Breed Me, Daddy Alpha-Chapter 119

Damon

"Who is she?" she demanded, each word sharper than the last. "Tell me, Damon. Who the fuck are you fucking?"

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t.

Because my silence said more than a thousand confessions ever could.

"Oh my God," she hissed through the phone. "You are. You fucking are. I can hear it in your breath. You’re panting. You’re hiding. Is she there now? Is that why you’re whispering like a goddamn criminal? Is that why you won’t say her name?"

I closed my eyes and leaned back against the bathroom wall, chest tight, jaw clenched so hard it hurt. Her voice drilled into my skull, each word slicing deeper than the last, but I didn’t flinch. I deserved it. I knew that.

I’d earned every bit of the storm I was about to walk into. But that didn’t mean I was ready to let her drag me back into the flames she once lit in my life.

"Damon, fucking answer me," she snapped, breath ragged now. "Who is she? What pathetic little bitch opened her legs for you while I was in fucking rehab? Is she one of the maids? Some desperate whore from the club? What is it, huh? You couldn’t handle being alone anymore so you found some tight little cunt to squeeze the silence out of your house?"

I exhaled slowly, pressing my thumb and forefinger to my temple like I could hold the headache in place before it exploded.

"Don’t do this," I said quietly, my voice deep, taut, almost trembling under the weight of my restraint.

She laughed—short, cruel, full of bitter venom.

"Is that why you sent me away, Damon? So you could fuck someone else in our bed? So you could bring some cheap piece of ass into my house, walk her down my halls, let her wear your shirts and leave her panties on the floor I picked out?"

I didn’t speak.

I couldn’t.

Because every word she said, as vile as it sounded, was wrapped in something far more dangerous than jealousy.

It was truth.

Lyra had worn my shirts.

Lyra had left her lace panties on the rug at the edge of my bed.

Lyra had moaned my name against my pillow, had ridden my cock in the very chair where Camilla once used to read poetry in the mornings.

And worse—infinitely worse—I hadn’t just let it happen.

I had wanted it.

I had begged for it in the silence of my own mind.

"Oh my God," Camilla whispered again, the realization breaking through like glass. "She’s there, isn’t she? She’s fucking there right now. You fucked her before I called, didn’t you? That’s why you sound like that. That’s why you’re so fucking quiet. What is she doing, Damon? Still bent over? Still dripping with you? Do you even know her name or did you just pick her up and throw her onto something I used to love?"

I gritted my teeth and pushed away from the wall, pacing the length of the bathroom like a caged animal, the weight of her voice digging into every inch of me.

"She’s not some whore," I said, my voice low, steady, but laced with something I couldn’t hide anymore. Not even from myself.

"Oh," Camilla replied sharply. "So she does have a name. That’s sweet. Do you whisper it while you fuck her? Do you call her baby? Did you make her breakfast after you made her come? Did you take off your ring for her, or are you still wearing it while you thrust into someone half my fucking age?"

I stopped moving.

I stared at the floor.

And I let the guilt settle in fully.

Because she was right. About all of it.

Lyra was young.

Too young.

And I’d fucked her like a man possessed, like I had something to prove, like she was the answer to every goddamn thing I’d ever lost. I fucked her like she could erase the last ten years from my memory. Like her pussy could rewrite history. Like her moans could drown out the sound of Camilla screaming in the night from behind locked doors.

But this wasn’t just sex.

And that was the most dangerous part.

This wasn’t just relief or distraction or pleasure.

This was need.

This was obsession.

This was something I couldn’t name anymore without tasting her on my tongue.

"She’s in your bed, isn’t she?" Camilla whispered now, her voice hollow. Empty. "She’s curled up in your sheets like she belongs there. You let her touch the life you promised me."

"Stop it," I growled, finally breaking. 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

"No," she said, her voice turning sharp again. "You don’t get to shut me down. You don’t get to fuck a whore and lie to my face like I don’t still know you. Who is she, Damon? What does she look like? Does she call you Daddy? Do you pull her hair and make her cry and pretend she’s not just a hole you’re using to forget me?"

That broke me.

That snapped something deep inside, something I’d been holding back since the moment I first saw Lyra standing in my hallway, barefoot, bratty, brilliant, and unaware of what she was walking into.

"She’s not a hole," I said coldly. "She’s not a replacement. And she’s not someone I’m going to forget. You don’t get to talk about her like that."

Camilla went silent.

Completely silent.

And then, with a voice so quiet it almost made my skin crawl, she whispered.

"You’re in love with her, aren’t you?"

I didn’t answer.

I didn’t have to.

I said nothing.

Not because I didn’t have an answer.

But because I did.