Ch. 66..70: Breed Me, Daddy Alpha chapter 66-70
Favorite Sin 66
As I was waiting for him to come out of the bathroom, I heard some noises. Not like normal noises either, not like the shower or brushing his teeth or clearing his throat. It was lower than that. Darker. There was this deep, gravelly tension in his voice and I couldn’t make out the words at first but something about it made my
skin tighten.
It was quiet, like he was trying not to be heard, and that already made me pause because Damon never whispers. Damon is always firm. Confident. Direct. But now his voice sounded weirdly… tense. Like he was walking on broken glass barefoot and trying not to make a sound.
And then I heard her.
A woman.
Her voice was sharp. Loud. Angry. I mean not just mad, but the kind of mad that felt like it came from a place way deeper than jealousy. Like she was the type of woman who would s***h tires or set fire to a dress just
because someone else wore it better.
I froze. I was still standing by the bed, one of his shirts barely hanging off me, my legs still aching from everything we had done earlier, and my cheeks were flushed even though the air in the room wasn’t hot. And for some reason, the second I heard her yell again, my stomach flipped so fast I thought I might pass out.
I didn’t know what she said exactly, but the words panties, bed, and w***e came through loud and clear and I swear my whole soul just straight–up fell through the floor.
Was she talking about me?
No. She couldn’t be.
She didn’t even know me. Right?
Except… she was talking about someone. Someone in his house. Someone in his bed. Someone who had
worn his shirts.
And right now, that someone was me.
I took a step forward, closer to the bathroom door, not even meaning to eavesdrop but also not stopping myself because I needed to know. I needed to hear. I needed something to explain the sudden panic unraveling in my chest like a wire being pulled loose.
His voice was muffled, but hers kept cutting through like knives.
She said, “Is she still dripping with you?”
My entire body went still.
I pressed my palm to my chest because my heart was literally racing like I’d just sprinted out of the room.
What the f**k kind of question was that?
Was she talking about me?
Wait–was she talking about s*x?
O
The Dark Secret
Oh my God.
+2 Points 2
I suddenly felt so naked. And not in the sexy, fun way. No. I felt exposed. Stupid. Raw. Like someone had just torn the roof off my body and now the whole world could see everything Damon and I had done.
The moaning.
The panting.
The way I had screamed his name when he pulled my legs apart and told me I was his.
And now someone else knew.
A woman.
Someone with the audacity to call him and speak like that. To accuse. To spit venom like she owned him.
Who the f**k was she?
I backed up slowly, not because I was afraid of what he was saying but because my thoughts were spiraling out of control. I tried to stay calm, but calm was impossible with that voice still bleeding through the door.
She said she was coming back.
She said she was going to hurt someone.
She said she would shove a pipe up her p***y and make her bleed to death.
What the actual f**k?!
Who says something like that? Who even thinks it?!
I could feel the blood drain from my face. My hands were cold. I suddenly didn’t want to be in this room anymore, not with that woman on the phone, not with her voice still crawling through the cracks in the door and poisoning everything good that had just happened between Damon and me.
I wrapped my arms around myself, and I swear, in that moment, I wasn’t even worried about who she was. I was more worried about what Damon would do.
“What was going on”
I didn’t want to be paranoid, but it was hard not to be when every word coming out of that phone sounded like a threat against my body.
I took a slow breath and walked up to the door. I didn’t want to seem scared, even though I was shaking a
little.
I raised my hand and knocked once. Soft. Gentle. But enough that he’d hear.
“Damon… is everything okay?” I asked, even though I already knew it wasn’t.
There was a pause.
A long one.
A silence that told me everything I needed to know.
He didn’t answer right away.
He didn’t open the door.
The Dark Secret
And that silence? That pause? It said more than any lie ever could.
I bit my lip and stood there, heart pounding, throat dry, eyes burning with something that wasn’t quite tears yet but was definitely on the way.
The door creaked open slowly.
He didn’t yank it. He didn’t swing it wide like someone caught in the middle of something bad. No. Damon
opened it like nothing had happened, like there wasn’t a murder threat still hanging in the air or a woman’s
voice echoing in my head telling me about c*m and beds and violence.
He just stood there.
Tall. Calm. Shirtless. Chest rising and falling like he hadn’t just been on the most insane phone call I’d ever heard in my life. His jaw was tight, his eyes unreadable, but his voice–God, his voice–was smooth. Like
butter melting over a knife.
“Everything’s fine, kitten.”
Kitten.
That word that always made my knees wobble a little, that always made my body react before my brain could catch up. But this time? It didn’t melt me. It didn’t make me feel soft and owned and wanted. This time, it
pissed me off.
I crossed my arms, staring up at him like I could burn a hole straight through his skull with just my eyes.
“Don’t do that,” I said, voice tight. “Don’t you dare pull that calm, sexy, I’m–in–control–of–everything tone with me right now, Damon. I’m not some dumb little girl you can just pat on the head and f**k back to sleep.”
He blinked at me slowly, like I was some cute kitten having a tantrum. But I wasn’t cute right now. I was shaking. I was burning. I was one breath away from losing my goddamn mind.
“Who were you talking to?” I demanded. “And don’t you f*****g lie to me, Damon. I swear to God, I heard it. It was a woman’s voice. She was screaming at you, Loud. Angry. Possessive. Like she knew every inch of this
house, every inch of you.”
He opened his mouth, but I cut him off.
“No. Let me finish. She said something about dripping in c*m. About a bed. She was asking if someone was still bent over. Like what the actual hell, Damon? Are you f*****g someone else? Is that what this is? Was she talking about me?”
I was breathing hard now, and I didn’t even care that my voice cracked on that last word. I wasn’t done.
“She said she was coming back. She said she was going to shove a pipe up someone’s p***y and watch her bleed. I heard it, Damon. I heard her. And I don’t know if she was just crazy or if she was serious or if she was about to show up here with an actual pipe, but what I do know is that you stood in there and you let her say all that s**t and you didn’t once tell her to f**k off or hang up. And why the f**k would you have that kind of conversation with any woman at this time of the day–or ever, for that matter?”
He didn’t answer.
