Breed Me. Daddy Alpha novel Chapter 50

Truth Kept

Truth Kept

~Lyra-

1

I didn’t even sit up.

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Didn’t bother wiping the c*m off my thighs or pulling the sheets over my wrecked, twitchy, utterly defiled

body.

I just held the phone to my ear with one hand, stared at the ceiling like I was God’s favorite disappointment,

and let a smile slowly curl across my face.

“Oh my God,” I whispered sweetly into the receiver. “Marcus. What a surprise. Did your d**k finally get signal?”

He stuttered.

Actually stuttered.

Typical.

1–uh–1 just wanted to check on you. See how you were doing.”

“How I’m doing?” I purred, voice sticky with fake innocence. “That’s so sweet of you. Really. Because the last time we spoke, you called me useless. Remember that? Because I wouldn’t let you stick your pinkie–d**k in

me in the backseat of your mum’s Corolla after youth service?”

Silence.

Oh, I was just getting started.

“Well, guess what, baby,” I cooed, flipping onto my back with a wince because my poor p***y was still screaming in multiple languages. “I’m doing fantastic. Never been better. Life is just… pounding me in all the

right ways.”

“Lyra…”

“I got f****d,” I said plainly, staring at the ceiling like it owed me rent. “Properly. Completely. f*****g. Ruined. Like the Virgin Mary looked down and had to cover her eyes.”

“You what?”

“Oh don’t act surprised,” I laughed, breathless. “Isn’t that what you always wanted? Well, congratulations, asshole. I finally did it. Except it wasn’t with some acne–faced, testosterone–deficient high school reject who thinks fingering is just aggressively poking the clit like a doorbell.”

He sputtered.

I went on.

“It was a man, Marcus. A real one. With hands the size of your self–esteem issues and a c**k that touched my lungs. You hear me? Lungs. Not uterus. Not cervix. Lungs. I was gagging and moaning and f*****g crying, and

he still didn’t stop.”

Silence again.

Dead silence.

I licked my lips and smirked like the devil’s favorite slut.

“Do you know what it’s like to be khotted, Marcus?”

“-what the f**k are you talking about-”

“Oh, sweetie. You poor, clueless baby.” I giggled, nasty. “It means he stretched me so wide I could feel his c*** lock inside me. Like a seatbelt. Except the only accident was my dignity. I was clenching so hard my soul left

my body.”

“Lyra, who the f**k-”

I cut him off.

“Do you want to know what I screamed when I came?” I whispered.

“No.”

“I screamed Daddy.”

He groaned like he’d been punched.

I smiled like I’d won the lottery and used the prize money to book a vacation to hell.

“Yeah,” I said. “Daddy. Because the man who f****d me into next week? He’s not just hot. He’s not just rich. He’s not just older. He’s my best friend’s dad.”

Silence.

I could practically hear his balls shriveling.

“You’re lying,” Marcus muttered, voice brittle with denial. “You’re just saying this s**t to piss me off.”

“Oh Marcus,” I whispered, “I’m not lying. I’m leaking.”

And I was.

Still.

There was c*m on my thighs. My sheets. Probably on the ceiling if I looked hard enough.

I rolled my eyes.

“I just thought you should know,” I added airily. “Since you were so sure I’d never be good enough. Never sexy enough. Never worth f*****g. Guess what? He’s f****d me four times since sunrise and I still can’t close my legs. So maybe you were just too small to make me feel anything.”

“You’re disgusting,” he spat.

“And you’re pressed,” I sang. “Enjoy your miserable little ego trip, Marcus. Maybe next time you try to slut–shame someone, you won’t lose them to the first man with working stamina and a house bigger than your future.”

“f**k you,” he snapped, voice cracking like his pride.

I laughed. Full, broken, feral.

“Baby, you couldn’t even if you tried” I hissed.

“f*****g bastard”

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Truth Kept

Click.

I ended the call.

And I swear to God, if my p***y had vocal cords, she would’ve applauded.

The kitchen was way too bright for someone who got absolutely wrecked less than twelve hours ago.

