Ch. 76..80: Breed Me, Daddy Alpha chapter 76-80

Favorite Sin 76

The Reality Check

~Lyra~

I stood there at the top of the stairs watching them argue–watching their hands move, their mouths open, their bodies tense–and honestly, it felt like I couldn’t hear a single f*****g thing.

Their lips were moving, but the words weren’t landing. They weren’t even making it to my ears. It was like someone turned the volume of the whole world down to zero and left me trapped in a bubble of silence, in a house that suddenly didn’t feel like it belonged to me anymore.

Because she kissed him.

She f*****g kissed him.

She put her lips on his like she owned him. Like she had the right. Like he hadn’t been inside me less than an hour ago. Like I wasn’t still limping from the way he split me open with his knot, still aching from how full he left me, still dripping down my thighs like I was some ruined little thing marked and claimed and destroyed.

And there she was.

Putting her mouth on him like she was coming home to her man.

God. Who was I even kidding?

She’s his wife.

His actual wife.

The woman in the picture frame. The woman he said was dead. The one with the perfect blonde hair and glossy smile and long legs and pretty little rich–girl bones that probably never broke no matter how hard she

cried.

And I’m just-

I’m just an eighteen–year–old i***t who fell in love with a man twice her age.

A man I barely know. A man with secrets. A man who breaks people and makes them beg and ruins them in the best, worst, most addictive way possible.

And I let him ruin me.

Willingly.

I wanted it.

I still want it.

I still want him.

Even now. Even after this. Even as my entire chest feels like it’s being chewed on from the inside out by some animal I can’t control.

I wanted to move. I really did. I wanted to run. To scream. To cry or throw something or slam the door so hard it cracked.

But I couldn’t.

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The Reality Check

I couldn’t do anything except stand there, frozen, while my wolf paced inside me like she wanted blood She was angry. Furious. Not just for me. For us. She kept whispering things in the back of my head like mine, mine, ours, ours, get her out, and I didn’t know whether I was going to shift or collapse or start tearing my own hair out from the pressure building in my skull.

Because she touched him.

That woman touched him.

And not just his arm.

She touched his c**k.

I saw it.

I f*****g saw it with my own two eyes.

She reached for him like she knew the exact shape of it. Like it still belonged to her. Like the same c**k that was inside me–inside me–just minutes ago didn’t mean anything at all.

I think I stopped breathing.

My whole body clenched up so fast I nearly blacked out. My legs went numb. My throat locked. My stomach twisted so hard I thought I was going to vomit

all over the railing. My heart? Gone. Obliterated. I think it

actually disintegrated inside my chest.

I couldn’t stop staring at her hand.

At her fingers right there, pressing against the front of his sweatpants like she’d done it a million times and had every intention of doing it again.

And he didn’t push her away fast enough.

He didn’t yell.

He didn’t even f*****g flinch right away.

So what did that mean?

What the hell did that mean?

Was he just shocked? Was he just frozen? Was he secretly enjoying it? Or worse–was he comparing us? Was he standing there thinking about how she used to do it and how she probably did it better and how I’m just some young little mistake he got carried away with?

God. Why was I thinking like this? Why couldn’t I shut my brain up?

Why couldn’t I forget what I saw?

Why couldn’t I forget that her lips were just on his?

That her hand was on the same body that just had mine begging for more!

I could still feel him inside me.

Still feel the pressure of his knot.

Still feel the sting between my legs and the soreness in my thighs and the mess dripping out of me and down my legs in slow, sticky trails of humiliation.

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< The Reality Check

And none of it mattered.

Because I wasn’t her.

Because I would never be her.

She had history with him. A house. A child. A wedding band. A name. I didn’t even have a toothbrush here i didn’t even have clothes. I had a bed I wasn’t supposed to be in, a body he used like a toy, and feelings that were way too big for a girl who thought she was smart enough to not get attached.

I was wrong.

So f*****g wrong.

And now I was standing here, shaking, sweating, still naked under this goddamn sheet, watching the man who said I was his let another woman put her mouth and her hands on him like I didn’t even exist.

I blinked.

Another tear fell.

I didn’t remember crying.

I didn’t remember anything except the scream that was climbing up my throat and the wolf in my head

howling like she wanted to kill something.

But I didn’t move.

I just stood there.

Watching.

And then she did something that made every nerve in my body twitch with rage.

Something that made my vision blur and my hands curl so tight I swear I felt my nails digging into the skin of my palms.

She started unbuttoning her shirt.

Right there in front of him.

Right there in his house.

Right in the same room where I was still standing–barely, shaking, bleeding inside, still dripping from what he did to me–and this woman, this polished, glossy, picture–perfect wife of his had the audacity to slowly undo her blouse like we weren’t even there. Like I was invisible. Like she was walking into her territory and reminding everyone of exactly who had it first.

One button.

Then two.

Then three.

And then I saw them.

Her t**s.

Full, high, perfect, probably enhanced. They sat in her bra like they belonged in a magazine ad. Like they’d been lifted and powdered and prepared just to destroy me. And she f*****g knew what she was doing. She

< The Reality Check

tilted her chest forward ever so slightly, like she wanted him to look. Like she wanted to remind him that she used to be his.

And me?

God.

I wanted to grab her by the hair and slam her face down into the floor.

I wanted to tear that blouse off her body and scream into her face that she didn’t get to do this. That she

didn’t get to come back from the grave and steal him away from me with some fancy bra and a f*****g pout.

I wanted to rip her to shreds with my hands.

But I couldn’t.

Because I was still in shock.

Still in pain.

Still stuck at the top of the stairs, watching the man who said I was his say nothing as his wife tried to

seduce him.

And that was the moment I realized I couldn’t stand there any longer.

I couldn’t watch another second.

