Breed Me. Daddy Alpha novel Chapter 181

~Damon~

When I received the call from my neighbor informing me that Camilla had a gun to her head, I didn’t flinch. I didn’t freeze.

I didn’t even stop thrusting. There was no panic in my blood, no spike in adrenaline, no sudden jolt of concern racing up my spine. Nothing. Not even a fucking heartbeat out of rhythm.

All I felt was annoyance.

A deep, simmering, venom-laced kind of irritation that spread through my chest like acid. Not fear. Not worry. Not even curiosity. Just a cold, bitter fury that she would dare interrupt me while I was still buried balls-deep inside Lyra.

I was still coming down from the high of my orgasm, my cock still twitching from the aftershocks, the veins still swollen, the base still thick and hot and pulsing.

And Camilla?

She wanted to kill herself?

What the actual fuck did that have to do with me?

I didn’t even reach for the phone out of care. I didn’t answer it because I gave a damn about her life. I picked it up because the buzzing in my coat pocket kept vibrating against my hip with the kind of persistence that killed my rhythm.

It was annoying. Distracting. I was trying to enjoy the sound of Lyra’s soft, whimpering cries as her overstimulated cunt kept spasming around my cock, and the goddamn phone wouldn’t stop.

So I answered it.

“Damon,” the voice on the line finally said, rushed and breathless. “It’s your neighbor. Camilla’s outside your house. She’s holding a gun to her head.”

I smiled. Not out of joy. Not out of concern. But because of the sheer absurdity of it.

The moment those words hit my ears, I slammed into Lyra. Hard. Brutal. Deep enough to make the table creak and groan beneath us. Her gasp ripped through the air like she hadn’t been ready for it. Her legs buckled slightly, and I didn’t let her fall.

Her entire body was still fluttering. Still drenched. Still riding the waves of the orgasm I had already wrung out of her minutes ago, and all I could think about was how fucking incredible it felt to still be inside her.

Not the call. Not the drama. Not the suicidal woman screaming in my driveway. Just Lyra’s heat. Her tightness. Her wetness. The obscene slick sounds of my cock moving inside her.

“She’s screaming,” the man continued, clearly shaken. “She said if you don’t come to her, she’s going to blow her brains out. Right here. In the driveway.”

“I’m still inside her,” I told the man on the phone, my voice shaking with pleasure. “I’m still fucking hard. She’s still dripping. And I’m going to fuck her again before I even think about Camilla.”

I didn’t wait for a reply.

I dropped the phone. Let it fall to the floor. Then I kicked it under the table with my boot like it was trash. I didn’t give a shit if the line was still open. I didn’t care if the man was still screaming on the other end. None of it mattered.

All that mattered was Lyra.

Bent over in front of me. Shivering. Moaning. Still dripping my cum.

She looked back over her shoulder, her cheeks flushed, her eyes wild, her lips parted in disbelief. Her hair was stuck to her face with sweat and sex, and her whole body looked like it had been loved too rough and too real.

“Are you serious?” she whispered. “She’s outside right now with a gun, and you’re still—”

“Yes,” I answered instantly, cutting her off. I bent forward, letting my chest press against her spine while my cock stayed buried deep inside her. “She’s outside. I’m inside you. That’s how serious I am.”