Breed Me, Daddy Alpha-Chapter 127

Lyra

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 pussy 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 fucking 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. 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

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 breath stutter, and his eyes darkened like someone had dropped night into his bloodstream.

"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 fucking heat. Because holy shit, 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.

"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 cock like he was about to bend me over the kitchen counter and fuck 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.

"Fuck 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 him 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?"