Not if I wanted to survive this.

I turned.

Ran.

As fast as my sore, leaking, trembling legs would carry me.

I didn’t even think.

I didn’t even care if he saw me.

I just needed to get out of that hallway. Away from her. Away from the sound of her voice and the sight of her perfect, glossy, rich–girl t**s trying to reclaim something that wasn’t hers anymore.

I got to the room, slammed the door behind me–quietly, so nothing would sound suspicious–but hard

enough that the handle clicked and the sheets on the bed shifted from the gust of air.

And then I dropped.

Right there on the floor.

To my knees.

Hard.

J

t anything except the sound of I didn’t care about the pain. I didn’t care about the cold tile. I didn’t care my own breath catching in my throat and the tears that poured down my face so fast I couldn’t keep up with

them.

I buried my face in my hands and cried. Cried like I’d never cried before. The kind of crying that shook your bones and made your stomach ache and made your soul feel like it was cracking right down the middle. “What the f**k is wrong with me?” I whispered to myself, my voice hoarse, shaking, broken. “Why did I think I

The Reality Check

40 Ports >

mattered? Why did I let him touch me like that? Why did I let him ruin me? I’m so f*****g stupid. I’m so dumb. God, he probably didn’t even mean any of it. He probably just needed someone warm to f**k while his wife was gone. And I–I thought it was real. I thought he saw me.”

“She’s beautiful,” I whispered to myself, tasting the bitterness like poison in my mouth. “She’s everything I’m not. She’s his wife. She’s the one with the history. She’s the one he married. She probably gave him that house, that daughter, that life. And me? I’m just the girl who spread her legs and thought it meant something.

My voice cracked.

“I thought I meant something.”

I laughed once. It was a horrible sound. Sharp. Ugly. The kind of laugh that didn’t come from amusement–it came from devastation.

“She probably knows all the things he likes. The way he likes to be kissed. The way he likes to be touched. She probably doesn’t even have to ask. She probably never had to beg. She probably never had to wonder if he was going to walk away and pretend she didn’t exist once he was finished.”

I clenched my fists and slammed them against the floor once, twice, until the pain in my palms distracted me from the ache in my chest.

“I let him do everything to me,” I whispered. “I let him use every part of me. I let him ruin me. And he couldn’t even push her away fast enough.”

That was when the door opened.

I didn’t hear footsteps. I didn’t hear his voice first. Just the soft click of the doorknob turning and the creak of it swinging open like he had every right to walk in.

I lifted my head.

My face was soaked. My eyes were swollen. My hands were trembling as I clutched the sheet tighter around my chest and glared at the man standing in the doorway like he had no idea he just cracked me open.

And the words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them.

“What the hell are you doing here, Damon?!”

My voice was louder than I meant it to be. Sharp. Full of tears. Full of fury. Full of something that sounded too much like heartbreak to be anything else.

His face changed instantly.

He looked at me like I’d just stabbed him.

But I didn’t care.

Not this time.

“Don’t act like you care,” I spat, getting up from the floor even though my legs were shaking and I felt like I might collapse. “You already made it clear I’m nothing compared to her. You already let her kiss you. You let her touch you. You let her do all of that right there where I could see it. Right after you-” I stopped myself, my voice cracking. “Right after you were inside me.”

He stepped forward.

The Reality Check

I stepped back…

Favorite Sin 77

~Lyra~

“Don’t,” I said, and my voice was already shaking. My hands were shaking. My whole f*****g soul was shaking. “Just–don’t. Don’t come in here, Damon. Don’t you dare walk into this room like you have the right. Like you can just show up and fix it with that stupid face and those quiet eyes and that I’m–so–calm bullshit you do when you know you’ve already ruined me.”

He stepped forward again, but I snapped backward so fast my foot hit the edge of the bed frame and I winced. I didn’t even care.

“I’m serious,” I said, my voice rising, filling the space between us like a scream held in a cage. “Don’t. Don’t even try to act like you didn’t just let her touch you. Because I saw it, Damon. I saw it with my own two eyes, okay? I stood there like a goddamn i***t and watched her kiss you. And you let her. You didn’t push her away. You didn’t say stop. You just stood there.”

My throat burned. My lips were trembling. My heart was slamming so violently inside my chest that I was sure it was going to burst.

“I saw her reach for your c**k,” I spat. “Do you even know what that felt like? Do you know what it feels like to be so full of someone that your body’s still dripping, still raw, still twitching–and then watch some beautiful, perfect, magazine–cover woman unzip her top and touch the same d**k that was just inside you like she’s reclaiming what’s hers?”

1 choked.

Not on words.

On the ache rising up my throat like fire.

“You told me she was dead.”

My voice cracked completely.

“You said she was dead, Damon. Like–dead. As in gone. As in not breathing. And I–God, I felt bad for you. I actually felt sorry for you. I held your face in my hands and kissed you like I could make it better.I thought maybe I could help you heal.

“But I wasn’t helping you heal anything, was I? I was just a distraction. Just a warm body. Just someone to f**k while the real woman was gone.”

I paced.

I couldn’t stop moving.

My hands were flying through the air, my fingers clutching the sheet around my body like it was the only thing keeping me from completely falling apart in front of him.

“She’s your wife, Damon!” I yelled. “Your wife! And I’m just–I’m just some stupid eighteen–year–old with no clue what she’s doing, who thought that maybe, maybe, if I gave you everything, you’d actually see me. That

you’d choose me.”

I laughed. A bitter, breathless sound that didn’t even feel like it came from me.

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Addicted To Ram

“But

of course you didn’t choose me,” I said, volce softer now but no less cracked, “Why would you? I’m just a little girl to you. Some pretty little thing to ruin while you wait for your actual life to come walking back through the door in heels and lip gloss. Right?”

