am standing here, in this bathroom, trying to pretend I’m still the kind of man who knows how to handle the consequences of his own decisions. But the truth is–I don’t. Not anymore. Not when it comes to her.
Not when it comes to Lyra.
But honestly I told myself I was just using her. That this was temporary. That it was physical. Nothing more.
But that’s a lie too.
Because it’s not just her body I want. It’s not just the way her p***y clenches around me like she was built to trap me inside. It’s not just the way she looks when she comes–mouth open, eyes wild, hands gripping me like I’m the only solid thing she’s ever had to hold on to.
It’s her entirely.
I ran both hands through my hair, dragging my fingers down my face with a growl that got stuck somewhere in my throat.
f**k.
Am I getting obsessed with her?
Is that what this is?
Because I feel it. That pull. That need. That sick, addictive spiral that’s dragging me deeper every time I hear her say Daddy in that desperate, f****d–out voice.
God, what is she doing to me?
I’ve been with women. Dozens. Maybe more. I’ve f****d harder. I’ve f****d longer. But no one has ever gotten inside my head the way she has. No one’s ever made me feel like this. Like I’d tear down the world just to have five more minutes with her legs wrapped around my waist.
I should be in control.
I’m older. Wiser. I’ve buried men, built empires, destroyed entire lives with a single decision. I’ve tasted blood and power and silence. I’ve been called ruthless. Dangerous. Unforgiving.
But here I am, losing my breath over an eighteen–year–old girl who won’t stop talking, who won’t stop smiling, who won’t stop letting me f**k the softness out of her until she forgets her own name.
What the hell am I becoming?
Am I falling for her?
God, no. That can’t be it.
I’m too smart for that. Too f*****g old. I know better. I’ve already done the love thing before.
But this isn’t love.
This is something else.
It’s worse.
She’s Back
And maybe I’ll break her.
Maybe I’m the villain in her story.
But I don’t care.
Because I can’t stop.
I don’t want to stop.
I want her again. Right now. I want to walk out of this bathroom, grab her by the throat, slarn her against the
wall, and f**k her hard.
I want to keep lying. Just to hold on to this a little longer.
I want to keep pretending she doesn’t deserve better.
I want to keep pretending I can let her go.
But deep down, I know I can’t..
Because I’m not just obsessed with her.
I’m f*****g drowning in her.
And as that realization settled into my chest like poison, my phone vibrated.
“Hello?” I said, already knowing. Already dreading.
And then I heard her voice.
“Hey there, my dear husband. You heard the news–I’m out of the rehab you sent me to.”
My entire body went still.
It was like someone had poured ice water into my spine and twisted the world sideways.
Camilla.
f**k.
f**k, f**k, f**k, f**k.
My lips parted, but no words came out. I could feel my heart pounding behind my ribs like it was trying to break out. My skin went hot. My fists clenched around the phone as I forced air into my lungs.
I stepped slowly away from the sink, lowering my voice, dragging the door closed with the toe of my shoe so Lyra wouldn’t hear.
“Camilla,” I said, voice taut, barely above a whisper. “Where are you?”
“I’m currently in a hotel,” she said softly. “But I’ll book a flight down there tomorrow. I can’t wait to see you, Damon. I’ve missed you. So much.”
f*****g lunatic.
I ran a hand over my face, dragging it hard, letting the burn of my own skin remind me to stay grounded, to stay calm, to stay sane. But nothing felt sane anymore. Not this call. Not this day. Not what I just did to Lyra’s body over that f*****g chair like she was my last salvation.
“No, Camilla,” I snapped, voice hardening as I stepped away from the mirror and paced across the tiled floor.
< She’s Back
We are divorced. Remember? Because of your addiction. Because of your lies. Because I couldn’t keep saving a woman who didn’t want to be saved.”
Silence again.
Then her voice cracked. Soft. Slippery. Too calm to trust.
“But… I’m clean now, Damon,” she whispered. “I promise. I swear it. No pills. No outbursts. The doctors said! made progress. You should’ve seen me at group-”
“I’m not a f*****g fool, Camilla.”
My voice cut clean through hers.
“I don’t care if you’re clean or not. I don’t care what the doctors said. I honestly don’t want you near me. I don’t want your voice in my house. I don’t want your things here. I don’t want your memories creeping down my hallways again like ghosts. You don’t belong here anymore.”
There was a sharp inhale on the other end of the line. The kind that sounded like someone getting ready to scream–or sob. I braced myself, but it wasn’t tears that came next.
It was venom.
“Why are you talking like this?” she spat. “What happened to you, Damon? You were never cruel. You used to love me. You used to fight for me.”
“That was before I had to carry your overdose–ridden body into an ER three f*****g times,” I growled. “Before I had to lock my pills in a safe because you couldn’t be trusted around anything stronger than ibuprofen. Before I watched you sit in your own filth for days because you were too high to stand. That was the woman l married. And I buried her years ago.”
She didn’t reply.
And then her voice dropped–low, trembling with rage and desperation.