He just looked at me.
And then.
The Dark Secret
He laughed.
Slow at first. Deep. Rich. That dark kind of laugh that wasn’t funny at all but still sounded like it came from
somewhere inside his chest, like whatever was going on in his head had officially short–circuited and now he
was just laughing to keep from snapping.
I blinked.
What the f**k?
“Are you “I started, then stopped. “Wait. Are you laughing right now? What’s so funny? Seriously, Damon. What the f**k is funny? Am I a joke to you? Do I look like a f*****g clown standing here with c*m still drying between my thighs while you laugh after taking a call from a literal psychopath who wants to commit pipe–related homicide?”
He stopped laughing as he smiled.
“Oh, kitten,” he said, reaching out and brushing his knuckles along my cheek like I hadn’t just gone nuclear with questions. “It’s nothing, okay? You don’t need to worry. It was just my friend’s wife.”
I blinked.
His friend’s wife?
That didn’t sound right. I tilted my head to the side like maybe my ears weren’t working properly, like maybe there was some hidden meaning in those words that I wasn’t catching because my brain was still trying to piece everything together.
“Wait–huh? Your friend’s wife?” I repeated slowly, narrowing my eyes because that explanation sounded suspiciously convenient. “That’s… strange.”
He chuckled again, but this time it was softer, like he thought I was being adorable instead of annoying, which made me want to throw something at him but also maybe pull him into bed and bite his shoulder at
the same time.
“Yes,” he said, stepping closer, his palm sliding around my waist like he hadn’t just been on the phone with a woman threatening murder five seconds ago. “He cheated on her with a blondie. A random gir’om the club. She was just ranting to me about what she’d do to the girl if she ever saw her again. Nothing torry about. Dramatic wives, you know how it is.”
His fingers skimmed the curve of my hip through his shirt and his mouth tilted in that stupidly sexy way that made it hard to stay mad.
“f**k, you can be cute sometimes. Do you know that? My little angry bird.”
My mouth fell open slightly.
Excuse me?
Angry bird?
I stared up at him, half annoyed, half flustered, half ready to combust because I still had questions but now his hands were doing that thing again, and suddenly it was really hard to think straight.
“Oh, is that so?” I said, dragging the words out like honey, trying to sound unimpressed even though my heart was beating like I’d swallowed a thunderstorm.
“Then it’s fine.” I gave him a little pout and hit my lips with my index finger slowly like I was sealing the deal, but my eyes were still fixed on him suspiciously, like I wasn’t one hundred percent convinced.
He grinned at that. Like he knew I was only pretending to let it go.
But I did. Kind of.
Because then he leaned in, his breath hot against my neck, his hand sliding up under the shirt–his shirt- that barely covered my thighs.
“Why don’t we continue from where we stopped, huh baby?” he whispered, his voice laced with heat, fingers brushing dangerously close to the space between my legs. “I still remember how you were moaning before i went into the bathroom”
Favorite Sin 67
Oh f**k.
My entire body lit up like someone had poured gasoline in my bloodstream and flicked a match. My breath caught. My thighs pressed together on instinct, but it was useless. The second he touched me like that, it
was over. I was already gone. Again.
“From where, Daddy?” I asked, wide–eyed and teasing as I stepped back slowly, pulling the shirt higher up my thighs just enough for him to see that I wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
His eyes darkened instantly. Like night had dropped straight into his pupils.
And God, that look. That look.
That was the one that made me feel like prey. Like I was about to be devoured and not just metaphorically,
but literally, with his mouth, his hands, his tongue, his everything..
He moved toward me, slow and purposeful, and I backed up until the backs of my knees hit the bed, and I dropped down with a little squeak because holy s**t, the way he was looking at me made my skin burn.
I spread my legs just a little.
Just enough to tease.
Just enough to make him feel it.
“Is that what you want?” I asked, biting my lip. “You want to finish what we started, Daddy? Even though I’m
still mad at you for lying about that crazy pipe lady on the phone?”
He raised a brow like he was about to punish me for that tone, but his mouth curved into something darker.
Hungrier.
Then he dropped to his knees.
Right between mine.
And I swear I forgot how to breathe.
His hands slid up my legs slowly. Like he was claiming every inch of me all over again, startin m scratch,
like I hadn’t already been split open by him earlier. My breath caught in my throat and I couldn’t stop the tiny whimper that slipped past my lips, even though I tried to play it cool. I always tried.
But Damon Thornvale was my weakness.
And he f*****g knew it.
“You know,” I murmured, letting my hand fall to his chest
“I’m still mad at you, Daddy. In case you forgot.”
He raised his head slightly, eyes locking with mine. And that look? That look made my toes curl. Like I was being dragged into hell with nothing but his mouth as my guide and God help me, I wanted to go.
“I mean, seriously,” I went on, voice all breathy and dramatic even though my pulse was rioting in my neck.
< Face Down, Ass Up
+8 Points 7
You left me here. Dripping. Aching. Practically folded in half with my soul leaving my body–and for what? A
call with some insane woman threatening pipe violence like she was auditioning for a horror movie?”
He didn’t speak. His lips just curled slightly, dark and knowing, like he loved every second of me unraveling in
front of him. I shifted closer on the bed, spreading my legs a little wider, just enough to give him a better view of exactly how soaked I still was for him. He didn’t miss it. His eyes dipped straight to my p***y like he was already tasting it in his head.
“I could’ve died, you know,” I continued, pretending to pout as I slowly dragged the shirt higher, lifting it inch by inch until my entire core was exposed and his breath visibly caught. “Alone. Cold. You don’t just leave a girl after making her come like that, Damon. That’s criminal.”
His hands gripped my thighs tighter. I could feel the tension in his fingers, like he was holding himself back from just diving in and wrecking me right there.
“And now,” I added, tilting my head like a brat, “you think you can just get back between my legs without apologizing? Without explaining why you were talking to pipe–wielding crazies while your kitten was sitting here thinking about your tongue?”
Still no words.
But his mouth was getting closer.
And I wanted to tease him until he snapped.