I stopped.

Stared at him.

And the silence between us felt like it could’ve drowned a goddamn universe.

“I let you mark me,” I whispered. “I let you f**k me on your bed. I let you do things to me that I’ve never even told anyone I wanted. And you stood there and let her undress. Let her kiss you. Let her put her hand on you

like I wasn’t even real.”

My chest was rising and falling so fast it felt like I was going to pass out.

And I wasn’t done.

“Oh, and you know what the worst part is?” I asked, my voice trembling like I was about to break in half. “The worst part is that even now, even after seeing all of that, I still want you. I still want you to come here and tell me that you didn’t mean it. That you didn’t feel anything. That you don’t love her. That I’m the one you want. That you didn’t lie to me just to get in my pants.”

I blinked. My eyes burned. My face was wet.

And I hated how small I felt.

“I don’t want to be the girl you forget, Damon,” I said, quieter now. “I don’t want to be the stupid little mistake you f****d while your wife was gone. I don’t want to be the girl you regret.”

Then I looked up at him.

Straight into his eyes.

And my whole voice dropped.

“So why the f**k are you here? Why now? Why not stay down there with her if that’s who you want? Why did you even come upstairs?”

My voice cracked again.

“Or was I just convenient while she was away?”

I was still staring at him, still breathing like I’d just crawled out of a grave, still soaked in tears and humiliation and hurt, when he moved.

He didn’t speak right away. Didn’t rush toward me. Didn’t yell or argue or try to explain. He just stood there for

a second, watching me with this quiet, dark, devastating look in his eyes that made my chest clench so hard I almost collapsed again.

And then he said it.

In that voice.

That low, husky, completely wrecked voice that I swear came from the deepest part of his chest.

“Come here, kitten.”

Oh f**k.

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Addicted To Pain

Oh f**k.

My whole body froze.

Everything inside me just–short–circuited. Like someone unplugged my brain and poured lava into my bloodstream instead. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.

My wolf was already whining in the back of my mind, already clawing at the inside of my ribs like she needed to obey him, like she wanted to sink to her knees and purr for him like we weren’t just crying five seconds

ago.

I stared at him.

My lips parted.

My heart was slamming so violently I swear I could hear it echoing inside my head.

“Don’t,” I whispered, even though my feet were already moving, even though the sheet I was clutching started to slip from my chest, even though my body was already burning for him again. “Don’t say things like that, Damon. Don’t call me that. I’m mad at you. I hate you. I hate what you did-”

“Kitten,” he said again, slower this time, his voice thick and broken and dark enough to make my knees go soft, “come. Here.”

I couldn’t resist.

I didn’t want to.

I let the sheet drop to the floor.

Just like that.

I stood there naked now cause the sheets fell off my skin, my skin still blotchy from crying, my thighs still sticky from everything he left inside me, my cheeks wet, my lips trembling and I walked straight toward him like I wasn’t shaking, like I wasn’t broken, like I didn’t just scream at him and wish I’d never met him.

Because even after all of that..I still wanted him/

I still needed him.

I reached him, standing barely a foot away, and my chest was already heaving again, but not from sadness

this time.

From heat.

From the way he was looking at me like I was still the only girl in the world.

He didn’t wait.

He didn’t ask.

He just grabbed me.

His hand went to my jaw and tilted my head up, and then his mouth crashed down on mine with this feral, desperate kind of hunger that stole every f*****g thought from my brain.

And I let him.

I let him kiss me like I was his.

Addicted To Pain

I kissed him back like I was never going to survive without him.

And when his tongue slid into my mouth, slow and deep and possessive, I moaned so loud into the kiss! thought I was going to collapse right there in his arms.

His hands were all over me now.

My waist. My back. My ass.

He gripped me like he was anchoring himself, like if he didn’t hold me hard enough, I might disappear. I felt him harden against me instantly–f**k, he was already hard and the second I felt that thick bulge press between my legs, I whimpered like a f*****g addict.

“I hate you,” I whispered against his mouth, even though my nails were already digging into his shoulders, even though I was grinding against him like I needed him inside me again.

“No, you don’t,” he growled, and the sound of his voice vibrated straight through my throat and into my cunt. You hate that you love me.”

“Shut up,” I moaned, wrapping my legs around his waist as he lifted me without a single effort, like I weighed nothing, like I was something he owned.

“Don’t say s**t like that to me. Not after everything. Not when I still want to slap you. Not when I still want to

f*****g scream.”

His hands were on my ass, gripping tight, pressing me so hard into the wall I could feel the paint digging into my spine. And f**k, it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

“I’m not forgiving you,” I said, even though my hips were grinding down on him like my body was already ten steps ahead of my mouth.

“I’m not gonna sit here and pretend you didn’t break my heart. I’m not some girl you can kiss and f**k and make it all disappear. I’m still mad. I’m still hurt. I’m still bleeding inside.”

His lips found my neck. Hot. Open. Desperate. And I whimpered again.

“But I can’t stop,” I whispered, and my voice cracked like it was unraveling straight out of my chest. “I can’t stop wanting you. I can’t stop needing you. I hate how badly I still want your mouth on me, your c**k inside me, your hands everywhere.”

He groaned against my skin like he couldn’t take it.

“I hate you,” I breathed, clawing at his shirt, dragging it up his back like I wanted to rip it off with my teeth.

“I hate what you do to me. I hate that my f*****g soul feels like it’s wired to you. I hate that I like being ruined.

I hate that no matter how angry I am, I still want you to make me cry all over again.”

My lips found his jaw.

Then his mouth again.

I kissed him so hard my teeth hit his.

And I didn’t stop.

