Breed Me. Daddy Alpha novel Chapter 76

< The Reality Check

Pots &

The Reality Check

~Lyra~

I stood there at the top of the stairs watching them argue–watching their hands move, their mouths open, their bodies tense–and honestly, it felt like I couldn’t hear a single f*****g thing.

Their lips were moving, but the words weren’t landing. They weren’t even making it to my ears. It was like someone turned the volume of the whole world down to zero and left me trapped in a bubble of silence, in a house that suddenly didn’t feel like it belonged to me anymore.

Because she kissed him.

She f*****g kissed him.

She put her lips on his like she owned him. Like she had the right. Like he hadn’t been inside me less than an hour ago. Like I wasn’t still limping from the way he split me open with his knot, still aching from how full he left me, still dripping down my thighs like I was some ruined little thing marked and claimed and destroyed.

And there she was.

Putting her mouth on him like she was coming home to her man.

God. Who was I even kidding?

She’s his wife.

His actual wife.

The woman in the picture frame. The woman he said was dead. The one with the perfect blonde hair and glossy smile and long legs and pretty little rich–girl bones that probably never broke no matter how hard she

cried.

And I’m just-

I’m just an eighteen–year–old i***t who fell in love with a man twice her age.

A man I barely know. A man with secrets. A man who breaks people and makes them beg and ruins them in the best, worst, most addictive way possible.

And I let him ruin me.

Willingly.

I wanted it.

I still want it.

I still want him.

Even now. Even after this. Even as my entire chest feels like it’s being chewed on from the inside out by some animal I can’t control.

I wanted to move. I really did. I wanted to run. To scream. To cry or throw something or slam the door so hard it cracked.

But I couldn’t.

C

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The Reality Check

I couldn’t do anything except stand there, frozen, while my wolf paced inside me like she wanted blood She was angry. Furious. Not just for me. For us. She kept whispering things in the back of my head like mine, mine, ours, ours, get her out, and I didn’t know whether I was going to shift or collapse or start tearing my own hair out from the pressure building in my skull.

Because she touched him.

That woman touched him.

And not just his arm.

She touched his c**k.

I saw it.

I f*****g saw it with my own two eyes.

She reached for him like she knew the exact shape of it. Like it still belonged to her. Like the same c**k that was inside me–inside me–just minutes ago didn’t mean anything at all.

I think I stopped breathing.

My whole body clenched up so fast I nearly blacked out. My legs went numb. My throat locked. My stomach twisted so hard I thought I was going to vomit all over the railing. My heart? Gone. Obliterated. I think it

actually disintegrated inside my chest.

I couldn’t stop staring at her hand.

At her fingers right there, pressing against the front of his sweatpants like she’d done it a million times and had every intention of doing it again.

And he didn’t push her away fast enough.

He didn’t yell.

He didn’t even f*****g flinch right away.

So what did that mean?

What the hell did that mean?

Was he just shocked? Was he just frozen? Was he secretly enjoying it? Or worse–was he comparing us? Was he standing there thinking about how she used to do it and how she probably did it better and how I’m just some young little mistake he got carried away with?

God. Why was I thinking like this? Why couldn’t I shut my brain up?

Why couldn’t I forget what I saw?

Why couldn’t I forget that her lips were just on his?

That her hand was on the same body that just had mine begging for more!

I could still feel him inside me.

Still feel the pressure of his knot.

Still feel the sting between my legs and the soreness in my thighs and the mess dripping out of me and down my legs in slow, sticky trails of humiliation.

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< The Reality Check

And none of it mattered.

Because I wasn’t her.

Because I would never be her.

She had history with him. A house. A child. A wedding band. A name. I didn’t even have a toothbrush here i didn’t even have clothes. I had a bed I wasn’t supposed to be in, a body he used like a toy, and feelings that were way too big for a girl who thought she was smart enough to not get attached.

I was wrong.

So f*****g wrong.

And now I was standing here, shaking, sweating, still naked under this goddamn sheet, watching the man who said I was his let another woman put her mouth and her hands on him like I didn’t even exist.

I blinked.

Another tear fell.

I didn’t remember crying.

I didn’t remember anything except the scream that was climbing up my throat and the wolf in my head

howling like she wanted to kill something.

But I didn’t move.

I just stood there.

Watching.

And then she did something that made every nerve in my body twitch with rage.

Something that made my vision blur and my hands curl so tight I swear I felt my nails digging into the skin of my palms.

She started unbuttoning her shirt.

Right there in front of him.

Right there in his house.

Right in the same room where I was still standing–barely, shaking, bleeding inside, still dripping from what he did to me–and this woman, this polished, glossy, picture–perfect wife of his had the audacity to slowly undo her blouse like we weren’t even there. Like I was invisible. Like she was walking into her territory and reminding everyone of exactly who had it first.

One button.

Then two.

Then three.

And then I saw them.

Her t**s.

Full, high, perfect, probably enhanced. They sat in her bra like they belonged in a magazine ad. Like they’d been lifted and powdered and prepared just to destroy me. And she f*****g knew what she was doing. She

< The Reality Check

tilted her chest forward ever so slightly, like she wanted him to look. Like she wanted to remind him that she used to be his.

And me?

God.

I wanted to grab her by the hair and slam her face down into the floor.

I wanted to tear that blouse off her body and scream into her face that she didn’t get to do this. That she

didn’t get to come back from the grave and steal him away from me with some fancy bra and a f*****g pout.

I wanted to rip her to shreds with my hands.

But I couldn’t.

Because I was still in shock.

Still in pain.

Still stuck at the top of the stairs, watching the man who said I was his say nothing as his wife tried to

seduce him.

And that was the moment I realized I couldn’t stand there any longer.

I couldn’t watch another second.

Not if I wanted to survive this.

I turned.

Ran.

As fast as my sore, leaking, trembling legs would carry me.

I didn’t even think.

I didn’t even care if he saw me.

I just needed to get out of that hallway. Away from her. Away from the sound of her voice and the sight of her perfect, glossy, rich–girl t**s trying to reclaim something that wasn’t hers anymore.

I got to the room, slammed the door behind me–quietly, so nothing would sound suspicious–but hard

enough that the handle clicked and the sheets on the bed shifted from the gust of air.

And then I dropped.

Right there on the floor.

To my knees.