Breed Me, Daddy Alpha-Chapter 87
Lyra
"...he seems like a man who takes discipline very seriously."
I blinked. I blinked again. I wanted to scream.
My mother just said Damon Thornvale. The man currently buried so deep inside me I could feel his heartbeat in my pussy. The man who had made me come four times and was grinding into my sore, swollen clit right now with two fingers like I was his own personal fucktoy. The man who literally had my best friend calling him Daddy two days ago.
She just called that man a role model.
"I think he’ll help you stay on track," my mum continued, like she wasn’t talking about my ruin in real time. "You’ve always been a bit... impulsive. Rebellious. But he’s firm. Focused. Protective."
I let out a noise.
It wasn’t a moan. Not this time.
It was some kind of strangled sob-laugh-choke hybrid because what the fuck was happening right now.
Damon leaned over my back, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.
"You hear that, sweetheart?" he whispered, smug as hell. "Mummy wants me to discipline you."
My pussy clenched like it agreed. Traitor.
"I—" I tried to speak but Damon pushed his knot a little deeper and my whole back arched like he’d electrocuted me.
"Sorry," I stammered into the phone.
He snickered against my neck.
I hated him.
I hated how good it felt.
I hated how my body betrayed me every second his hands stayed on me and his cock stayed inside me and my mum kept talking like I wasn’t already past the point of damnation.
"I’ll send your school records over," she was saying now. "You’ll register there before the next term. Tasha said she’ll help you settle. And Mr. Thornvale has already agreed to supervise."
Like..what the fuck did she just say?
No, actually. What in the seven levels of hormonal teenage hell did she just say?
Because it sounded like she said school records.
It sounded like she said she was sending my school records.
To him.
To this house.
To this man.
To this very bed where I was currently full of his cum, full of his cock, full of his knot, and completely void of any remaining dignity.
I blinked like the words might rearrange themselves if I stared hard enough.
"Wait," I said, my voice shaking like a faulty church fan. "Mum. What do you mean school records? Why are you sending anything? What is going on? Like what exactly is the reason we’re suddenly transferring my entire academic life to Tasha’s house?"
She sighed.
The sigh.
The sigh that meant: Don’t start, Lyra
"You’re almost done with high school, Lyra. One grade left. It just makes sense. You’re comfortable there, you’re focused, you and Tasha have each other, and Mr. Thornvale—well—he’s been so gracious."
I choked on air.
"Gracious?" I echoed. "He’s been... gracious?"
Damon shifted behind me.
Still inside.
Still thick.
Still knotted like the cock of a fucking goddamn werewolf on heat.
Still pulsing.
I could feel everything.
Every vein.
Every twitch.
Every silent, smug little grind of his hips as he pressed his cock deeper into me like this was some kind of private game he was winning just by existing.
And my mother just called him gracious.
I almost screamed.
"No no no no no," I babbled, my whole body spasming, my arms wobbling like I was going to collapse face-first into the cum-stained sheets.
"Mum you can’t be serious. Like this is not a little decision. This is my whole life. My whole school year. You’re saying I should just stay here permanently? After summer? Like stay stay? What if I don’t want to stay? What if I hate it here? What if I get possessed by a demon and murder someone in their sleep? What if—what if the house catches fire? What if I develop a mushroom allergy and there’s mushrooms everywhere? What if I fall in love with—"
I cut myself off.
Holy fuck.
Nope.
Not finishing that sentence.
Damon chuckled behind me, his breath hot on my shoulder like he knew. Like he could taste the panic rising up my spine and wanted to smear it between my thighs with his next lazy thrust.
"You’re overthinking again," my mum said, like I didn’t have half a liter of his cum dripping out of me and soaking into Tasha’s sheets. "You always do this. You spiral. You talk too much. You catastrophize. Just breathe. We’ve thought about it. We’ve prayed about it. This is what’s best for you."
Best for me?
Best for me?
No. Best for me would be teleporting back to my own bed, erasing the last seventy-two hours, and surgically removing every memory I had of Damon Thornvale’s tongue between my legs while I called him Daddy like a depraved little orphan on heat.
"This isn’t fair," I whispered, trying not to sob. "You didn’t even ask me."
"I’m not asking," she said gently. "I’m telling."
And that’s when I knew.
I was fucked.
Not just literally.
Not just physically.
Not just emotionally, spiritually, academically, psychologically.
I was universally, cosmically, universally-fucking-fucked.
Because now I was trapped.
In this house.
With him.
"I’ll take care of her," he mouthed silently, mockingly, toward the phone as if my mother could see him.
Then he looked down at me.
Still under him.
Still trembling.
His palm dragged down my spine again, slow, steady, then curved under my hips like I was weightless. Like I wasn’t already shaking so bad I couldn’t breathe.
"You hear that, sweetheart?" he murmured, hips starting to move again, this time deeper, sharper, crueler. "I’m gonna take care of you."