“So go ahead,” I said sweetly, licking my bottom lip and rolling my hips forward just enough to brush against his mouth, “say you’re sorry, Daddy. Or maybe I’ll just close my legs and keep all this wet, desperate p***y to
myself.”
That did it.
He growled low–deep and rough and so hot I thought my brain short–circuited–and then his tongue flicked out, fast and punishing, right against my clit, and my whole body jerked like someone had plugged me into a
socket.
“Fuuuck,” I moaned, grabbing his hair with both hands, “Okay, maybe you’re a little bit sorry. But I’m still mad. Keep apologizing.”
And he did.
With his tongue.
With his mouth.
“Oh my God-”
My head fell back, spine arching, hands clawing at the sheets behind me like I needed something to hold onto before I floated straight off the bed. His tongue was thick and warm and everywhere at once. It was like he’d mapped my body and was following every remembered inch, every swollen nerve, every wet, pulsing point of need that made me babble like I had no control over my mouth anymore.
And then he started talking.
Right against my p***y.
With his tongue still moving.
111
о
Face Down, Ass Up
“Still mad at me, kitten?” he growled into me, his lips dragging against my folds as his breath made me shudder. “Still think I left you? Hm?” He licked up again, slower this time, messier, with a growl vibrating directly against my clit. “I own this p***y. You think I’d leave something this perfect for long?”
I choked on my breath. My hands flew to his hair and I yanked, but it only made him groan deeper, louder, like
he liked the pain.
“You’re dripping,” he muttered, tongue swirling fast and deep. “You like running that bratty little mouth, but this greedy cunt’s already begging for me.” He shoved two fingers inside me without warning, curling them just right, and my entire body convulsed.
“Damon-“I gasped. My thighs trembled. My brain was white noise. I was trying to stay mad. I was trying to be sassy. But holy f**k he was licking me like he was going to die if he didn’t swallow every drop of my
orgasm.
He flicked his tongue against my clit so fast I screamed. Not like a little moan, no. A real scream. High and cracked and soaked with shock because I didn’t think it was possible to feel this much.
“You hear that?” he snarled into me, voice low and filthy, lips brushing my folds. “You hear how wet you are? This cunt’s sobbing for me, kitten. Maybe I should record this s**t. Let you hear how f*****g ruined you
sound.”
I gasped again, shaking.
My hips bucked straight off the bed but he held me down, both arms locking over my thighs as he devoured
me.
And I couldn’t shut up.
“Oh my God oh my God Damon I swear–f**k–I was supposed to stay mad I swear I was supposed to–why does your mouth feel like this–I think I just died and came back–wait–I’m gonna come–Damon you’re not
even sorry are you?”
He didn’t stop. Not for one second.
His mouth stayed locked on my clit, sucking like he wanted my soul through it, and his fingers just kept pumping, harder, faster, hitting that spot that made me stutter every time he curled them.
“Say it,” he demanded against me. “Say you forgive me.”
“f**k you!” I moaned, toes curling. “This is not forgiveness, this is brain damage, I don’t even know my name right now-”
He pulled back just an inch, lips slick, beard wet, voice low enough to crack me open from the inside. “Say
you’re mine.”
I could barely see. The room was spinning. I was on the edge of something violent, something hot and loud and crawling up my spine like a tidal wave about to crush me.
“I’m yours, Daddy,” I whispered, trembling all over. “I’m so yours.”
And just like that, he buried his face in me again, tongue sliding deep as he sucked me into a full–body orgasm so loud, so messy, so intense, I forgot where I was. I screamed again, legs shaking uncontrollably, hips jerking against his mouth because I couldn’t not move. It was too much.
He groaned as I came, low and proud, like he loved watching me break, like this was his favorite part–me
O
Face Down, Ass Up
+ Points >
“Still mad at me, kitten?” he growled into me, his lips dragging against my folds as his breath made me shudder. “Still think I left you? Hm?” He licked up again, slower this time, messier, with a growl vibrating directly against my clit. “I own this p***y. You think I’d leave something this perfect for long?”
I choked on my breath. My hands flew to his hair and I yanked, but it only made him groan deeper, louder, like
he liked the pain.
“You’re dripping,” he muttered, tongue swirling fast and deep. “You like running that bratty little mouth, but this greedy cunt’s already begging for me.” He shoved two fingers inside me without warning, curling them just right, and my entire body convulsed.
“Damon-“I gasped. My thighs trembled. My brain was white noise. I was trying to stay mad. I was trying to be sassy. But holy f**k he was licking me like he was going to die if he didn’t swallow every drop of my
orgasm.
He flicked his tongue against my clit so fast I screamed. Not like a little moan, no. A real scream. High and cracked and soaked with shock because I didn’t think it was possible to feel this much.
“You hear that?” he snarled into me, voice low and filthy, lips brushing my folds. “You hear how wet you are? This cunt’s sobbing for me, kitten. Maybe I should record this s**t. Let you hear how f*****g ruined you
sound.”
I gasped again, shaking.
My hips bucked straight off the bed but he held me down, both arms locking over my thighs as he devoured
me.
And I couldn’t shut up.
“Oh my God oh my God Damon I swear–f**k–I was supposed to stay mad I swear I was supposed to–why mouth feel like this–I think I just died and came back–wait–I’m gonna come–Damon you’re not
even sorry are you?”
does your
He didn’t stop. Not for one second.
His mouth stayed locked on my clit, sucking like he wanted my soul through it, and his fingers just kept pumping, harder, faster, hitting that spot that made me stutter every time he curled them.
“Say it,” he demanded against me. “Say you forgive me.”
“f**k you!” I moaned, toes curling. “This is not forgiveness, this is brain damage, I don’t even know my name right now-”
He pulled back just an inch, lips slick, beard wet, voice low enough to crack me open from the inside. “Say you’re mine.”
I could barely see. The room was spinning. I was on the edge of something violent, something hot and loud and crawling up my spine like a tidal wave about to crush me.
“I’m yours, Daddy,” I whispered, trembling all over. “I’m so yours.”
And just like that, he buried his face in me again, tongue sliding deep as he sucked me into a full–body orgasm so loud, so messy, so intense, I forgot where I was. I screamed again, legs shaking uncontrollably, hips jerking against his mouth because I couldn’t not move. It was too much.
