Breed Me. Daddy Alpha novel Chapter 44

Bent And Fuckedet

Bent And F*cked(3)

I didn’t move at first.

I heard the door shut behind me. Click. Not a slam. Not a creak. Just that sharp, quiet click of finality. Like the sound a cell door makes when it locks you inside with everything you’re scared of and everything you

want.

My chest rose.

Then fell.

Then rose again, way too fast.

I could feel the air against my skin..cool, sharp, unforgiving. Every inch of me was bare. Every part of me knew it. My ass was still stinging.

My thighs were slick. My p***y was pulsing like it hadn’t learned how to stop. And his voice was still in my ear, dragging down my spine, wrapping around my body like a second skin I couldn’t shed.

“Get. On. The bed.”

I turned slowly.

He was already inside. Already closing the distance between us. Already stripping the last shred of space from the room with the weight of his body and his voice and his rage and his need. His eyes were still glowing. Still watching me like I was prey.

I backed up.

Step by step until the backs of my knees hit the edge of the mattress.

I didn’t dare speak.

Didn’t dare blink.

I climbed on the bed the way a girl climbs

to her own execution table. Slowly. Quietly. Too aware of every

breath. Every heartbeat. Every drop sliding down the insides of my thighs.

I moved to lie down on my

back.

“No.”

His voice stopped me cold.

“You don’t lie down.”

I froze.

“Hands and knees, Lyra.”

My mouth opened. I didn’t mean for it to. “But-”

“I said hands and f*****g knees!”

My heart jumped so hard I swore it hit my throat. I turned. My palms met the sheets. My knees followed.

I was shaking already. Breathing too hard. Thinking too loud. The sheets were cool beneath me, but my skin,

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was too hot. My thighs were parted. My ass was high. My shame was everywhere

I felt him behind me.

I didn’t need to look.

I could feel the tension in the air shift. I could feel his gaze settle right where I didn’t want it to. Or maybe f

did. Maybe that was the sickest part of all this. Maybe I wanted him to look. To see.

I was on my hands and knees.

Ass high. Thighs soaked. Face buried in his sheets that still smelled like him. My skin was on fire. My mouth was open. I could barely breathe. I could barely think.

And the only thing I could feel was my heartbeat slamming against the inside of my chest like it was trying to escape before he broke me completely.

His hand was on me. I could feel his thumb dragging down the cleft of my ass, spreading me just slightly, just enough for the air to hit where I was still open.

Still pulsing. Still dripping. And I swear to God, I felt another drop of his c*m slide out of me and cling to my

skin like it didn’t want to leave either.

I wanted to hide.

I wanted to run.

I wanted to f*****g scream.

Because I was so wet I could feel it on my knees. I was so open I couldn’t even close my legs. And my mind wouldn’t shut up. Not for one second. Not even now.

I kept thinking about his daughter.

In the next room.

Crying.

Whimpering into her pillow while I was bent over the bed like a dog in heat begging her father to ruin me harder. I was disgusting. I was horrible. I was sick. And I loved every f*****g second of it.

His breath hit the back of my thigh before his tongue did.

And I screamed.

Not loud. Not fake. Not pretty.

Real.

Raw.

He licked me like he had something to prove. Like his tongue was a punishment and a threat and a claim all

at once. He dragged it slow, firm, deep, straight through the mess between my thighs like he wanted to taste every lie I told and f**k it out of me with his mouth.

My eyes rolled back.

My knees buckled.

And I was thinking the nastiest things.

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HER

Like how much I wanted to be filled again. Like how much I missed the way his c**k split me open and didn’t stop. Like how it felt when his knot locked inside me and made me his and kept me full for hours.

I wanted that again. I wanted it harder. Meaner. Rougher. I wanted to forget my name. Forget hers. Forget the hallway and the shame and the fact that I was eighteen and he was my best friend’s dad and none of this was supposed to happen.

His tongue slipped inside me.

I gasped so hard I choked on it.

My hands clawed the bed. My face rubbed against the sheets. I could feel my own slick sticking to my thighs and the back of my calves and the curve of my stomach. I could hear myself moaning and I didn’t even care

how pathetic it sounded.

I wanted more.

More of his tongue.

More of his hands.

More of the brutal, filthy things he whispered into my skin while I begged him to break me again.

He pulled back just enough to breathe. His fingers spread me wider. I could feel everything. My own arousal. His spit. The open ache of my p***y begging to be filled. The breeze against the raw sting of my ass. I was so wet I was leaking onto my sheets and I didn’t even try to stop it.

He groaned behind me.

“You’re such a dirty little thing,” he said, voice rough with hunger. “You like this, don’t you. You like crawling for me with your ass in the air and my c*m dripping out of you like a slut.”

I nodded.

I actually nodded.

I couldn’t even form words. My brain was a blur of heat and mess and please. I needed to be filled. I needed him inside me. I needed him to destroy me all over again.

“You think you’re ready for more?” he asked, dragging his fingers down the slick seam of my p***y. “You think I should f**k you again and teach you what happens to girls who lie to their Alpha?”

“Yes,” I gasped, louder now. “Yes please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied. Please just ”

SMACK.

Right across my p***y.

I cried out.

The sound that left me wasn’t human. It was high and broken and desperate.

“Say it again,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” I moaned. “I’m sorry. I was wrong. I should’ve told you. Please, Damon. Please punish me.”

He growled.

Actually growled.

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And I swear I heard the sound of him unbuckling his belt like it was thunder in my ears. I wanted him to use it. I wanted him to mark me. I wanted him to wrap it around my throat while he drove himself so deep inside me I couldn’t remember what it felt like to be untouched.

I wanted his c**k.

His hands.

His breath on my neck while he told me I was filthy and perfect and his.

I wanted him to make me gag. To make me sob. To make me scream so loud I forgot I had a name at all.

And then I felt it.

The heat of him.

Right behind me.

Thick. Hard. Angry.

His c**k dragged against my folds and I shook.

Because I wasn’t ready.

Not physically.

Not mentally.

Not emotionally.

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