“I want you to f**k me like you’re sorry,” I whispered into his mouth. “I want you to f**k me like it’s the only way you can say it. I want you to make me forget she ever touched you. I want you to put so much c*m inside me that her name drowns in it.”

Addicted To Pam

His grip tightened.

I gasped.

“I want to be the only thing you taste for the rest of your life.”

The words slipped out of me too raw to take back, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. I was already trembling, already drenched, already arching into him like my body didn’t care how wrecked I was or how bad this hurt. I just needed to be closer. Needed him deeper. Harder. Meaner.

“I want to be the reason your mouth stays wet in the middle of the night,” I whispered, clawing at the back of his neck as his lips moved down to my throat, biting, sucking, leaving heat wherever he touched.

He growled.

Favorite Sin 78

~Lyra~

“I want your tongue to forget what air tastes like because it only remembers me. My skin. My p***y. My

f*****g sweat on your tongue. I want you to wake up starving for it. Thirsty for it. I want you to crawl across

the bed just to bury your face in me like you can’t breathe without it.”

He growled again.

I felt the sound before I heard it. It rumbled from his chest and poured through me like thunder.

And then–his voice.

Low. Ruined. Husky enough to make me clench before he even finished speaking.

“Say it again,” he rasped, his mouth pressed hot against my ear. “Say you want to be the only thing I taste,

kitten.”

“I want to be the only one,” I cried, “the only f*****g one. I want your mouth soaked in me until nothing else

exists. I want you to get on your knees and open your mouth just to prove it. I want you to choke on how much you need me. I want you ruined.”

“f**k,” he growled, and his voice dropped even lower, his hand sliding down between my legs, cupping the heat between my thighs like he knew it was already messy for him. “You’re soaked for me, kitten. You’re dripping. I can smell it. I can feel it through your thighs. You want me to f*****g die between your legs, don’t

you?”

“Yes,” I gasped, throwing my head back as he pressed two fingers against my entrance, teasing, slipping just barely inside, making me tremble against the wall like I was coming apart molecule by molecule.

“I want you to die in it. I want you to drown. I want you to forget your own name and only remember mine.”

His tongue dragged up the side of my neck like it belonged there, like I was something he could drink, something he could claim, and God–I think I wanted him to. I think I needed him to.

Because my whole body was already arching into him, begging without shame, my back against the wall, my n*****s pressed into his chest, my legs wrapped tight around his waist like I was terrified he’d let go and I’d f*****g fall.

But then–he spoke.

And I swear, every cell in my body stopped moving.

“You wanna know why I lied?” he whispered, and I didn’t answer. I didn’t breathe. I didn’t blink. Because his voice was low and hoarse and guilty and full of something I wasn’t ready for, something that sounded too

close to love and too close to mine

He didn’t wait.

He didn’t give me a warning.

He just said it.

“I said she was dead,” he murmured, mouth still hot on my skin, his fingers still pulsing against my slick folds

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like he couldn’t stop touching me even while his whole soul unraveled. “Because I thought you’d end it. I

thought the second you found out she was alive, you’d look at me like I belonged to her. Like I was still hers.

Like I wasn’t allowed to want you.”

My breath caught in my throat.

Not because I didn’t expect it. But because I did.

Because some part of me–some stupid, cracked–open, bleeding part of me–had hoped he would say that. Hoped it wasn’t just about s*x. Hoped he didn’t lie because he was cruel, but because he was scared. Because he needed me like I needed him and he just didn’t know how to say it.

“I couldn’t take it,” he whispered, and his voice broke..actually broke..like his lungs couldn’t hold it anymore. “I couldn’t f*****g picture it. You walking away. You looking at me with those eyes and deciding I wasn’t worth it. That I wasn’t allowed to touch you. That I’d lost you before I even really had you. I just..I had to lie. I had to.

And f**k.

Something in my chest cracked so hard I swear I felt it. Physically. Like a bone splitting.

I stared at him. At the man who made me scream. At the man who made me feel. And for a second, I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything but feel the words crawling through my skin and sinking into the place where all the pain had been living for the past hour.

Because that was it.

That was the truth.

He didn’t lie because he didn’t care.

He lied because he did.

Because he was f*****g terrified.

And that made me crazy.

That made me feral.

Because I knew what that felt like.

I knew what it felt like to be so scared of losing someone that you’d say anything to keep them close. I knew what it meant to need someone so bad it made you stupid, made you reckless, made you lie through your teeth just to keep the thing you couldn’t stand to lose.

I knew. Because I felt the same way.

My hands grabbed his face before I could stop myself. My nails dug into his jaw, and I kissed him–hard. Like I was punishing him. Like I was forgiving him. Like I was choosing him again even after everything. Because I

was.

And the second our mouths crashed, I felt the heat shoot straight between my legs. I felt his c**k twitch against my inner thigh and my whole body clenched like I’d been starving for him, and maybe I had. Maybe I’d never not been starving for him.

I kissed him until I couldn’t breathe. Until I was panting into his mouth and moaning through my tears and grinding my soaked p***y against the front of his sweatpants like I was possessed.

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I pulled away just enough to speak, and my voice was shaking but full of f*****g fire.

“Do you know what that did to me?” I gasped, my chest pressed to his, my eyes wild. “Do you know what it felt like to see her touch you? To see her kiss you? I felt like I was dying. I felt like I was nothing. Like you’d used me and I was just–God–I was just some little toy you kept warm while she was gone.”

His jaw tightened.

I didn’t stop.

“I hated you,” I whispered. “I hated you for letting her touch what you just filled. For letting her lay her hands on what’s mine. I hated you so much it made me cry like a stupid little girl who gave her heart to a man twice her age and thought it would matter.”

His hand grabbed the back of my neck and I gasped.

