Breed Me, Daddy Alpha-Chapter 115

Lyra

I didn’t even get the chance to breathe.

Because the second those words left his mouth, he grabbed me.

His hands slammed down on my hips like he was done pretending, done letting me run wild, done letting me act like I had any control over this. And then he dragged me forward, yanked my soaked little cunt right over his cock, and slammed me down so fucking deep I swear I blacked out for a second.

My whole body convulsed.

My mouth opened.

And the sound that came out of me didn’t even sound human.

"Oh my fucking God—Damon..fuck..Daddy..shit..I wasn’t ready..why the fuck does it feel even bigger now..I swear to God I can feel you in my ribs.."

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t give me a second to process.

He just thrust up again, brutal and slow, grinding deep into my core like he was trying to carve out every thought I’d ever had. And I couldn’t stop the words pouring out of my mouth because I was overstimulated and ruined and shaking all over again.

"You can’t just say that..you can’t just say you’re gonna fuck me while talking about your wife—do you know how insane that is—I’m literally leaking all over you and you’re about to give me trauma and orgasms at the same time—I don’t even know if I should cry or moan or scream—oh my God—I think I’m doing all three—"

He slammed up into me again.

I screamed.

My legs started shaking instantly. My clit throbbed. My nipples were already tight, brushing against the silk shirt that was still clinging to my body like it had given up trying to hide anything.

"She was my wife," he growled, voice low, dangerous, vibrating straight through my spine as he thrust up again. "Her name was Camilla. She died ten fucking years ago. You think I would keep her around? Keep her in this house? You think I’d touch you if I was still touching her?"

I tried to answer.

But I couldn’t.

Because his cock was already hitting too deep again. Too hard. Too fucking good. My body was clenching around him like it wanted to eat him, like it needed him to stay there forever.

"You’re not a replacement, Lyra," he snarled, grabbing my hips tighter, slamming me down over and over until my moans turned into sobs. "You’re not second best. You’re worse. You’re filthier. Louder. Needier. You don’t shut up. You don’t listen. And you make me so fucking hard I forget I ever had a past."

"Oh my God—fuck—fuck, Damon—Daddy, I swear I’m gonna die like this—your cock’s in too deep—I can’t even sit still—it keeps hitting this spot like you’re trying to pull the orgasm straight out of my fucking soul—I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore—I think I forgot my own name—just keep going—please keep going—fuck—"

I was riding him like my life depended on it.

Except I wasn’t even doing it. He was making me. He was forcing me to bounce. His hands were locked around my waist and he was just using me, dragging my soaked pussy up and down his cock like I was a toy built just to take it. And I was. I felt like it.

Like I didn’t exist for anything else but this.

"But you want to know about her?" he grunted. "You want to hear about the wife while I fuck you stupid?"

I nodded—too hard, too fast.

"Yes—yes—I want to know—I need to know—I can take it, I swear—I’m already a mess, just give me the truth—I’ll take it with cock—I’ll take it with everything—fuck—Damon—"

"She was a good girl," he growled, dragging me down hard. "Too good. Too soft. She didn’t fight me. Didn’t scream at me. Didn’t talk back like you do."

I clenched.

So fucking hard around him I almost screamed again.

"She died in a car accident," he went on. "Ten years ago. Drunk driver. Hit her head-on. I held her while she bled out in my arms."

My body stilled.

Just for a second.

But he didn’t stop. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

He didn’t let me pause.

He just slammed back up into me and forced the orgasm out of my silence.

"She bled all over me. And I haven’t touched anyone since. Not until you."

My mouth dropped open.

I moaned.

Loud.

So loud I almost scared myself.

"Oh my God—fuck—fuck—Damon—I’m gonna come—don’t stop—please don’t stop—keep going—keep going—tell me more—I want to know—I need to know—I want to feel everything—I want to feel your wife’s ghost and your rage and your fucking guilt all inside me while you break me open—"

"You’re sick," he growled, slamming me down again.

"I know," I sobbed, nails clawing at his shoulders as I rode the edge. "I know—I’m sick—I’m so sick and needy and wrong—but I’m yours—I’m your mess—your little fucktoy—your cumdump—I don’t care if I’m second—I don’t care if I’m nothing—just don’t fucking stop—"

"You’re not nothing," he hissed. "You’re everything I shouldn’t want. Everything I swore I’d never touch again."

And then he flipped me again.

Fast.

Brutal.

He yanked me off his lap, bent me over the armrest of the chair, and slammed into me from behind so hard my scream hit the windows.

"You’re everything!"he growled.

"Then why did you keep her photo?" I moaned out. "Why was it there—right there—next to your goddamn mail like she’s still here—like she still matters more than me—"