Breed Me, Daddy Alpha-Chapter 109

Lyra

As soon as I stepped into the penthouse and my eyes landed on Damon, everything stopped.

Like literally everything.

My lungs forgot how to work, my heart fucking imploded, and every single thought in my brain melted into one single, overwhelming, unbearable need..

I just wanted him to fuck me. Fuck me senseless. Fuck me stupid. Fuck me until my voice cracked and my body forgot how to work. Fuck the living hell out of me.

Oh my fucking God, I’d missed him.

I’d missed the way he stood like he owned the world. The way his slacks hung off his hips like they were tailored by sin itself. The way his chest rose and fell slow, controlled, like his whole body was made of violence and patience wrapped in ink and rage.

He had a glass in one hand, a half-burnt cigar resting in the ashtray beside him, and that look on his face..that cold, cocky, lethal fucking smirk that said he knew exactly what I looked like crying, moaning, gagging on his cock, and begging for more.

My thighs clenched the second our eyes met.

I felt it..this white-hot pulse between my legs like my cunt recognized its fucking master before my mouth could even open.

And the way he looked at me?

Like I was prey.

Like I was property.

Like I was the cum-drunk little toy who’d dared to block his number, and now I was about to pay for every second I made him wait.

I couldn’t even breathe right.

My whole body was screaming. Every inch of me was on fire. I felt the slick in my panties the second I took my next step, and it wasn’t even subtle anymore. It was soaked. Humiliatingly soaked. Like I’d been edging for a week and my body just gave up the second I saw him.

He stepped toward me, slow, like he had all the time in the fucking world and wanted me to suffer for every second of it.

And I swear to God—I swear—I almost dropped to my knees before he even touched me.

I could feel it. That ache in my jaw. That twitch in my throat. That empty, hungry, desperate fucking pressure in my core that screamed fill me, ruin me, own me again.

I wanted him to grab me. Slam me against the wall. Tear my clothes off and spit in my mouth. I wanted his belt across my ass and his cum down my throat and his cock buried so deep inside me that I could taste it in the back of my fucking skull. I didn’t care how it happened. I didn’t care if he made me beg or scream or sob—I just wanted him.

I needed him.

I needed daddy.

And when he finally spoke, when that low, possessive growl hit the air and he asked me what took so long, I swear I almost came right there in the doorway.

My knees buckled.

My cunt clenched.

My heart practically exploded.

Because I knew what came next.

He wasn’t going to be gentle. He wasn’t going to hold me and tell me it was okay. He was going to fuck the apology out of my mouth and make me thank him for every second of it.

And God help me..I wanted it.

The second his eyes dropped to my thighs, I knew I was done for.

And then he said it.

He said it low. Rough. Like he was talking to himself.

"Well, well. Did you grow thicker overnight?"

My lungs seized.

My pussy clenched so hard I nearly cried.

I wanted to die and scream and moan all at once because he was still staring..still looking at me like I was something worth breaking open, like every curve was a challenge and every soft part of me was just another place for him to leave his fucking mark.

He took one slow step forward, and then another, until his body was right in front of mine. I could feel the heat coming off his skin. I could smell him—cologne and smoke and sex and something wild underneath that made my insides twist like I’d been drugged by my own hormones.

"Gosh," he muttered, voice like gravel dragged across silk. "Look at your fat ass and thighs."

I choked on air.

Like actually choked.

Because the way he said it wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t mean. It was worse. It was reverent. It was filthy. It was the kind of voice a man uses when he’s about to drop to his knees and eat a girl alive.

And I could feel my whole body start to shake because I wanted that. I wanted his mouth. I wanted his hands. I wanted his cock. I wanted every inch of this man and every word that came out of his mouth to be inside me, around me, all over me.

His hands came up slowly—almost like he was giving me time to run, but we both knew I wasn’t going anywhere.

His fingers slid under the hem of my top. They didn’t yank. They didn’t tear. They just slipped in like they belonged there, warm and commanding, and my breath hitched so loud it echoed in the room.

"Let me see it," he whispered, and the sound of those words against my ear almost made me fall to my knees. "All of it. Every inch that’s been keeping me up at night."

He started lifting my shirt.

Slow.

Tormentingly slow.

Like he was unwrapping a present he wanted to play with for hours before fucking it senseless.