“I lied because you matter more than anything,” he said, low and guttural and wrecked. “I lied because I couldn’t f*****g survive losing you.”

And then I snapped.

I shoved him backward. Shoved him until his knees hit the edge of the bed and he fell, and I climbed straight onto him like I didn’t care anymore. Like I didn’t need dignity. Like I didn’t need words.

I straddled his lap, soaked, dripping, naked, messy from crying and shaking and still covered in everything he did to me earlier–and I looked down at him like I was going to devour him.

“You want me?” I asked, breathless, furious, trembling. “Prove it. Show me I’m the only thing you’ll ever f*****g taste.”

His eyes went dark.

And then he said it again.

That voice.

That f*****g voice.

“Come here, kitten,” he growled, grabbing my hips, dragging me up his chest. “Come sit on Daddy’s mouth.” I was straddling his chest, still panting, still shaking, still soaked and completely naked with my hair sticking to my cheeks and my thighs literally dripping down his skin.

His sweatpants were wet from how hard I’d been grinding against him, and my whole body was flushed from crying and screaming and needing him so bad I couldn’t even remember what the f**k started this anymore. I stared down at him, breathing hard, every inch of me burning, and I opened my mouth without thinking.

“I’ll try,” I whispered, swallowing hard, licking my lips because my throat was dry and my heart was pounding and my brain had already jumped off a cliff. “I’ll try my best not to be loud. I don’t want them to hear us downstairs.”

My voice sounded so small and messy and cracked I hated it. But it was real. Because I knew Tasha was still down there. I knew she was still down there–his wife. The one with the face and the body and the perfect clothes. The one who kissed him.

But he didn’t even flinch.

< Ripped Apart

His eyes didn’t soften.

They darkened.

He sat up just enough to grab the backs of my thighs and dig his fingers into my ass so hard it made me whimper, and his voice–f**k–his voice dropped straight into my clit.

“You think I give a f**k, kitten?” he growled, low and sharp and filthy as hell. “You think I care if she hears? If they all hear? I don’t. I don’t give a single f*****g fuck.”

gasped, but he didn’t stop.

“Let them listen. Let them hear what you sound like when you ride Daddy’s face. Let them hear how wet you are for me, how desperate you get when I start licking that sweet little cunt like it’s the only thing I’ve ever

needed to survive.”

My thighs twitched.

My chest tightened.

My whole face went hot.

But I still couldn’t stop myself.

“I do,” I whispered, even though my hips were already rocking toward his mouth. “I do care. I don’t want her to hear me and honestly you sometimes forget I’m your daughters age”

f**k it.

He grabbed me.

Hard.

2

He yanked me higher up his body and shoved his face between my thighs so fast I barely had time to blink, and then his voice–his voice–came again, rougher this time, like he was at his f*****g limit.

“Shut up,” he snarled, his breath fanning hot over my slick folds. “And sit on Daddy’s mouth. Now.”

Oh f**k.

Oh f**k.

My knees gave out and I dropped.

Right on his face.

And the second my p***y hit his tongue, I screamed.

I tried to hold it in. I really did. I bit my lip, grabbed the headboard, twisted the sheets, choked on my own breath–but it didn’t matter. Because his mouth was everywhere. His tongue was everywhere. He wasn’t soft. He wasn’t slow. He was devouring me like I was his last meal and he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

“Oh my f*****g God–Damon–oh my God–I can’t–f**k–I can’t-”

His hands were digging into my ass, spreading me wider, holding me down against his mouth like he was starving for it. His nose was rubbing against my clit, his tongue was thrusting inside me, licking and swirling and sucking every inch like he needed it. Like it was oxygen. Like he wasn’t going to stop until I couldn’t

breathe.

<Ripped Apart

And I was losing my mind.

“I’m gonna be loud,” I cried, rocking my hips over his face now, moving like I couldn’t stop, couldn’t think,

couldn’t do anything but ride him like I was about to fall apart. “I can’t stay quiet, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I can’t,

oh fuck..”

I covered my mouth with both my hands.

Favorite Sin 79

~Lyra

“I can’t stay quiet,” I moaned, and it came out so fast, so wild, so f*****g real I didn’t even try to stop it. “1 can’t..I can’t..oh my God, Damon, I’m so loud..I can’t stop…

My hands flew to my mouth.

Both of them.

I slapped them over my lips like they could hold in the moans that were already trying to rip out of me.

I pressed down hard, shaking, whimpering, my thighs trembling on either side of his face while his tongue kept moving, deep and slow and maddening like he was trying to lick me into insanity.

And I could feel myself getting close. I could feel it building. That tight, swollen, wet pressure just behind my clit. That insane, explosive, oh–my–God–I’m–not–ready kind of orgasm that starts in your spine and makes your whole body lock up like it’s trying to survive it.

But then he pulled away.

Just for a second.

And I nearly screamed from the loss.

He looked up at me with his mouth shiny, his chin soaked in me, his eyes dark and wild and full of f*****g possession, and then he said the filthiest thing I’d ever heard in my life.

“Let me help you, kitten.”

My hands were still over my mouth, and I couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, but I watched with wide, soaked eyes as he reached over to the nightstand, grabbed a piece of cloth–something dark, soft, thick -and sat up just long enough to wrap it around my mouth.

Tight.

Firm.

He tied it at the back of my head, rough but controlled, making sure it stayed.

And then he looked up at me again, with that slow, dangerous smirk like he already knew he was about to

destroy me.

“Now,” he growled, dragging his hands down my thighs, yanking me down his chest until I was sitting on his, face again, spread wide, tied up, soaked, and f*****g helpless, “I can eat you exactly how I want.”

Oh f**k.

My body shuddered.

And then he did.

He dove in with no hesitation, no gentleness, no teasing.

He devoured me.

