Breed Me. Daddy Alpha novel Chapter 138

Flight Of Desire

Lyra

I swear I have never hated the sound of a private jet more in my life. Normally, it’s all sleek and luxury and of my God, look at me, I’m in the clouds like some spoiled princess, but right now every low hum of the engine feels like a countdown to disaster.

And there’s Damon, sitting across from me like he didn’t just upend my entire sense of safety by bringing her on board. Tasha.

She’s curled up two rows back, wrapped in a blanket, looking all small and pitiful with that tiny scrape of dried blood still along her hairline.

And yeah, I know, the “morally correct” thing to do is feel bad for her right now, but you cannot just what tasha had done to me. You can’t wipe away the fact that she said things about me to my face just to see if I’d break.

And Damon – oh, Damon – has the audacity to sit here sipping his drink like some mafia wolf king.

His stupid perfect jawline is tight, his eyes locked on the laptop he hasn’t even touched in ten minutes, probably just pretending to work so he doesn’t have to deal with the fact that I am this close to ripping the safety card from the seat pocket and using it as a visual aid for why this is a bad idea.

“You’re glaring,” he says without even looking up, his voice low and smooth like he’s more amused than annoyed.

“No, I’m thinking,” I shoot back, crossing my arms so hard it feels like my ribs might snap. “Thinking about how you’ve basically brought a stray cat onto this plane. Except the cat is you daughter with a mouth she can’t control, and a history of trying to scratch me for sport.”

His eyes finally lift to mine, slow and steady, like he’s peeling back every layer of my annoyance to find the part where I’ll eventually give in.

“Kitten.” Just that one word, dipped in warning and affection all at once, like he knows exactly how to make my pulse betray me.

“Don’t kitten me right now,” I say, leaning forward because whispering doesn’t work with me when I’m spiraling.

“Do you know what this is like? It’s like… it’s like you’ve put a ticking time bomb in the overhead compartment and you’re just sitting there saying ‘relax, it’s fine, the bomb won’t go off. I don’t care if you promise me she’s staying in another house. Another country would feel better.”

Behind us, I hear her shift in her seat and let out this little groan, like she’s waking up or dreaming or both, and I have to fight the urge to whip my head around because I know if we make eye contact I’m going to say something I can’t take back. I’m not even sure if I’m more scared of her trying to play nice or of her suddenly remembering she hates me.

Damon sets his drink down and leans back, his hand rubbing his jaw the way he does when he’s deciding how much of the truth to give me.

“She’s here because I need her close enough to keep an eye on her and far enough that she won’t touch you

Flight Of Deare

or the baby. That’s it. I am not doing this for her. I’m doing it because if Marcus comes looking for her again. want him to have to come through me first.”

And damn it, there’s a part of me that melts a little because of course he would frame it like that, all protective and possessive, making it sound less like he’s defending her and more like he’s declaring war.

But then I remember it’s Tasha, and that protective instinct could flip on me in a second if she tries something and I’m not ready.

“Damon, I am telling you, something is not right. I can feel it in my bones, in my gut, in the way my skin feels too tight right now. Why aren’t you listening to me? You always listen to me.

“Why does it suddenly feel like you care more about keeping her safe than keeping me safe? She’s the one you’re bending over backwards for right now, not me, and I’m the one carrying your babies!”

I can hear myself getting more emotional, but I can’t stop. It’s like my mouth is plugged into my heart and everything is spilling out without a filter.

“I’m the one sitting here pregnant, hormonal, scared out of my mind about what happens next, and instead of reassuring me, you’re making decisions that make me feel like I’m second place to her,”

My voice cracks on the last word and that’s it, the tears spill over before I can blink them back. My hands fly up to my face, partly because I don’t want him to see me like this and partly because if I don’t cover my

mouth, I might say something even uglier.

He leans forward slowly, his voice dropping to that soft, deep tone that always feels like it’s wrapping around

my ribs and holding me still. “Kitten,” he says, and the sound of it is enough to make my throat tighten even

more. “Listen to Daddy. Please… stop crying.”

“Kitten, look at me,” he says, his voice quiet but heavy enough to pin me in place. My eyes flick up because no

matter how stubborn I try to be, I always look when he says that.

“I love you. I love you more than my own breath. I love you more than anything I have ever touched, owned, or

killed for. You are not second to anyone, not now, not ever. You are mine. You and our babies are the only

people in this world I would burn entire countries for without thinking twice.”

My throat feels too tight, my bottom lip caught between my teeth just to stop it from trembling, but he

doesn’t stop.

“I don’t care what you think you saw. I don’t care if it looks like I’m protecting her. I am protecting you. I am protecting what’s mine.

“The only reason she’s on this plane is because if I left her behind, Marcus might get to her, and if Marcus gets to her, he gets closer to you. This is strategy, kitten. Not love. Not trust. Strategy. Every single move I make is to keep you alive, safe, and in my bed every night where you belong.”

My eyes sting again, but it’s different this time, less sharp. His voice gets lower, softer.

“I need you to believe me when I tell you that there is no one in my world who can stand where you stand. Not her. Not anyone. You’re it for me,/kitten. You’re the thing I wake up for.

“The thing I would kill for. The thing I would die for. So when I tell you it’s going to be fine, I don’t mean that in some vague way. I mean I will make it fine. I mean I will personally make sure nothing touches you unless I

want it to.”

Flight Of Desire

My chest still felt tight from everything he had just said, but instead of falling apart again like some sobbor hormonal disaster, I decided I was going to flip this around.

I tilted my head, let a slow smile curve my mouth, and dragged the tip of my tongue across my bottom lip knowing exactly what that look did to him.

“Then kiss me,” I said softly, almost daring him, because I wanted him to close that space between us and remind me that all of this was about me.

Oh, he laughed. Not a little chuckle or one of those short huffs either. He laughed like I had just said the most ridiculous thing in the world.

His head tipped back slightly, that deep, rich sound filling the air until it wrapped around me like it was mocking and seductive all at once.

I sat there with my eyebrows climbing higher by the second, because what exactly was so funny about me wanting a kiss?

“Why are you laughing?” I demanded, leaning forward like I was about to start an argument I had every intention of winning.

“I am literally sitting here being all cute and wanting you to kiss me, and you are acting like I just told you a joke. This is not the reaction I expected, Damon.”

His grin was dangerous, all sharp lines and pure confidence, and the way he looked at me made my stomach dip even as my irritation grew. “Aren’t you the cutest but I won’t lie baby you’re some crazy Luna, my little kitten… and I love you. Come here.”

The way he said come here was unfair. It made my pulse do stupid things and my knees feel weak in that embarrassing way that had me unbuckling my seatbelt almost without thinking.

I was halfway up, ready to climb into his lap and kiss him until neither of us remembered that Tasha was even on this plane, when the door slid open.

The flight attendant stepped in like she owned the place, her perfect hair and flawless makeup making her look like she had walked out of an ad for overpriced champagne.

She had a tray balanced in her hands and that fake–sweet smile plastered across her face. “Here are your food and drink, Alpha,” she said, setting it down in front of Damon with just a little too much flourish.

Then she leaned closer, her voice softening into something syrupy sweet that made my stomach churn. “If you want anything else, let me know.”

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