He groaned as I came, low and proud, like he loved watching me break, like this was his favorite part–me
Face Down. Ass Up
completely ruined and babbling and dripping down his chin.
And then I felt him stand.
His mouth left me.
His voice dropped to my ear.
“Now sit that pretty ass on my face and ride it like you’re still mad.”
And I swear, I nearly came again just hearing him say that.
And guess what y’all?
I f*****g sat my thick ass on his face and gave him the ride of his f*****g life.
+ Prints 7
I climbed over him slowly, dramatically, because I knew he loved the view. My knees framed his head, my thighs still shaking, and my hands rested on the headboard for balance because I already knew I wasn’t going to be able to hold myself steady once he started eating again.
I looked down at him, and he just smirked like the devil. Eyes black. Hair messy. Mouth wet. He slapped my ass once, hard and loud, and growled, “Sit.”
So I did.
I sank down onto his mouth and holy f*****g hell–I swear to God, his tongue hit me like lightning.
He licked up into me so deep my spine curved on instinct and I rode. Not slow. Not gentle. I rode. Full grind. Face pressed. My hips rolled like my life depended on it, like I was trying to smother every last breath out of him with my p***y and make him f*****g thank me for it.
And he loved it.
His tongue was everywhere–flicking, sucking, circling my clit while his nose pressed right against my sweet spot and oh my God I started moaning like a damn pornstar.
“Daddy–f**k–yes, like that–don’t stop–don’t you f*****g stop-”
My head was thrown back, hair wild, nails clawing into the wall as I bounced on his face like it was a goddamn throne and I was meant to sit there,
I swear I saw stars. Galaxies. I wasn’t even on Earth anymore. I was in Damon’s world.
So yeah.
I rode his face like the spoiled, filthy little kitten I am.
And when I finally collapsed off him, drenched and shaking and wrecked, he looked up at me with his mouth covered in me and that stupid, perfect smirk on his face like he was proud of the mess he made.
And y’all?
Let me just say this one time for the girls in the back:
Get yourself a man like Damon.
A man who doesn’t care about your attitude. Who’ll let you yell, pout, tease, throw a tantrum–then drop to his knees, grab your thighs, and eat you until you see f*****g God. A man who’ll make you come so hard you forget your name, your sins, and whatever you were mad about in the first place.
Face Down Ass Up
Because baby, I might be eighteen, I might run my mouth, I might start fights I can’t win–but Damon?
Damon ends every single one of them with his tongue.
And I wouldn’t want it any other way.
Favorite Sin 68
I lay there on the bed, half–draped like a girl who had just been struck by a category five orgasmic hurricane, my legs still twitching every single time I tried to take a deep breath, and he just stood there watching me.
Not helping.
Not speaking.
Just watching me like I was the greatest thing he’d ever destroyed.
Like he was proud of the mess he made.
Like he hadn’t just made me forget my own birthday, my own address, and maybe even my own f*****g name.
His mouth was still glistening with me, his lips shiny and swollen from all the sucking and licking and sin
he’d just committed between my legs, and his eyes? Oh my God, his eyes sparkled like he knew exactly how
owned I was. Like he didn’t need to say a word because I already belonged to him and we both knew it.
And what made it worse–what made me want to slap him and ride him at the same time–was the fact that I
loved it.
I hated that I loved it, but I did.
“Better?” he finally asked, his voice gravel–thick and soaked in sin, the kind that made my already sore p***y clench again even though I had absolutely nothing left to give. Not energy. Not sanity. Not a single rational
thought.
I sucked in a breath, pouted like the dramatic little demon I was, and said, “No. Still mad.”
And yes, I was lying. Yes, I was panting like someone who’d just sprinted through hell barefoot. Yes, my thighs were still soaked with his mouth, his voice, his everything. But I wasn’t about to let him win just because he could eat p***y like it was his profession.
He raised one eyebrow at me.
Just one.
And then, like the arrogant bastard he was, he stood up slowly.
Still completely naked.
Still completely hard.
Still every shade of dangerous that made my insides twist with need all over again.
He didn’t say anything else at first. He just reached down and wrapped one hand around his c**k–casual as f**k–like it was nothing, like he didn’t just spend ten minutes making me scream loud enough to raise the dead. And then he stroked it. Once. Twice. Slow. Like he knew I was watching. Like he wanted to see my eyes go wide and my mouth drop open and my thighs squeeze together all over again.
And of course, I did.
Because a bead of precum had just glistened right at the tip of that goddamn weapon between his legs, and I Swear my mouth actually watered. Like I was hungry. Like my p***y was hungry. Like all of me was just…
III
O
Sins Of The Past
starving for him, even after everything.
Even though I was still mad.
Even though I still had questions.
Even though some woman just threatened to turn me into Swiss cheese with a pipe.
He leaned closer, his voice suddenly dropping an octave lower than hell itself, and said, “Then come here.”
I blinked. “Huh?”
He stroked himself again. Slower this time. More commanding.
“Be mad on my cock.”
And I swear to f*****g God, my soul left my body. Again.
Because who says that?
Who the f**k says that and makes it sound like a damn invitation to heaven and hell at the same time?
I stared at him, mouth parted, thighs already betraying me, and all I could think was–damn it, I was supposed to stay mad. I was supposed to make him suffer a little. I was supposed to be a strong, empowered, rage–filled young woman with standards and boundaries and-
But no.
Because if being mad on his c**k was an option?
Then baby, I was already on my way.
***
It had been a week.
Like a full–ass, seven–day, one–hundred–and–sixty–eight–hour week since that night I nearly drowned him with my p***y and moaned his name so many times I swear it echoed in the walls. And somehow, despite the s*x, despite the everything, despite the way he ruined my body and made me come like I was possessed–I was
still mad.
Not at him, though. Weirdly.
But at her.
Tasha.
Because even though we were under the same roof and technically still best friends and technically still breathing the same air, we hadn’t really talked. Like at all. Not one real conversation. Just a few awkward good mornings and a couple of fake laughs when we passed each other in the hallway like ghosts who used
to be real.