His tongue was fast and deep and slick, lapping through my folds like he was thirsty for it, like he’d been

The Price Of Pleasure

waiting years just to taste me, like he needed it to live. But this time, it wasn’t just his tongue.

He used his teeth.

Not rough. Not painful. Just enough.

He caught my clit between them, biting lightly, tugging, then soothing it with his tongue again–and! screamed. I screamed behind the gag. The sound tore out of me and hit the back of the cloth, muffled but desperate, and my eyes rolled back so hard I saw stars.

I couldn’t hold still.

I couldn’t think.

My hips were grinding down like I was possessed. My thighs were squeezing his head like I wanted to drown him. My hands clawed at the wall, the sheets, my own hair, anything I could find to stop myself from exploding–but it didn’t matter.

Because he didn’t stop.

His tongue moved in circles now. Fast. Firm. Precise. Like he knew my body better than I did.

And his hands?

They were everywhere.

One was gripping my ass like he wanted bruises.

The other was on my lower back, pulling me down, holding me in place while I rode his face like a girl with no f*****g shame.

And the entire time, I was crying into the cloth.

Hot tears sliding down my face, soaking into the gag, my throat convulsing around my own breath because it was too much. Too hot. Too full. Too fast.

I could feel my orgasm building again. Higher. Tighter. Meaner.

I started shaking.

My legs were trembling like they were giving out.

And in the back of my mind, all I could think was: this is mine.

This is mine.

This filthy mouth. This man. This bed. This moment. All of it.

Not hers.

Not anymore.

I didn’t even know where I was anymore.

All I knew was his mouth. His tongue. His f*****g teeth. His hands bruising my thighs as he pinned me down and dragged his tongue over my clit again and again and again until my body didn’t know what the f**k to do with itself.

I was crying into the gag now.

Shaking so hard I thought I was going to pass out right there, mid–orgasm, with my p***y smothering his face

८

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The Price Of Pleasure

and my thoughts slipping straight into black.

But I didn’t stop riding him.

I couldn’t stop.

Because his rhythm–oh my God, his rhythm–it wasn’t fair. It was cruel. It was fast and slow and deep and teasing and ruthless all at once. He was using his tongue like it was made to break me. Like it belonged

inside me. Like he was sculpted just to taste me.

And I could feel it building again.

Not just an orgasm.

Not just a high.

Something violent.

Something wet.

Something that made my whole stomach cramp and my toes curl and my chest lock up like I was about to f*****g die.

My hips started jerking.

My thighs clamped around his face.

And I screamed behind the gag.

“f**k, Daddy–f**k, Daddy, I’m cumming–oh my f*****g God–I’m cumming and–I’m squirting–I can’t–f**k–l can’t stop–oh s**t-”

My whole body snapped.

It was like something exploded inside me.

My p***y clenched so hard around nothing that I cried out. My legs shook like they didn’t belong to me. My stomach spasmed, and then it happened–I squirted. I f*****g squirted. Not just once. Not a little.

It gushed.

Out of me.

All over his face.

Soaking him. Covering his mouth. Splashing down his neck and chest like I was marking him.

And I was still cumming.

My clit throbbed so violently it hurt. My head dropped back, and I moaned through the cloth, loud and choked and wrecked.

I couldn’t stop shaking.

I couldn’t even see.

But Damon wasn’t done.

His grip on my thighs tightened like he felt it too–like the gush of slick across his tongue made him insane- and I heard his voice growl against my cunt like he was trying to breathe through it.

The Price Of Pleasure

“Don’t c*m yet,” he snarled, low and vicious and soaked in my taste. “f*****g hold it.”

And then he moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

He flipped me.

Just like that.

One second I was on top of him with my p***y pressed to his mouth, squirting like I had no control over my body, and the next–his hands were on my thighs, his strength was lifting me like I was nothing, and his mouth never even left me.

He stood.

With me.

Still eating me.

Still licking.

Still sucking like he didn’t need air.

And he pushed me back.

Against the f*****g wall.

My spine hit the cold surface and I screamed through the gag, because his mouth was still on me, his tongue still f*****g me like he hadn’t just made me explode, like I didn’t just flood his mouth like a fire hydrant.

And then he moaned.

Right into me.

The vibration hit my clit so hard my whole soul spasmed.

My hands slapped the wall behind me.

My back arched.

My mouth dropped open under the cloth and I screamed again because it was too much, it was too much, and I couldn’t hold it–I couldn’t f*****g hold it.

He was gripping the backs of my thighs now, spreading me wider, slamming me into the wall like he was pinning me in place for his own pleasure.

My legs were shaking so badly I thought I was going to collapse. Not just trembling. Not just weak. Violently shaking, like they were trying to shut down on me, like my body couldn’t even hold itself up anymore because he was licking me like he wanted to end me. Like his mouth was made for this. Like he’d waited his whole f

*****g life to pin me to a wall, bury his tongue inside me, and drink every orgasm I had to give him.

And I couldn’t fight it.

I didn’t want to.

I was soaked. Drenched. Completely gone.

I wanted him to eat me until I forgot my name.

The Price Of Pleasure

And he did.

He didn’t stop.

He didn’t give me a second to breathe, to calm down, to find my balance. He just groaned deeper into my p***y and shoved his tongue harder into my entrance while his teeth dragged over my clit, and I screamed.

Even through the gag.

Even through the tears pouring down my cheeks.

I screamed because it was too much.

Too good.

Too hot.

Too intense.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

I reached up with both hands, my fingers shaking, my chest heaving, and I tore the gag off my mouth like it was choking me, like if I didn’t scream for real, I was going to lose my f*****g mind.

“Damon..Damon..Daddy, please..I can’t..fuck..I can’t..”