“You’re f*****g someone, aren’t you?” she hissed. “That’s what this is about. You’ve got some young little slut warming your bed while I rot in rehab. Is that it, Damon? Is that why your voice is shaking like you’ve still got someone’s p***y on your c**k?”
f**k.
My stomach twisted.
Royalty Writes
Hey there my amazing readers. I know I am late with update. Im sorry okay. My monthly flow started so it has been hell. But I’m okay. Thank you all for your support and votes. I am really greatful.
Favorite Sin 65
Who The F*ck Is She?
~Damon~
“Who is she?” she demanded, each word sharper than the last. “Tell me, Damon. Who the f**k are you
f*****g?”
I didn’t answer.
I couldn’t.
Because my silence said more than a thousand confessions ever could.
“Oh my God,” she hissed through the phone. “You are. You f*****g are. I can hear it in your breath. You’re panting. You’re hiding. Is she there now? Is that why you’re whispering like a goddamn criminal? Is that why you won’t say her name?”
I closed my eyes and leaned back against the bathroom wall, chest tight, jaw clenched so hard it hurt. Her voice drilled into my skull, each word slicing deeper than the last, but I didn’t flinch. I deserved it. I knew that.
I’d earned every bit of the storm I was about to walk into. But that didn’t mean I was ready to let her drag me
back into the flames she once lit in my life.
“Damon, f*****g answer me,” she snapped, breath ragged now. “Who is she? What pathetic little b***h opened her legs for you while I was in f*****g rehab? Is she one of the maids? Some desperate w***e from the club? What is it, huh? You couldn’t handle being alone anymore so you found some tight little cunt to squeeze the
silence out of your house?”
I exhaled slowly, pressing my thumb and forefinger to my temple like I could hold the headache in place before it exploded.
“Don’t do this,” I said quietly, my voice deep, taut, almost trembling under the weight of my restraint.
She laughed–short, cruel, full of bitter venom.
“Is that why you sent me away, Damon? So you could f**k someone else in our bed? So you could bring some cheap piece of ass into my house, walk her down my halls, let her wear your shirts and leave her panties on the floor I picked out?”
I didn’t speak.
I couldn’t.
Because every word she said, as vile as it sounded, was wrapped in something far more dangerous than
jealousy.
It was truth.
Lyra had worn my shirts.
Lyra had left her lace panties on the rug at the edge of my bed.
Lyra had moaned my name against my pillow, had ridden my c**k in the very chair where Camilla once used to read poetry in the mornings.
And worse–infinitely worse–
I hadn’t just let it happen.
O
Who The F*ck Is She?
I had wanted it.
I had begged for it in the silence of my own mind.
“Oh my God,” Camilla whispered again, the realization breaking through like glass. “She’s there, isn’t she? She’s f*****g there right now. You f****d her before I called, didn’t you? That’s why you sound like that. That’s why you’re so f*****g quiet. What is she doing, Damon? Still bent over? Still dripping with you? Do you even know her name or did you just pick her up and throw her onto something I used to love?”
I’gritted my teeth and pushed away from the wall, pacing the length of the bathroom like a caged animal, the
weight of her voice digging into every inch of me.
“She’s not some w***e,” I said, my voice low, steady, but laced with something I couldn’t hide anymore. Not
even from myself.
“Oh,” Camilla replied sharply. “So she does have a name. That’s sweet. Do you whisper it while you f**k her?
Do you call her baby? Did you make her breakfast after you made her come? Did you take off your ring for her,
or are you still wearing it while you thrust into someone half my f*****g age?”
I stopped moving.
I stared at the floor.
And I let the guilt settle in fully.
Because she was right. About all of it.
Lyra was young.
Too young.
And I’d f****d her like a man possessed, like Lhad something to prove, like she was the answer to every goddamn thing I’d ever lost. I f****d her like she could erase the last ten years from my memory. Like her p***y could rewrite history. Like her moans could drown out the sound of Camilla screaming in the night from
behind locked doors.
But this wasn’t just s*x.
And that was the most dangerous part.
This wasn’t just relief or distraction or pleasure.
This was need.
This was obsession.
This was something I couldn’t name anymore without tasting her on my tongue.
“She’s in your bed, isn’t she?” Camilla whispered now, her voice hollow. Empty. “She’s curled up in your sheets
like she belongs there. You let her touch the life you promised me.”
“Stop it,” I growled, finally breaking.
“No,” she said, her voice turning, sharp again. “You don’t get to shut me down. You don’t get to f**k a w***e and lie to my face like I don’t still know you. Who is
she, Damon? What does she look like? Does she call you Daddy? Do you pull her hair and make her cry and pretend she’s not just a hole you’re using to forget me?”
That broke me.
111
Who The F*ck Is She?
That snapped something deep inside, something I’d been holding back since the moment I first saw Lyra standing in my hallway, barefoot, bratty, brilliant, and unaware of what she was walking into.
“She’s not a hole,” I said coldly. “She’s not a replacement. And she’s not someone I’m going to forget. You don’t get to talk about her like that.”