And yeah, Marcus was gone. Disappeared.
But honestly?
That was their business. Not mine.
I was busy.
Busy letting Damon f**k the heartbreak out of me, busy pretending I didn’t care, busy licking my wounds in
Sins Of The Past
private while pretending I was over it. I wasn’t. Not fully. But I could fake it better than anyone. And besides, school was starting tomorrow.
Yup.
Summer was officially over. The sun had packed its bags, the pool was closed, the vibes were gone, and real life was about to slap me straight across the face with early alarms, long lectures, and exams that made me
want to scream into a void.
Was I tired of school? Absolutely yes. Like, burn–the–books–and–cry–into–my–bed tired.
But it was my final year.
So yeah. Let’s just f**k with it.
Anyway, we were in the kitchen.
Me and Damon.
And it was one of those weirdly soft evenings where everything was calm–too calm, like the universe was
taking a breath before the next disaster.
I was standing by the counter in one of his oversized black shirts and nothing else, because duh, comfort
was key and I liked feeling his clothes against my thighs.
He was next to me, bare–chested in grey sweats, slicing veggies like the sexy domestic menace he was, and
the whole place smelled like garlic and butter and sin.
Tasha had gone out to do her nails. Classic. Acrylics to cover the guilt. French tips for the betrayal. I hoped
the nail tech made her cry with the file, honestly.
And then, out of nowhere, Damon said it.
“What’s going on with you and Tasha, kitten?”
His voice was casual, but not really. It had that edge, that low, knowing tone he always used when he was clocking something deeper. He didn’t even look up–just kept slicing peppers like he hadn’t just stirred up a
storm with a single question.
I blinked. “Huh? Nothing really.”
He paused. Just for a second. But I felt it.
“You know how much I hate lies, kitten,” he murmured, setting the knife down and finally looking at me. “Tell
me what’s wrong.”
And oh my God, the way he looked at me–ugh. That face. That voice. That f*****g alpha energy that made me want to sob and scream and f**k him all at once.
I sighed. Dramatically. Because I’m me.
“Nothing. It’s just-” I shrugged and tried to pretend I was cool about it. Like it was whatever. Like I hadn’t been stewing in it for a week. “She f****d my ex.”
He choked.
Like legit choked.
I turned toward him just in time to see him coughing like he’d inhaled a jalapeño and didn’t know what to do
Sins Of The Past
Printe
with it. His eyes bulged slightly, and I swear he looked at me like I’d just told him the house was on fire.
“What?” he finally gasped, grabbing a glass of water like the words alone had burned his throat. “She what?”
I crossed my arms and leaned against the counter, hips out, attitude on full display. “You heard me. My best friend–well, ex–best friend now, probably–f****d my ex–boyfriend. While I was in this house. Probably while I was waiting for her to come watch a movie with me or something. I don’t know when exactly. I don’t even
want to know.”
His jaw tightened.
I watched it happen in slow motion.
That little tick.
That dark shadow that fell over his features like a storm cloud had passed through his skull.
“Marcus right?” he asked, and his voice was no longer casual. It was cold. Like murder–cold. Like
Damon–about–to–do–something–illegal cold.
I nodded slowly. “Yeah. Marcus. My first dumb mistake. Apparently, also Tasha’s first opportunity to stab me
in the back with her vagina.”
He stared at me for a beat too long, and I knew that look. That look meant he was calculating something. Probably how much bail would be if he tracked Marcus down and broke his nose. Maybe his knees. Maybe
his d**k.
“You didn’t tell me,” he said finally, quietly.
I shrugged again, softer this time. “What was I supposed to say? Hey Daddy, I know we’re busy doing unspeakable things in your bedroom, but just FYI my best friend decided to get dicked down by my ex–boyfriend and now I’m emotionally unstable but still really horny?”
He didn’t laugh.
He didn’t even smile.
He just stepped closer.
Put the knife down.
Wiped his hands on a towel.
Then cupped my face so gently it made my eyes sting.
“You’re not unstable,” he said, kissing my forehead like I was something sacred. “You’re just hurt.”
“I’m both,” I whispered, pressing my cheek into his palm. “Like emotionally damaged with a splash of slut.”
He growled low in his throat, and I knew that growl. That growl meant I was about to be carried out of the
kitchen and thrown on a counter.
But I didn’t care.
“Do you want me to find him and rip his f*****g throat out?”
The words came out of Damon’s mouth so casually, like he was asking me if I wanted extra butter on my toast or maybe a ride to school tomorrow. Except this wasn’t breakfast. This was bloodlust. This was murder talk. This was that deep, dark part of him I only saw when he was ready to destroy something–or someone-
4:5
Sins Of The Past
for me.
And oh my God.
Did I love it.
I blinked at him, not because I was shocked, but because I needed a second to process how violently turned on I was. My heart started thudding in my chest like I’d just sprinted around the block and my thighs pressed together on instinct because apparently my p***y didn’t give a single f**k about morals or logic or anything
remotely sane.
“You can do that?” I asked, voice soft and kind of dreamy because holy s**t I was actually considering it.
“Yes, I can, kitten,” he said, voice low and dark and deadly like he was just waiting for me to say the word. “I can find him. I can make him cry. I can make him beg. And I can make sure he never f*****g forgets what happens to boys who touch what belongs to me.”
I stared up at him, and I swear my knees went a little wobbly. Not because I was scared. But because I was wet. Again. For like the fiftieth time this week. Because what the f**k was wrong with me? Why was threat–of–murder Damon my favorite version of Damon?
“That’s kinda hot,” I said, like a literal demon child with no soul. “Not gonna lie.”
He smirked, and oh my God, I knew that smirk. That was the smirk that came right before I lost the ability to
walk.
Favorite Sin 69
He stepped closer, slow and dangerous, until my back hit the counter and his chest was pressed against mine, warm and hard and possessive.
One of his hands curled around my jaw, tilting my face up so I had to look at him. His other hand rested low
on my hip, fingers digging in like he wanted to leave bruises there. Ownership marks.
