Breed Me. Daddy Alpha novel Chapter 339

Her eyes widened like I had just offered her the moon. “A date?”

I scowled because the disbelief offended me. “Do not make it sound like l am asking you to fight a war. It is dinner, kitten. Put on a dress.”

Her lips curved slowly, dangerously, into the kind of smirk that makes. me suspicious every single time. She dragged her eyes over me, deliberately slow, and then tilted her head. “Hmm, daddy,” she purred, her voice teasing, sweet enough to be a trap. “And what exactly do you have in mind for this date?”

I froze. My brain short-circuited because I know this tone. I know this woman. When Lyra calls me daddy with that look in her eyes, it is never safe. Never.

“Dinner,” I said flatly, trying to sound like an Alpha with control of the situation. “We are going to dinner like normal people. In public. With other human beings around us. You will sit across from me and eat food that is not reheated five times in the microwave. That is what I have in mind.”

She leaned closer, brushing her lips against my jaw just enough to make my blood pressure skyrocket, and whispered, “Oh, so boring. I was hoping you meant something else.”

l pinched the bridge of my nose and groaned, ” Don’t actually stop tugging on the collar of my shirt to stare at me. “You are impossible. Do you know that? Absolutely impossible. I am trying to give you romance and candlelight like some storybook husband and you are already trying to corrupt it.”

Lyra grinned like a devil. “Of course l am. You would not love me if I was easy.”

She was right, and that is what pissed me off most.

“Put on a damn dress,” I growled, kissing her hard before she could laugh at me again. “A nice one. The kind that makes the whole restaurant stop breathing. Because I swear, kitten, if you keep pushing me I will cancel dinner and give you exactly what you are begging for And then you will not be able to walk into the restaurant at all.”

Her eyes sparkled with wicked delight. “Promises, promises.”

I caught that little smile on her face and it felt like a challenge thrown across a battlefield, the kind of look that used to get me killed and later got me addicted. I moved without thinking because some parts of me still answer before the rest of me wakes up, and my hand came up to the back of her neck, fingers settling there in the way Tatways have when I mean business and when I mean something softer at the same time. She gasped, a tiny, delicious sound that should have been illegal in broad daylight.

“Don’t test me, kitten,”

“You are playing with fire,” I told her, the threat half-serious, the other half wrapped in something like worship. “You know exactly how close you push me to losing my mind.”

She smiled that crooked grin that melts the world and said, “Good. I Like you dangerous.”

I rolled my eyes because she always wins the argument she starts, then kissed the place right behind her ear where she got ticklish and whispered, “Then be careful. Because when I go for dangerous, I do not come back with apologies.”

She blinked up at me, eyes bright and mischief threaded through them, and said, “I’ll go dress up, Daddy.”

We turned together toward the hallway and froze because both Leo and Mia. Luca and Aaron had fallen asleep where they’d been standing, heads lolling against the toy chest and the little rug, breaths soft and even like nothing tragic had been happening a minute ago.

We scooped them up like trophies, me with Leo slung over one shoulder who kept one tiny fist tangled in my shirt, her with Mia tucked against her chest, and we carried them to the crib.

“Finally they are all asleep,” she sighed, half relieved and half smug,and I felt an ache that was all tender armor. I moved to help with the last of the stray blankets, and she gave me that look between a grin and a dare. “Why don’t daddy help you dress up?” she teased.

I leaned in close enough that she could feel the heat of me, and I said, ” Hmm, you naughty little girl.”

Damon

We made it to our room with that quiet kind of victory you only earn after surviving a battlefield of four toddlers.

The door clicked shut behind us, and for the first time all day, the house felt like it belonged to us again. No crying, no howling, no shirt-stealing rebellions.

Lyra leaned against the dresser, hair spilling over her shoulders, a mischievous tilt to her lips like she knew exactly what was coming. She tapped one finger on the wood, eyes trailing me like I was prey. “So,” she said, voice soft and dangerous, “how exactly is Daddy going to help me dress up?”

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