My voice came out cracked and ruined and soaked in spit and need and heat and I didn’t stop saying his name. I couldn’t. It was the only thing I could f*****g remember.

“I need your cock..please..I need it inside me–now!”

His head lifted.

Slowly.

His lips were wet. His jaw was covered in my slick. His pupils were blown so wide they were black. And the way he looked at me?

Like a demon who’d just found his heaven.

“You ready to ride it, kitten?” he asked, voice shredded and low, his mouth still open like he was waiting for another drop of me to fall into it.

I nodded so fast I felt dizzy.

But it wasn’t enough.

Not for him.

“Say it,” he growled, stepping back from the wall and carrying me with him like I was weightless, like he owned my body. “Tell Daddy exactly what you want.”

I gripped his hair with one hand, clawed at his chest with the other, and moaned like a b***h in heat.

“I want your c**k,” I cried. “I want it now. I want you to bend me over and f**k me until I can’t walk. I want you

to make it hurt. I want you to ruin me again. I want to feel it all night. I want you to c*m so deep inside me it leaks out for days.”

He threw me on the bed.

Hard.

< The Price Of Pleasure

And I gasped, legs wide, slick dripping, still twitching from the aftershocks of his tongue.

And the last thing I saw before he pulled his pants down was his cock.. thick, heavy, twitching–slapping up against his stomach like it was ready to split me open all over again.

Yeah folks, call me petty. Go ahead. Call me immature, dramatic, a loudmouth little homewrecker..I’ll monogram that s**t on a tote bag and keep riding his face like a throne.

Because while his stupid–ass, washed–up wife was downstairs probably fantasizing about getting a hug, I was upstairs getting my back arched and my p***y worshipped like it paid rerit. Yeah. Let that sink in. While she was out there breathing like she still had a chance, I was leaking all over his mouth, moaning into a gag, and squirting in his beard like I owned the f*****g deed to his face.

Petty? Babe, I’m platinum–tier petty. And honestly I hope she hears me. I hope her hand’s between her legs, crying into a pillow while I’m dripping down her husband’s throat like I’m made of liquid gold. Because let’s be honest..if you were getting head like this, you’d be cocky too.

Favorite Sin 80

~Lyra~

**Next Morning**

The next day came way too fast, and I was supposed to start school. And honestly? I wasn’t ready.

I wasn’t even close to ready. But phew this is the last grade. I woke up to the annoying beeping of my alarm and stared at the ceiling for a full five minutes, wondering if there was any possible way to fake my own

death and skip this day entirely.

My chest felt heavy, my body still sore in places I didn’t even know could get sore, and my brain was

screaming

“Nope” before I’d even gotten out of bed. I just lay there, tangled in sheets that still smelled like sweat, s*x, and Damon, trying to gather the strength to function like a normal teenager and not a freshly–ruined, emotionally unstable little w***e who got her world rocked the night before.

To make things worse, my mum sent me a f*****g email. Not a simple “Good luck” text or a cute voice note. No. An actual long–ass email.

The kind with a motivational quote and emojis and a paragraph talking about how proud she was of me.

She said she hoped I’d learn a lot, stay focused, and be strong in my “young woman journey.” I almost

laughed.

Actually, no, I did laugh. Out loud. Because if only she knew that her daughter had spent the entire night being pinned, choked, knotted, and f****d half to death by her best friend’s father, she would’ve sent a damn priest, not a prayer–filled email.

Do I want to go to school today? No. Not even a little. Not even a tiny, delusional part of me is excited about walking into that building.

And the reason is very simple. Tasha. Tasha goes to that school. She’s not just in the school – she’s in my class. And yeah she f****d my ex. So we are it best friends anymore.

Come to think of it, I’ll have to sit in the same room with her, see her face, hear her talk, and pretend like l didn’t just moan her father’s name until I lost my voice.

I’ll have to act normal, like I didn’t spend last night with my legs in the air and my throat being f****d and my mind being turned inside out by the man who gave her life.

And the idea of sitting in that classroom, just a few feet away from her, while my p***y still twitches at the thought of what he did to me, is actually making me nauseous.

But I have to go. I don’t have a choice. I can’t avoid her forever, and I can’t exactly tell the school counselor, “Sorry I can’t attend today, I got dicked down by my best friend’s dad and I’m still emotionally unstable.” So I’m going. Reluctantly. Slowly. Dragging my ass out of bed like I’m headed to my own execution.

But here’s the twist. Despite everything – despite the dread and the awkwardness and the Tasha of it all I’m actually in a good mood this morning. I know that makes zero sense.

You’re probably thinking I’ve lost it, and maybe I have. But the truth is, I woke up with a little smile on my lips.

Tension Rise

Because last night? Damon f****d the hell out of me.

No, seriously, I don’t just mean it was good. I mean it was life–altering, Back–breaking. Soul–shaking. I’m–still–seeing–stars kind of s*x.

He took me to hell and heaven and left me somewhere in between, tied up, crying, and begging for more. My body is still throbbing in the best way possible. My thighs are still sticky with dried slick. My entire existence has been rearranged, and I don’t even regret it.

So yeah, school sucks. Tasha is going to be there. I’m going to be stressed out, uncomfortable, and probably unable to make eye contact with anyone for more than three seconds without blushing.

But at the same time, I feel powerful. I feel chosen. I feel like I’ve been claimed in the dirtiest, most delicious way imaginable. I was the one he kissed. I was the one he tied up. I was the one he filled, over and over again, until my body forgot how to breathe.

He didn’t touch her. He didn’t even look at her the way he looked at me.

And maybe that’s wrong. Maybe that’s delusional. Maybe I’m a little too cocky right now. But I don’t care. Because while his fancy, lip–gloss–wearing, rehab–returning wife was downstairs pretending like she still mattered, I was the one moaning into a pillow, getting eaten out like it was his last meal.