Camilla went silent.
Completely silent.
And then, with a voice so quiet it almost made my skin crawl, she whispered.
“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”
I didn’t answer.
I didn’t have to.
I said nothing.
Not because I didn’t have an answer.
But because I did.
And I didn’t know how to say it.
I didn’t know how to admit that somewhere between the first time I kissed Lyra’s trembling mouth and the last time I made her scream my name while her nails carved into my back–1 had slipped. I had fallen. I had let something in that I never intended to feel again. And it wasn’t just lust.
Camilla must’ve heard the truth in my silence, because her breath hitched through the phone. Then her voice returned, low and bitter and cracking beneath the weight of betrayal.
“Wow,” she breathed, followed by a hollow laugh that chilled me straight to the bone. “You really are. You’ve fallen for her. My husband–the man who once told me he couldn’t live without me–is in love with a slut.”
I closed my eyes.
Her words sliced clean.
“I bet she looks at you with those innocent eyes like you’re some kind of f*****g hero,” she hissed, no longer pretending to be calm. “I bet she tells you she’s never felt like this before, that no one’s ever touched her like you do. I bet she makes you feel good, like you’re not some broken man with a past that reeks of rot and
failure.”
I gripped the phone tighter, the tendons in my hand flexing hard enough to cramp.
“She doesn’t know you, Damon,” Camilla continued, voice rising now. “She doesn’t know what you’re capable of. She doesn’t know what I’ve seen. What I’ve survived. You think she’ll love you when she finds out the truth? About me? About what you let me become? You think she’ll still crawl into your bed when she realizes you locked your wife away like a f*****g secret and replaced her with a warm cunt and a pretty moan?”
“Camilla! It’s enough! Don’t you f*****g blame me for your addictions”
“No, listen to me!” she screamed suddenly. “You think you’ve found something new. You think she’s going to save you. But she won’t. She’ll leave. She’ll wake up one day and realize she’s lying next to a man who ruins everything he touches. And she’ll run.”
O
Who The F*ck Is She?
I said nothing. My throat was tight. My chest burned. Every word hit harder than the last.
Because deep down, I had already asked myself the same questions.
+8 Points 2
“She’ll hate you, Damon,” Camilla went on, her voice trembling now, unhinged with desperation and fury.
“The second she sees the darkness in you, she’ll hate you. The second she sees what I saw, what I still dream about, she’ll look at you with fear. With disgust. And you’ll be alone again.”
Her breath shook against the receiver.
“You can’t escape who you are. Not with her. Not with anyone. And don’t kid yourself–whatever fantasy you’re chasing with her? It’s going to end. She’s going to leave you bleeding in your own bed.”
My head dropped forward. I pressed the heel of my hand into my eye socket, fighting the urge to scream.
“You know I’m right,” she whispered now, almost gently. “You know it, Damon. You’re not in love. You’re just running. And one day, she’ll see you for what you really are.”
I didn’t know how long I stood there.
How long I let her words twist around my spine like thorns.
How long I let the guilt simmer beneath the heat of what I felt for Lyra.
But when I finally spoke, my voice was low. Measured. Clear.
“You don’t know anything about her.”
Camilla laughed again. A bitter, broken sound that made the walls feel like they were closing in.
“I don’t need to know her,” she snapped. “I know you.”
“And guess what Damon? I miss your f*****g c**k. I wanna suck it so bad. It has been ages”
I went rigid.
Her voice dropped lower, sultry and sick, curling around the edges of my spine like smoke choking the oxygen
out of my lungs.
“So guess what,” she whispered. “I’m coming back and I don’t f*****g care what you say”
My breath hitched. My grip on the phone tightened so hard I thought it might snap in half. I couldn’t sp could barely think.
I could already feel it..her madness, her obsession, that twisted part of her that didn’t understand boundaries, didn’t understand no, didn’t understand that I had moved on.
“I’m coming back to that house,” she said, louder now. “Back to what’s mine. To our bed. To you. And when I get there, Damon..when I see that little slut you’ve been f*****g in my house, lying in my sheets, touching my
husband like she owns him..”
She paused.
I closed my eyes, already dreading what she would say next.
“I’m going to shove a pipe so far up her p***y she won’t even have time to scream. I’ll watch her bleed to death right in front of you, and I’ll smile while I do it. I’ll make sure she learns never to f**k with Camilla Thornvale.”
Who The F*ck Is She?
Silence exploded in my ears.
I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. I didn’t even blink.
I just stood there.
Then..she hung up.
No goodbye. No pause. No hesitation.
Just silence.
And I felt it settle across my shoulders like a noose.
Oh f**k.
As I was trying to wrap my head around everything..my insane wife, my lie, the threat, the f*****g madness that had just crawled out of Camilla’s voice like a demon freshly unchained..I heard it.
A soft knock.
Then her voice.
“Damon… is everything okay?”
I froze.
That voice.
That sweet, breathy, innocent voice.
Lyra.
Oh, my sweet kitten.