Breed Me, Daddy Alpha-Chapter 73.

~Damon~

The second the door clicked behind her, I stayed seated.

Still naked.

Still soaked in the scent of her.

Still staring at the faint trail of slick she left behind on the floor like her body was trying to mark every step, like it hadn’t figured out how to stop leaking all the filth I’d shoved into it.

Fuck.

I leaned back, chest heaving, the aftershock still buzzing in my veins. My cock was half-hard again, twitching against my stomach, gleaming with the same mix of her arousal and my cum that had been fucking dripping out of her for what felt like hours.

My hand went to my jaw. Dragged down slowly. I was trying to breathe. Trying to calm the beast in me.

But then I looked down.

And saw them.

Her panties.

Damp as fuck.

They were bunched in the corner like they didn’t know what the hell had just happened. Twisted, soft, and soaked through with everything we’d just done.

And I froze.

Because fuck me.

She left them behind.

I reached for them slowly. Reverently. Like they were holy. Like they were some sacred trophy carved from sin itself. My fingers curled around the delicate fabric, still warm, still wet, still sticky with the mix of her innocence and the wreckage I’d turned her into.

I brought them to my face.

And I fucking inhaled.

Hard.

God.

Her scent was all over them. Sweet. Musky. Tangy. That addictive omega perfume that only came out when her body was wrecked and wide open and fucked full of knot and cum and ruin.

"Fuck, Lyra," I groaned, eyes fluttering shut as I held them there. "You don’t even know what you’re doing to me."

"Look at you," I whispered, lifting the soft lace between my fingers. "What am I gonna do with you, huh? You sweet little thing. You filthy little piece of her."

The second I brought them to my face, I was gone.

I groaned—deep...as I inhaled her scent.

Sweet. Tangy. Innocent and wrecked at the same time. The kind of smell that shouldn’t belong to someone her age, shouldn’t exist at all, shouldn’t be coating her panties like that if the universe had a shred of decency left.

But it did.

Because she wore these while she moaned for me.

While she bled for me.

While she came around my cock and told me I ruined her.

And now?

Now they were mine.

"Fuck," I growled, dragging them across my nose again. "This is what you smell like when you’re mine. This is what your cunt smells like after I knot you..after I fill you up and stretch you until you’re crying and begging and still asking for more."

I inhaled again.

Harder.

Eyes closing as I let that sticky, musky perfume flood my lungs like it could fix every broken part of me. My cock twitched again. Still wet. Still fucking needy.

"This little strip of lace has more soul in it than half the women I’ve ever fucked," I murmured, tongue flicking out to taste the edge. "Goddamn, Lyra. You smell like sin. Like sweet fucking sin wrapped in baby pink and breathless moans."

I looked down at the panties in my hand.

"Were you wearing these when you came in here? When you gave me that look?" I smirked. "You weren’t ready. You had no fucking clue what I’d do to you. But your pussy did. Your pussy was soaking these before I even touched you, wasn’t it?"

I laughed softly.

Darkly.

"I could frame these," I said, voice low and reverent, like I was talking to a fucking relic. "Glass case. Bulletproof. Hang them in the study right over the fireplace. Let every bastard that steps foot in this house know who owns you now."

Another pause.

Another slow sniff.

Another groan.

"They still smell like me," I whispered. "Still smell like my cum. Still damp with everything I poured into that tight little cunt of yours."

I turned toward the mirror on the door.

My reflection stared back at me..hair mussed, chest scratched, eyes wild. I looked like a man who’d just ruined something sacred and liked it. No shirt. No guilt. Just raw, feral satisfaction.

"You’re a grown-ass man, Damon," I muttered to myself, half-laughing. "Sniffing panties. Talking to lace like it’s alive. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"You run an empire. You’ve buried men in rivers, paid off governments, built your fortune with blood and backbone..."

I raised them back to my nose, breathed deep.

"And now look at you. Losing your fucking mind over a girl’s underwear."

My laugh was low.

Bitter.

But not ashamed.

"I should be locked up," I murmured, shaking my head slowly. "I should be fucking institutionalized. Because this? This ain’t normal. This ain’t healthy. This ain’t what men like me are supposed to do."

I turned and leaned against the closet door, holding the panties to my mouth like I needed to whisper my sins into them.

"She’s eighteen," I breathed. "Eighteen and ruined. Eighteen and knotted. Eighteen and dripping my fucking cum down her legs while my daughter’s down the goddamn hallway asking where we’ve been."

I groaned and closed my eyes again, pressing the fabric tighter against my lips.

"And I’d do it all over again."

Silence.

For a second.

Just the sound of my pulse thumping against my skull, the scent of her still coating the air, the warm press of her last moan echoing in my ears like it hadn’t really ended.

Then I spoke again.

"She doesn’t even know what she’s done to me," I whispered. "She has no fucking clue. That sweet, messy little cunt has more power over me than any deal I’ve ever signed. I’ve killed for less than what she gave me tonight."