His thumb traced my bottom lip slowly, and his voice dropped to that gravel–dark whisper that always made
my toes curl and my thoughts vanish.
“Just give me the go–ahead, kitten,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to mine like he was trying to crawl
into my soul. “Please, I would make Marcus pay for hurting you. For hurting what’s mine.”
Oh my God.
That word again.
Mine.
I swear my p***y clenched so hard I almost folded. My breath caught. My entire body went hot and cold at
once. Because Damon wasn’t asking like a guy trying to be sweet. He was begging like a man who needed violence the way he needed oxygen.
I smirked. Slowly. Deliberately.
I leaned closer, licked my lips like a f*****g villainess in a porno, and said, “And what would you do to him,
Daddy?”
His whole body froze.
Like I’d just pressed a detonator on something feral living inside him.
And then he growled.
Loud. Deep. From his chest. Like he was trying not to break something.
He grabbed the back of my neck tighter, not enough to hurt but enough to make my brea
eyes darkened like someone had dropped night into his bloodstream.
utter, and his
“What would I do to him?” he repeated, voice like black velvet soaked in gasoline. “I’d start with his hands.
The ones he used to touch you. I’d break them. Slowly. One bone at a time. Then I’d make him look at you–at
the girl he betrayed–and tell you exactly what he did. Word for word. While I made sure he pissed himself
from fear.”
I gasped.
Like actually gasped.
And not from fear. No. From pure f*****g heat. Because holy s**t, what was wrong with me? Why was that hot? Why was revenge kink suddenly my new favorite thing?
My thighs squeezed together again. My heart was thudding like a speaker on max volume. I was pretty sure if he kept talking like that, I was going to come just from listening.
=
Run With Me
“And after that?” I asked, because I couldn’t help it. Because I needed more. Because I was sick, apparently. ”
What then?”
Damon leaned in until his lips brushed my ear, and his hand slid lower, gripping the back of my thigh and pulling me into him so I could feel the thick, hard proof of how much he meant every word.
“I’d make him beg for me to stop,” he said, voice a whisper but sharp enough to cut. “And I wouldn’t. Not until you smiled, kitten. Not until I saw you watching and smiling while I destroyed the boy who dared to make you
cry.”
And I swear on every goddamn cell in my body—I moaned.
Right there. No shame. No filter. Just a full, breathy, brain–dead moan because that was it. That was the line.
That was the one that did it. I was gone.
“You’re sick,” I whispered, dragging my hands up his chest, feeling every tense muscle, every inch of
controlled violence waiting to be unleashed. “You are literally sick in the head.”
“I am,” he agreed, grabbing my ass now, pulling me against his c**k like he was about to bend me over the kitchen counter and f**k the word ex out of my memory. “And you love it.”
“I do,” I whispered back, biting my lip because I couldn’t help it. “I love it so much it’s honestly concerning.
Like, I probably need therapy, but instead I have you. So we’re just gonna roll with it.”
His mouth curved into the kind of smile that came before destruction.
“f**k therapy,” Damon said darkly, and then he leaned down, pressing a kiss to the side of my neck, right
where my pulse was hammering like it was trying to warn me he was about to do something reckless.
His lips dragged slowly up my skin, hot and possessive and perfect, and then he murmured, “You need something better than talking, kitten. You need a run.”
I froze.
Like actually froze, because what the hell did he just say?
“A run?” I repeated, pulling back to look at him like he’d just suggested we go join a yoga class in the middle
of a war zone. “As in… outside? With legs?”
He smirked. That smug, dangerous, Alpha smirk that made me want to slap him and suck nim at the same
time.
“Yes. A run,” he said calmly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Through the woods. Fast. Free.
You need to shift, Lyra. You need to let your wolf breathe.”
I stared at him for a long second, blinking slowly like maybe if I took enough time to process, this moment
would start making sense.
And then I lost it.
I straight up flailed my arms, took a step back, and went full chaos.
“No,” I said immediately, and very loudly. “Absolutely not. Do you know who you’re talking to right now? Because I don’t think you do. Damon, you’re an Alpha. Like, the Alpha. Savage, terrifying, neck–breaking type Alpha. And I think–just a wild little guess here—you know what I am!”
He just raised one brow. “And what are you, kitten?”
111
O
215
< Run With Me
“Oh my God,” I hissed, pacing now because of course I was. My thoughts were moving at eighty miles per
hour and I needed to move with them.
“I’m an Omega. An unmarked. Oh wait scratch that, I forgot you f*****g bit me when we f****d. He smirked
when I said it as I continued.
“I am unstable, slightly traumatized, probably–going–into–heat again cause I can feel it. Do you have any idea what happens when an Omega goes running with a horny Alpha in the woods?! That’s not a run, that’s foreplay with bark.”
He chuckled.
Not laughed.
Chuckled.
Like he thought it was cute that I was spiraling and melting down like my entire reproductive system wasn’t already clenching at the idea of being chased.
“And who told you I was horny kitten” he muttered with a smirk.
“Oh please. Cut the act Damon. I f*****g know you too well”
“I won’t touch you,” he said, still calm. Still smug. Still very much the problem. “Unless you want me to.”
“Unless I want you to?” I shrieked, because what the hell kind of loophole Alpha logic was that? “Damon, do you have any idea what I’d do if you chased me through the woods? I’d fall. I’d whimper. I’d trip over a log and beg you to f**k me against it. I wouldn’t survive two minutes!”
His grin spread like sin across his face, and I could see it–clear as day–the hunger in his eyes, the way his body tensed like he wanted me to say yes, the way his wolf was already pacing under his skin, waiting.
“That’s the point,” he said softly. “You need to be hunted.”
And oh my God.
That was it.
That was the line that broke me.
My thighs squeezed so tight I almost gave myself a cramp. My hands flew to my hair. My whole body was hot. Like, stupid hot. Like maybe–l–should–jump–out–the–window hot. Because what kind of line was that? What kind of man said that with a straight face and expected me to stay calm?
“I hate you,” I whispered dramatically, already knowing I was going to say yes. “Like ger. sick. You’re dangerous. You’re going to ruin me.”
y hate you. You’re
“I already have,” he said, stepping closer until his mouth was right against mine. “Now run, kitten. Before I change my mind and take you right here instead.”