I sat at the island with my legs tightly crossed, hoodie pulled all the way down to my knees like it could cover the truth seeping out of my pores.

I had one hand wrapped around my glass of juice, the other half–heartedly holding a slice of bread I hadn’t bitten into yet because my throat still felt like I’d swallowed a ghost. A big one. With tattoos. And a goddamn

six–pack.

Tasha was standing by the stove, flipping eggs like she didn’t know my body was currently recovering from a full–on, knot–wielding, cervix–rearranging, consciousness–snatching Dicking. That’s right. Capital D. Like his c**k had its own birth certificate.

Then she turned around.

She turned around so slowly, so deliberately, that my entire soul paused in my chest. She had a plate in her hand. A perfectly made, innocent–looking plate of scrambled eggs and toast. But her face? Her face said murder. Her face said confession booth. Her face said b***h I’m about to wreck your spirit.

She dropped the plate in front of me like a cop slamming evidence on the table during an interrogation. Then she slid into the stool across from me, crossed her arms on the counter, stared into my sin–stained soul, and said–so casually it felt like a trap:

“Tell me who the f**k you were f*****g yesterday, Lyra.”

I choked.

I actually choked.

Not metaphorically. Like, literally. Toast–in–throat. Juice–up–nose. Panic–mode choke.

I smacked my chest. Coughed. Wiped at my nose with my hoodie sleeve like a feral raccoon. Then stared at her like she’d just opened the gates of hell and asked me if I knew Lucifer personally.

“What the–what are you talking about?” I squeaked, voice three octaves too high and eyes too wide to look innocent. “I wasn’t–I wasn’t f*****g anyone!”

She didn’t even blink.

She just tilted her head slightly to the side like a therapist about to diagnose me with ‘Lying w***e Syndrome.’

I tried to recover, took a deep breath, and powered through the most chaotic, badly planned lie of my entire

existence.

“I was using a dildo,” I said quickly. “And my f*****g fingers. Okay? That’s it. That’s literally all. Self–care. Like normal girls do when they’re… hormonal and ovulating and bored. I was just… discovering myself. Spiritually. With batteries.”

Tasha didn’t say a word.

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Truth Kept

She just stared at me for a full ten seconds. Silent. Still. Then she reached for her juice, took a very calm sip. and finally spoke with the kind of deadpan energy that made my skin itch.

“Girl.”

Oh no.

439

“If your dildo made you scream ‘Daddy‘ three times and beg to be ruined like a c*m–hungry Catholic schoolgirl, I want the link. I want the review. I want the brand, model number, voltage, and a tutorial on how to

survive a seizure.”

I dropped my head onto the counter with a loud, desperate groan and smacked my forehead against the wood like I could beat the shame out of my skull.

“I hate you,” I mumbled into the toast.

She leaned in closer like a detective sniffing out the truth.

“I heard everything. Through the walls. Through the vents. Through my bones, Lyra. The house was vibrating like we summoned a succubus. You were moaning like the main character in a porn titled ‘Daddy’s Little w**** Gets Punished.””

“I was not!” I wailed, even though I 100% was.

“Stop lying!” she snapped, grinning. “You literally screamed. I heard the mattress. I heard him. His voice was so deep I thought a demon was haunting my house.”

“I hate my life,” I muttered. “I hate this juice. I hate toast. I hate your ears. I hate myself. I want to crawl into a hole and eat grass until I die of embarrassment.”

“WHO WAS IT?”

“I’m not telling you.”

Her eyes narrowed like a sniper lining up a shot.

“It was someone forbidden, wasn’t it?”

“No.”

“Someone older.”

“No.”

“Someone with big hands and even bigger d**k energy.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Someone whose voice sounds like sin and whose hips sound like thrust thrust thrust.”

I slapped both hands over my ears.

“I was using a dildo and my fingers!” I yelled. “Just like every other normal teenage girl going through an identity crisis and a dry spell!”

Tasha slammed her fork onto her plate.

“Don’t play with me, Lyra. Tell me who the f**k had you screaming ‘yes Daddy‘ at 3AM while I was trying to cry in peace.”

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Truth Kept