Breed Me. Daddy Alpha novel Chapter 183

~Lyra~

Alright, let’s get something straight because I know some of y’all are out there absolutely foaming at the mouth, ready to drag me by my hair through the comments like, “Lyra, what the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

And you know what? That’s fair.

Because yes. Yes, I did it.

I told Damon-while his cock was still buried inside me, while my legs were trembling and my pussy was still spasming from the kind of orgasm that rewires your brainstem-I told that man, let’s go check on Camilla.

I know. I deserve jail. Maybe a slap. Maybe a whole trial by fire. But before you light your pitchforks and scream betrayal, let me explain.

First of all, I hate Camilla. Not a little. Not in a “she’s annoying” kind of way. I hate her like my soul recognizes her as its personal enemy.

She’s fake. She’s evil. She’s every terrible female villain trope combined and shoved into a painfully skinny body with a designer bag and zero morals.

So do I want her dead?

Yeno.

That’s my new word for the situation. A hybrid. Yes and no. Yeno. Because deep in the lowest, darkest, filthiest part of me? Yes. I want her to vanish. To crumble. To feel every ounce of humiliation she’s ever thrown at me. But another part of me-the smaller part, the human part, the annoyingly soft part-didn’t want her to die. Not like that. Not yet.

And that’s why I said it.

That’s why I looked up at my mate, my Alpha, the man who had just filled me with enough cum to breed an entire generation, and said, “Let’s go see if she’s okay.”

Now fast forward, we’re in the car. And Damon hasn’t spoken a single word.

Not one.

He’s not yelling. He’s not grunting. He’s not breathing loudly. He’s just driving-calmly, silently, with his jaw locked so tight it looks like it might snap.

His hands are gripping the steering wheel like it personally offended him. His knuckles are pale, his veins are raised, and there’s a line between his brows that could cut glass.

And me? I’m sitting there like a damn idiot with his cum still dripping out of me, my thighs sticking together, and the echo of his last thrust still pulsing in my core.

The car still smells like sex. The windows are fogged at the edges. I can feel the slick mess between my legs every time I shift. My body is sore in all the best ways. And the tension between us? It’s a live wire pressed against my throat.

I glanced at him. I knew that look. That quiet rage. That internal fury. It wasn’t about Camilla. It wasn’t even about the interruption.

It was about me choosing that moment-the moment where he had been completely inside me, claiming me, owning every inch of my body-and tearing it away.

I shifted again, pressing my thighs together and swallowing the whimper that threatened to slip out.

His jaw flexed.

His hand twitched on the wheel.

“Damon,” I said softly, my voice low, careful, trying to reach him through the anger behind his eyes.

My breath hitched. My legs squeezed shut so fast I could feel the mess between them spread further. It was like every nerve in my body stood at attention, panting, desperate, waiting for more. And of course, because I’m me-eighteen, stupidly brave, and recklessly in love with my possessive, vengeful, Daddy Alpha mate-I smiled.

Not a soft smile.

A dirty one.

The kind that said you wouldn’t dare-but I fucking want you to.

I turned to face him fully, legs crossed in my seat, and dragged my gaze over his profile like I was tracing each edge of his fury.

He looked like a man on the verge of destruction. Of someone else’s destruction. Or mine. Or both. His lashes cast shadows across his cheekbones, his lips were pressed into a sharp line, and his scent-gods, his scent-was thick and angry and aroused all at once.

My voice came out a little breathless, a little amused, and way too bold for someone who was still wearing his cum like perfume.

“So… choking then?” I said, pretending to look thoughtful, but really watching the vein in his neck pulse.

His jaw flexed so hard I swore I heard his teeth grind.

“I can take it,” I added, voice lower now, more sinful. “You know I can.”

His knuckles whitened around the steering wheel.