And I swear to God–I whimpered.
Because part of me wanted to run.
But the other part?
The filthy, needy, Omega part?
Wanted to be caught. He growled as he caught me starting into space in thoughts.
Run With Me
“s**t, Lyra,” he growled under his breath, taking one step closer like he couldn’t help himself anymore, like he was trying not to pounce right here in the kitchen. “You don’t even know what you do to me, do you?”
I blinked up at him, breathing way too fast for someone who was still fully clothed and allegedly safe inside
her house.
My palms were sweaty. My thighs were sticky. My brain was just looping one sentence on repeat: Do not say
yes. Do not say yes. Do not say yes.
“Run with me,” he said again, slower this time, darker, like he knew exactly how to crawl under my skin and
make it burn. “Let your wolf out. Let me see her. Let her see me.”
I shook my head quickly. “Nope. Absolutely not. Bad idea. Worst idea. You’re literally like a big, scary, top–of–the–food–chain Alpha. The kind with glowing eyes and zero self–control. And me? who gets turned on when you growl, Damon. I’m not trying to start a forest fire with my vagina.”
He smirked. Smirked. Like he thought it was cute that I was spiraling again. He reached for me, trailing his fingers down my arm, soft and slow and way too possessive for my nervous system to handle right now.
“Oh, kitten,” he purred, brushing a knuckle along my jaw. “You’re scared I’ll catch you, aren’t you?”
“I’m scared I’ll let you,” I snapped, but my voice betrayed me by sounding all breathy and horny instead of firm
and threatening.
He chuckled, tilting his head slightly, watching me like prey. “You say that like it’s not going to happen. Like you won’t look back at me halfway through the woods with those big eyes and that soaked little scent trail, begging me to tackle you.”
I whimpered.
Like actually whimpered.
My thighs pressed together on instinct, and I cursed under my breath because he noticed. Of course he
noticed.
He stepped behind me, leaned in close, and whispered against the back of my neck, “I’ll give you a head start. Just enough to make it fun.”
“Damon,” I warned, but it came out like a moan.
“Ten seconds, kitten,” he said, already sounding like he was counting them in his head. “Ten seconds to run. Ten seconds before I let the Alpha out. Before I stop pretending to behave. Before I chase you down, pin you to the forest floor, and remind you who you belong to.”
And God help me, I wanted it.
I wanted it so bad I could barely breathe.
His lips brushed my ear.
“Say yes.”
I turned around slowly, chest rising and falling way too fast, eyes locking with his.
And I smirked.
“I hope you’re fast, Daddy.”
111
O
Run With Me
He grinned, fangs flashing.
“Then run, little Omega.”
Favorite Sin 70
~Lyra~
I was running.
Like, really actually running. Not the cutesy kind of jog you do on a treadmill when you’re pretending to be fit.
Not a t****k–worthy, slow–motion bounce with a ponytail swishing and butterflies fluttering around you. No.
I was running like my life depended on it. Like the man I just called Daddy told me to run or he was going to
f**k me up against the kitchen counter until I forgot my name, my address, and every single vowel in the
English alphabet.
And oh my God, the worst part?
I wanted to be caught.
Like, I was literally sprinting through the woods barefoot with twigs scratching my ankles and branches
tugging at my hair, and all I could think about was his voice–Damon’s voice–in my head, dark and feral and
so f*****g hot it made my spine curl.
“Ten seconds, kitten.”
Ten seconds to get away. Ten seconds before he stopped pretending to be civilized. Ten seconds before the
big, dangerous, f****d–up Alpha I couldn’t stop dreaming about let his wolf out and came after me. And here I
was, panting like I just ran a marathon, tripping over roots, soaked between my thighs, and talking to myself
like a lunatic.
“This is such a bad idea,” I muttered, practically hopping over a patch of rocks. “Who lets an Alpha count to
ten and then runs into the woods like it’s foreplay? Oh wait. Me. I do. I’m that b***h. I’m the stupid horny Omega who thinks a murder chase is romantic.”
Leaves whipped at my face. The cold wind licked up my bare legs, and my chest was burning from how hard I was breathing. But it wasn’t just exhaustion. No, this wasn’t normal cardio. This was heat. Pure,
concentrated, panty–destroying heat crawling up my stomach and curling low in my belly like it was trying to
bloom into something feral, Something wet. Something alive.
Because I could feel him.
Behind me.
Not close enough to see, but close enough to know.
And that’s when I realized something deeply disturbing. My wolf wasn’t scared. Not even a little. She was
humming. Buzzing. Rolling under my skin like she was stretching for the first time in forever. She wanted this.
She wanted him. She wanted to be seen. Touched. Claimed.
Which was absolutely insane because I was still technically recovering from the last time he touched me.
You know. When he bit me during s*x. Like bit me for real. With teeth and blood and a whole possessive snarl
like I was some prize he’d won in a war.
And maybe I was.
Because Damon didn’t just sleep with me.
O
< The Chase
He chose me.
He made it very f*****g clear–with every thrust, every bruise, every growl that vibrated against my throat- that I was his. His mate. His Omega. His obsession.
And now he wanted me to run so he could chase me down and remind me.
f**k.
f**k.
f**k.
I nearly tripped over my own feet again, but I kept going, muttering under my breath like that would somehow
keep me sane.
“Okay. Okay. You’re fine. Just a quick little feral forest jog with your psycho A. Naothing to panic about. You’re just running in the woods, leaking like a broken faucet, while a six–foot–five Alpha with fangs and no chill is somewhere behind you breathing heavy and deciding whether to f**k you against a tree or on the
ground.”
I turned sharply to the right, brushing past a branch that snagged my tank top, and I swear to the Moon Goddess I heard something behind me.
A growl.
Low.
Sharp.
Deadly.
Oh no.
Nope.
No thank you.
My legs pumped harder. My heart slammed into my ribs like it wanted out. And my cunt–oh my GOD, my f*****g cunt–was pulsing like it knew what was coming.
Which, I guess, it did.
Because right then–right then–I felt him.
