Breed Me, Daddy Alpha-Chapter 24.

~Lyra~

I couldn’t take it anymore.

Tasha was still talking.. Grinning like a girl who had no fucking clue what it felt like to be ruined without even being touched.

She was leaning over the kitchen counter in a silk crop top, chewing on a pink straw while pouring Bailey’s into her iced coffee like it was 10PM instead of 10AM.

"This party is going to be insane," she said, twirling her straw. "Like..I’m not even exaggerating..Kehlani’s DJ is coming. Kehlani’s. And the bartender? Girl, he makes drinks that glow. Actual neon. Last time I blacked out after three sips. They had to carry me out like a dead body."

I didn’t say a word.

She didn’t notice.

She was too busy hyping herself up. Pacing now. Pulling open drawers. Sniffing herbs like she was hunting for something stronger.

"Oh...and the weed? Imported. Hybrid strain. Not even legal. Jamal got it from some freaky nympho supplier. Apparently it makes your pussy taste like mangoes." She looked back at me with a cackle. "Can you imagine?! Someone going down on you and being like mmm is that Tropicana?"

I forced a dry laugh.

My thighs were clenched so tight my legs were shaking.

"And wait, wait," she said, holding up a finger. "That’s not even the best part. I bought edible panties. Three flavors. Cherry. Mango. Rum Punch. I was gonna save them for Valentine’s but fuck it. Life is short. Orgasms are shorter. Might as well eat ’em off each other, right?"

I swallowed hard.

The slick between my thighs was turning into a mess.

"And I’m so fucking glad daddy accepted," she continued, oblivious. "I was so scared he’d say no.

I blinked at her.

She didn’t stop.

"Sometimes I think he lowkey thinks we’re all lesbians. Or like... bisexual witches. Which isn’t wrong. Honestly. I do want to fuck all my friends at least once. Especially if we’ve been drunk together. And bitch, you..."she grinned, pointing.

"You’re so quiet. I just know you’ve got some freak in you. I can feel it. Don’t act innocent.

My stomach turned.

I couldn’t fucking breathe.

I muttered, "I need to pee."

She waved a dismissive hand. "Go pee. You already look high. Or horny. Or both. Want a brownie?"

I shook my head.

Grabbed my mug but didn’t sip it.

Walked out of the kitchen with shaky steps and my wetness sliding between my thighs.

I didn’t go to the guest bathroom.

I went straight upstairs.

To his room.

To his fucking bathroom.

I don’t even know why.

Yes I do.

Because it still smelled like him.

Because the mirror still had the faintest streak of his steam.

I closed the door behind me and stared at myself.

Hair wild.

Face flushed.

Shirt sticking to my tits like a second skin.

Nipples stiff enough to tear through the cotton.

My thighs were shiny. Literally glistening with arousal.

I yanked the shirt off. Tossed it on the floor.

I wasn’t wearing panties.

So I was bare.

Pink.

Swollen.

Soaked.

And there..on the inside of my thigh..was my wetness

I reached down and touched it.

Brought my fingers to my mouth.

Tasted myself.

God.

My knees buckled.

I slid down to the tile, legs spreading without permission. My back hit the wall. My fingers dipped low.

I was so wet they slipped right in.

But it wasn’t enough.

It didn’t feel like him.

I rubbed my clit in slow circles. Tried to remember the way he grabbed me. The way his breath burned against my neck. The way he whispered like he wanted to murder me and fuck me in the same breath.

"You want this cock, little girl?"

Yes.

God, yes.

I moaned. My hips bucked.

I added another finger.

Still not enough.

Still too empty.

I imagined his thigh between my legs again. That thick muscle grinding up against me while his cock teased my entrance. That cruel, filthy smirk when he said...

"You don’t get it that easy."

Fuck.

My head hit the wall.

I rubbed harder.

But it wasn’t right.

It wasn’t him.

My fingers weren’t thick enough. Long enough. Mean enough.

I needed the way he gripped my neck.

The way he shoved my face down and said..

"Beg me for it. Beg me to ruin your tight little cunt."

My body spasmed.

But I didn’t cum.

I couldn’t.

I was right there.

Right at the edge.

And it just... slipped.

Gone.

My fingers fell away.

My hand hit the tile with a soft slap.

I laid there panting.

Fucking trembling.

Wet and frustrated and furious.

Because Damon didn’t even fuck me.

He didn’t touch my clit.

Didn’t eat me.

Didn’t even kiss me.

He just teased.

Just talked.

Just rubbed that thick, veiny cock along my soaked body like he knew it would destroy me.

And it did.

He said I’d think about it all day.

He said I’d hate it.

He was right.

I curled onto my side, thighs sticking together from slick and shame.

And whispered his name.

"Damon..."

Nothing.

No answer.

Just silence.

And the ache of not being enough for him to stay.

The silence ate me alive.

I laid there like a fucking ghost. Skin flushed. Cunt throbbing. My chest rising and falling with shallow, broken breaths while the taste of him lingered on my tongue like sin.

Why did he leave.

Why the fuck did he tease me like that. Touch me like that. Say those things to me. And just walk away like none of it mattered.

Like I didn’t matter.