Breed Me. Daddy Alpha novel Chapter 107

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Unplanned Bundle

~Lyra~

Should I officially say I came here a virgin and an innocent girl this summer, but now I’m not that girl anymore?

Yes. I should. I absolutely should.

Because the girl who came here with soft pink lip gloss and daydreams about spending summer. She died somewhere between the first growl he gave me and the night I screamed into a pillow with his knot stretching me open while he whispered, Good girl, take it all, you’re mine now.

And the new girl?

The one standing here right now with her thighs glued together, her n*****s tingling every time she remembers how he tasted, and her entire body still aching like it’s waiting for Daddy’s next command?

Yeah. That’s me now.

I’m not the sweet little summer guest anymore. I’m not the cute best friend who just came to relax and maybe tan and maybe flirt with someone close to my age.

No.

I’m the girl who moaned for her best friend’s father. Who let him breed her while she cried and begged. Who called him Daddy while she drooled all over his c**k and thanked him for not pulling out.

And I liked it.

God, I loved it.

So here we are. Let’s do a quick recap, shall we?

I came to visit for the summer. I expected pool days and girly sleepovers and TikToks under the sun. Instead,

I got knotted so hard I blacked out. I got bent over desks, thrown onto counters, and whispered filthy things

that made my clit twitch every time I remembered them. I got claimed.

Two days later after the fight with Camilla and Tasha. I went back to school.

Literally.

No one came near me because of Damon.

The crowd parted around me like I was fire. Boys avoided eye contact. Girls whispered. Professors looked

nervous. No one sat next to me in class.

They could smell him on me.

That scent? That deep, dominant Alpha scent? It hadn’t faded. Not even a little. It wa

My f*****g soul. He made sure of that.

And did I like it?

Yeah.

Of course I did.

my skin. My throat.

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Not like I enjoy people’s company anyway, I’m not the type who thrives in a crowd. I hate fake smiles and loud voices and pointless small talk. I’d rather be alone, pressed up against the memory of his hand around my throat, than surrounded by people.

The girls in the back of class looked at me. The way they looked at me like I was radioactive. I ignored them. I always ignore them.

But then I got up to use the restroom after lunch, and I passed this one guy–he didn’t say anything. He didn’t touch me. But he froze. His head snapped toward me like instinct. His nose flared. His eyes went wide. And

then he backed up.

Like I was dangerous. Well duh I am.

I walked into the bathroom and locked myself in a stall, and my heart was pounding for no reason. My hands were shaking. I pulled down my pants and sat there for a second, staring at my underwear.

And then I realized.

There was nothing.

No spotting. No stain.

No period. Wait a minute when last did I have my period

And that’s when the buzzing started in my head. That high, tight, panicked kind of buzzing that makes your stomach twist and your palms sweat and your lungs forget how to do their job.

Because I couldn’t remember the last time I bled.

Like actually bled.

I pulled out my phone and opened my period tracking app. I hadn’t even looked at it since I got back. Everything had been too chaotic. I had been too distracted. Too full of slick and bruises and memories.

And there it was.

Missed.

My last period had been over a month ago.

Over–five weeks.

And nothing since.

I stared at the screen, then at the white cotton of my underwear, then back at the screen again. My mouth went dry. My knees started bouncing without my permission. I suddenly felt hot. My throat was closing. My

hands were sweating.

No. No. No. No no no–f**k. Please no–this can’t be–oh my God.”

d I didn’t even care.

I was talking to myself, out loud, in the bathroom stall like a full–blown crazy pers My phone was still in my hand, the period tracker app wide open, flashing that stupid red calendar in my face with the words missed and late and day 39 blinking like sirens. And I just kept staring at it like the numbers would change if I blinked hard enough. Like if I shook the phone or refreshed the app or restarted my entire f*****g life, it would somehow/show a little pink dot that said, “Don’t worry, babe, you’re fine.”

But there was no dot.

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There was no spotting.

There was no nothing.

And now I was standing in the bathroom with my underwear still around my thighs, one hand braced on the stall wall, the other holding my phone, and my heart pounding so fast I thought I was going to throw up

“This can’t be happening. No. No. No. I mean–okay–yes, he knotted me. Like, a lot. Like… a lot a lot. Like… of my God, how many times was it?”

I started pacing in the stall, which was extremely difficult because it was tiny and my pants were still halfway down and my thighs were trembling and the floor felt like it was tilting, but I couldn’t stop. My mind was running full–speed, every filthy memory I’d buried in my clit shooting straight to the front of my brain like it had something to say now that I was having a full–body meltdown.

“Okay. Okay. Calm down. Think, Lyra. Let’s think. You got here late May, right? First heat hit maybe three days in? You wore that tiny little towel. He saw you. He growled. He pinned you to the kitchen counter. You came. He made you beg. And then he–oh my God, he knotted you. Right there. On the f*****g floor.”

I slapped my hand to my mouth like that would help stop the memories but it didn’t. All it did was make my p***y clench again because my body was still so stupidly in love with what he did to me.

And now it might have consequences.

“Okay but I was fine after that,” I said, still whispering, still pacing. “I didn’t get pregnant from one knot, right? That’s not how it works. I mean, that’s what they said in health class. The chances are low unless it’s timed. Unless you’re ovulating. And I don’t even know when I ovulate. I don’t even track ovulation because I never

had to before because I was a goddamn virgin.”

I paused.

I blinked.

My heart skipped.

And then I gasped.

“Oh my God.”

My throat is dry. My heart is thumping so hard in my ears it sounds like a war drum. I keep telling myself to

breathe, but my chest is locked. My knees are bouncing. My mind is screaming.

And then–because of course I talk to myself when I’m panicking–I say it.

“He’s your mate, Lyra.”

I whisper it like it’s supposed to calm me down. Like just reminding myself that Damon is mine is going to

somehow erase the fact that my period is a month and a half late and my panties are dry and there’s not

even a hint of blood anywhere.

“Calm down,” I mumble to myself, dragging my hands over my face, “You don’t have to pani

fine. He’s

your mate. You’re bonded. This isn’t the end of the world. People get pregnant every day. This is… this is natural. This is biology. This is what happens when a knot goes in and doesn’t pull out.”

I choke out a nervous laugh.

And then immediately want to cry.

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Because this isn’t funny.

“Okay, but–walt. This is teen pregnancy, right? This is literally the definition of teen pregnancy. I’m eighteen Well I’ll be nineteen soon.

I throw my head back and groan so loud I’m shocked no one knocks on the stall door to ask if I’m okay.

“I am so not okay.”

My voice is shaking now. My hands are damp. I’m trying to keep it together but my chest is doing this weird rising–and–falling thing like I’m gearing up for a full–blown anxiety attack, and the worst part? My p***y is still sore. Still warm. Still tingling from remembering what he did to me, which makes it so much harder to focus.

“Oh my God, my mom doesn’t even know about any of this.”

I freeze.

Let that thought sit.

Because out of all the spirals in my brain, that one hits the hardest.

She doesn’t know.

Not about Damon.

Not about the heat.

Not about the bond.

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