I didn’t even have to look.
The whole forest went silent. The air turned electric. And every hair on my body stood up like it had a death
wish.
Damon was here.
Close.
So close I could feel the heat of his body stretching through the trees. His scent was thick in the air, all smoke and sin and something that made my stomach clench.
And then he moved.
Fast.
|||
C
The Chase
Too fast.
I barely had time to scream before his arms were around me, his body crashing into mine like a f*****g freight train of muscle and heat and growling, snarling lust. My feet left the ground. My back hit bark. My breath flew out of my lungs in a gasp that turned into a moan halfway through because–holy hell–he was
hard.
So f*****g hard.
He pinned me to the tree like I weighed nothing, one hand gripping my thigh and hiking it up around his waist while the other cupped the back of my neck and tilted my head up so I had no choice but to look at him.
And what I saw?
I almost came.
Right then.
His eyes weren’t human anymore. They were glowing gold and black, and his pupils were wide and wild like he’d been starving and just found his first meal. His chest was rising and falling like he’d sprinted for miles, and there was a little trickle of sweat running down his throat that I actually wanted to lick.
“Damon,” I breathed, and it wasn’t even a real word. It was a sound. A prayer. A full–body whimper that
belonged in a porno.
“You ran,” he growled, pressing his forehead to mine and dragging in a deep, shaky breath like he was trying to hold himself together. “You smelled like you wanted to be caught.”
“–” My voice cracked because I didn’t have one anymore. “I didn’t mean to. I mean, I meant to, but I also didn’t. You told me to run! What the hell was I supposed to do? Bake a cake?!”
He growled again. This one was softer. Rougher. Deeper. Like it came from a part of him that didn’t
understand logic anymore.
“I told you to run,” he said darkly, brushing his nose against mine like he was trying to inhale me, “so I could
hunt you.”
My thighs clenched.
Instantly.
Painfully.
Because that sentence? That sentence was everything.
“And now?” I asked, voice high and shaky because I already knew the answer but I needed to hear it.
His lips brushed the shell of my ear, and I swear I felt it in my soul.
“Now I catch you, kitten,” he whispered, hand sliding down the inside of my thigh, fingers curling under the edge of my shorts, “and I remind you who you belong to.”
Oh my God.
My legs gave out.
My brain gave up.
And my mouth?
O
< The Chase
My mouth said the one thing it always says when I’m about to make the worst decision of my lie
“Then do it,” I whispered. “Ruin me.”
And the look in his eyes when I said that?
It wasn’t human.
It was Alpha.
It was mine.
And the second I said it-“Then do it. Ruin me.”–something snapped behind his eyes.
But not in the wild, feral, tear–my–clothes–off–and–f**k–me–into–a–coma kind of way.
No.
Worse.
So much worse.
He smiled.
Not a nice smile. Not a sweet, relieved, oh–wow–we’re–about–to–have–a–romantic–moment smile.
It was the smile of a man who’d waited long enough. The smile of an Alpha who’d claimed me, chased me, caught me, and now had every intention of dragging it out.
“Oh, kitten,” he purred, pressing his hips into mine until I could feel every thick, throbbing inch of what was waiting for me in his pants, “you say the most dangerous things.”
My breath caught.
Because holy hell he was hard. And thick. And hot through his pants like his c**k was already aching for a place to bury itself.
And I was right here.
Soaking.
Throbbing.
Literally panting against a tree like a s*x–deprived Disney princess.
I rocked my hips into his, just barely, just enough to rub myself against the heat pressing into my stomach. I was already swollen down there. Already soaked. My panties were ruined. Everything was wet and slick and messy and needy, and if he didn’t do something about it soon I was going to absolutely scream.
But of course, he didn’t move.
He didn’t give me what I wanted.
He f*****g laughed.
“You think I’m gonna ruin you now?” he asked softly, dragging his fingers up my thigh, higher, higher, until he was right at the edge of where ‘was dripping. “After that perfect little chase? No, kitten. No. I want to enjoy
this.”
I whimpered.
The Chase
Actually whimpered.
* Prints
And not in a cute way. No, I sounded desperate. Broken. Like someone had yanked the cord out of my brain and all that was left was pure, panting, heat–drunk need.
“Damon,” I whispered, trying to grind against his hand, but he pulled back just enough to make me cry out.
Please. Don’t tease me. I can’t take it.”
“Yes, you can,” he said, leaning in and dragging his tongue up the side of my neck like he was licking the sweat off my skin. “You were made to take it.”
He moved lower.
His mouth kissed along my throat. My collarbone. The spot just above my breast.
His hands? Everywhere.
One gripping my waist so hard I knew I’d bruise.
The other running down my stomach, pausing just above the waistband of my shorts.
Just pausing.
“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, and his lips brushed the underside of my jaw, right where my skin was vibrating. “Use your words, kitten.”
My body bucked.
My brain was falling apart. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t even breathe without tasting him. Without smelling him. That Alpha scent that made my whole spine curl. The one that said you’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine over and over again until I didn’t even know what my own name was anymore.
“I want-“I gasped, grinding into him again and nearly sobbing when he pulled back once more, “f**k, Damon, I want your hands. I want your mouth. I want your c**k, I want everything, I want–s**t–I want to come so bad
it hurts.”
“Mmm,” he hummed, dragging his hand even lower until his fingers were resting right at the curve between my thighs, pressing down so gently it made me cry out. “So wet, kitten. You like being hunted that much?”
“Yes,” I choked out. “God, yes. I’ve never been this wet in my life. I feel like I’m going to explode.”
“You are,” he whispered. “But not yet.”
His hand slid up again.
Not down.
Up.
Away from the part of me that was literally twitching for him. Away from the slick heat pooling in my panties. He skimmed his fingers over my belly, up to my ribs, and then under my shirt.
Slowly.
So f*****g slowly.
“You’re mean,” I gasped, grabbing his arm like I could guide him back down. “You’re evil. You’re literally torturing me.”
The Chase
“I know,” he said, and there was a soft, dangerous smile in his voice. “But you’re going to thank me for it later.
And then–then–his thumb brushed over my n****e.