I was the one with his tongue on my clit, his hands holding my thighs open, his voice calling me kitten like I was something holy. And that? That’s enough to get me through a hundred awkward school days.

So I’ll go. I’ll walk through those school gates with my head held high, my p***y still aching, and my heart beating just a little faster.

~~

I was halfway down the stairs, trying to walk like a normal person and not someone who had been split open and stretched wide for hours.

My thighs still ached with every step, my skirt felt too tight against my ass, and the last thing I needed this morning was some kind of soap opera encounter before breakfast.

But of course, the universe hates me.

Because the moment I reached the bottom step, I saw her.

Camilla.

Standing right there in the kitchen like she f*****g lived here. Which she did, technically, but still. It felt wrong. She was wearing tiny shorts. I mean tiny. Like bend–over–and–I’ll–see–your–womb kind of shorts,

Paired with a white camisole that hugged her surgically lifted t**s so tightly it looked like the fabric was begging for mercy.

Her legs were tanned and toned, and her hair looked like she had it blown out by a team of stylists before

dawn.

Like, ma’am, who looks that perfect at 8:00 AM? You just got out of rehab. Shouldn’t you be in a hoodie? Eating cereal straight out of the box? Maybe quietly regretting your life choices?

But no.

She was glowing. Like Botox–glowing. Like, “Hi I’m a MILF and I know it” glowing. And the moment she saw

215

Tension Rise

me, her fake–ass smile stretched so wide I thought it might crack her face.

“Oh hi, dear!” she said, in that bright, sugary tone that instantly made my skin crawl. “Good morning!”

cleanut

I blinked. My fingers tightened around my bag strap. My stomach twisted like it knew a passive–aggressive

storm was coming.

“You must be Tasha’s best friend, right?”

I paused. I mean… was I? That felt like a stretch after everything that had happened. But I wasn’t in the mood to correct her or dive into the tragic tale of betrayal. So I just nodded once and forced a neutral smile.

“Yeah,” I said simply.

She looked at me. I mean looked at me. Her eyes dragged down my body, slow and judging, like I was some menu item she wasn’t sure belonged in the kitchen.

And then she said it.

The most unnecessary, out–of–pocket, audacity–dripping line of the century.

“She took the bus so I guess you’d catch up with her right?”

“And I must say You’re a little too thick for your age, don’t you think so?” she asked with a tilt of her head, like she was genuinely curious. “And that skirt is too short. It brings out your ass.”

I froze. For a second, I thought I misheard her. I genuinely thought my ears were malfunctioning because

there was no way this woman was slut–shaming me in Damon’s kitchen less than twelve hours after he ate my p***y like it was his last meal on earth.

“Huh?” I said, blinking like I’d just been hit with a frying pan.

She was still smirking. Still giving me that condescending once–over like I was some stripper who wandered into her Pilates class.

“What the hell is wrong with this woman?” I mumbled under my breath, more to myself than to her.

Then I straightened up. Tilted my chin. And let the sarcasm roll in smooth and strong.

“You are not my mum, ma’am,” I said, and I made sure to hit that ma’am with extra bite. “And it’s genetics. My mum has a big behind. So don’t feel intimidated.”

Boom. I said it. Loud and proud. And the look on her face? Priceless.

She scoffed like a villain in a teen drama. Tossed her perfectly curled blonde hair over her shoulder and let out the fakest laugh I’ve ever heard.

“Me? Intimidated by a kid?” she said, eyes narrowing. “Don’t make me laugh, child.

She didn’t stop there.

Of course she didn’t.

Because women like her never do. Women like her – the perfect, blonde, icy wife with the yoga body and the botoxed forehead – they always feel like they’ve got more to say. Like the world asked for their opinion. Like someone handed them a mic and begged for their judgment.

She folded her arms under her suspiciously perky boobs and tilted her head again like she was trying to figure out whether to insult me with sugar or spit.

Tension Rise

“

My husband is around,” she said, voice suddenly low and sharp like broken glass under silk. “And I don’t want him seeing thick, fat asses and thighs from teenage girls walking around the house like it’s a

whorehouse.”

My jaw dropped.

Like, actually dropped.

I blinked at her so hard I saw stars. The sheer nerve of this b***h. She didn’t just imply I was throwing my

—

body around she flat–out called me thick and slutty like she doesn’t even know the same husband she just

called had his tongue halfway up my cunt not even twelve hours ago.

Oh. Oh. She really picked the right one today.

I straightened my spine, turned to face her fully, and gave her a slow, full–body scan with my eyes. Just like she did to me. My gaze dipped down to her microscopic shorts, then crawled up to her tank top, then back to her smug, lip–glossed face.

“Well, excuse me, ma’am,” I said, sweet as a f*****g blade dipped in honey. “I am not a teen. I am fully legal. And you’re the one wearing shorts, aren’t you? Or are you just jealous because you’ve got a flat ass and no amount of squats or surgery can fix that?”

Her face froze.

And I swear, for one brief, glorious second, I saw the real her flicker behind the glam – the insecure, bitter, washed–up version of the woman she used to be before the pills and the rehab and the cheating husband.

“Watch your mouth, you little-”

She lunged forward a step.

I didn’t move. I didn’t flinch. I was vibrating with rage and adrenaline and the urge to slap that smug lip–gloss off her face, but I held my ground. Because I didn’t have to say another word.

His voice did the rest.

“Camilla.”

It was low. Dangerous. Familiar.

My head turned.

There he was.

Damon.

Standing right behind me. His voice sharp as a whip, his body blocking the doorway like a wall of heat and fury. His eyes locked on her, not me, and there was something in them – something lethal.

“Don’t you dare touch her.”