Breed Me, Daddy Alpha-Chapter 90

Lyra

"Because obviously I don’t love being used like a personal fuckdoll by my best friend’s father while my mum is out here planning my permanent relocation like this is the fucking Sims."

He rolled his hips again and I moaned so loud it sounded illegal.

"I’m not okay," I whined. "I’m genuinely not. Like I don’t even know who I am anymore. What’s my name? What year is it? How do I walk? Because I’m pretty sure you’ve rearranged my organs and I’ll have to pee out of my throat from now on."

His hand curved around my hip, pulling me back harder onto his cock like I was made for it.

"You broke me," I whispered. "No actually. You shattered me. You stuffed me full of your cock and now I can’t even think about bananas without picturing your dick. I can’t hear the word ’discipline’ without getting wet.

"I can’t talk to my mother without dripping all over the sheets like some desperate little nympho who needs to be gagged before she confesses everything."

I gasped again. Because I was still leaking.

So much.

I could feel it.

His cum was sliding down the insides of my thighs like it belonged there.

"And the worst part?" I whispered into the sheets. "The worst part is that I know you’re going to do it again. You’re not done. You haven’t even started. You’re going to keep me here, and make me call you Daddy, and fuck me so many times I forget what daylight looks like. You’re going to ruin me and then smile when I thank you for it."

He groaned again, deeper this time, and I felt his knot twitch.

My pussy clenched again.

"I’m eighteen," I whimpered. "I’m supposed to be applying to universities and having existential crises and drinking boba tea while crying over boys who don’t know I exist. Not... this. Not getting bred by my best friend’s dad while my uterus sings the fucking Hallelujah chorus because your cock hasn’t moved in thirty seconds."

I turned my head and looked back at him, my cheeks burning, my hair stuck to my face, my entire body trembling with every tiny movement of his hips.

"You’re going to break me," I whispered. "Aren’t you?"

He smirked.

Then he pulled back.

And started fucking me again. Fuck yes!!

He was still inside me.

Still thick.

Still twitching.

Still buried so deep it felt like I could feel his cock in my fucking throat.

But slowly, finally, I felt it. The pressure starting to ease. The knot beginning to shrink. My poor pussy was still pulsing around him, raw and overstretched and full of so much cum I was pretty sure I could drown a toddler, but his grip on my hips loosened.

And then.

He pulled out.

My whole body flinched.

Cum spilled down my thighs immediately. So much. It slid down to the backs of my knees and pooled onto the sheets beneath me like a fucking crime scene.

Damon didn’t say anything at first. Just reached for the edge of the blanket, dragged it up with one hand, and wiped the inside of my thighs like I was something fragile. Or his.

Then he leaned down.

Pressed a kiss to my shoulder.

And whispered, "Better clean up before Tasha walks in and asks why her room smells like a porn studio."

I choked.

I literally choked on my own spit.

"You’re disgusting," I croaked, half dead, face still buried in the pillow, body twitching like I’d been hit by a truck.

He stood up, stretched like the predator he was, and walked toward the door butt-naked, not even pretending to be ashamed.

Before leaving, he paused at the doorway, looked over his shoulder at my dripping, sprawled, broken body on Tasha’s bed, and smirked.

"Next time," he said casually, "you’re riding me."

Then he walked out.

Just like that.

Naked.

Smirking.

Swinging.

Leaving a trail of corruption and cum in his wake like a walking felony.

I laid there.

Silent.

Sticky.

Staring at the ceiling like it could explain to me how my life had imploded in less than seventy-two hours.

"Oh my God," I whispered to myself. "I’m going to hell. I’m genuinely going to hell. With VIP access. Jesus is going to slam the pearly gates shut when he sees my browser history. I need therapy. And holy water. And a fucking exorcism."

I was mid-spiral, still breathing like I’d just survived an earthquake, when my phone buzzed beside me.

I blinked at it.

Still on my side.

Still nude.

Still leaking like a cracked pipe.

The screen lit up: Unknown number.

I frowned.

"Who the hell?"

I picked it up and pressed it to my ear, still panting.

"Hello?" I said cautiously.

"Lyra," a voice said on the other end, smooth and familiar and full of smug, undeserved confidence, "how are you doing?"

I froze.

No.

No no no no no no no.

It couldn’t be.

It fucking was.

"Marcus?" I hissed. "You fucking prick. How the fuck did you get my number?"

My voice cracked halfway through the insult.

Because of course this would happen now.

Because of course the boy who once called me useless for not letting him break my virginity would call me now after it had been broken, shattered, absolutely annihilated by a man three times filthier and ten times thicker.

Because the universe hated me.

And Marcus?

Marcus was about to find out just how not useless I’d become.