Breed Me. Daddy Alpha novel Chapter 88

Blood And Ownership

~Damon-

I reached forward and grabbed him by the throat.

“You knew. You smelled it. You followed her scent down that hallway like a dog with his d**k out. You waited until she was alone. You waited until her mind was hazy and her body was weak, and then you pushed her against the wall and told her you didn’t care if she was claimed. You told her you’d bend her over and teach

her how to behave.”

I looked up suddenly and stared past him, locking eyes with Lyra, who hadn’t moved an inch. She was still frozen in place, her breathing shallow, her cheeks flushed, her eyes wide. She was watching me with something burning behind her gaze–something wild, something electric.

I turned back to him.

“And when I told you to let her go,” I said slowly, “you turned to me and said we should share her. That we should f**k her together. That she might even thank us for it.”

I leaned in until our foreheads nearly touched.

“You said that to me. While my Omega was still trembling behind you. While she was still trying to catch her breath from saying no.”

His face crumpled, but I didn’t care.

I stood again, letting my full height tower over him, letting my wolf rise through my frame like a tidal wave

about to break. My voice grew colder, clearer, and more violent with every word.

“You touched something sacred. You crossed a line that cannot be uncrossed. And now, I am going to make sure you never forget what that costs.”

I reached down, tore what was left of his pants from his hips, and grabbed him by the inner thigh. He screamed before I even applied pressure.

“Your c**k is the reason you’re in this position,” I said. “So I’m going to make sure you never get to use it

again.”

Lyra’s voice came suddenly, broken and breathless.

“Damon… please…”

I paused.

I didn’t look at her right away.

“Please don’t kill him,” she said, her voice cracking. “Not here. Not like this. He’s not worth it.”

I exhaled slowly through my nose,

My claws twitched at the edge of his thigh, and my wolf howled in my chest.

(She’s ours. He touched her. You promised her safety. You said no one would hurt her again. him. Mark the walls. Show her we are not mercy.)

I looked over at Lyra. Her hands were trembling. Her legs were pressed together. She was breathing like she’d

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just run miles, her entire body visibly affected by the heat and the violence in the air. She looked afraid–but

not of me.

And not of what I’d do.

Her eyes were wide, not with panic, but with something darker. Something deeper. It wasn’t horror. It wasn’t disgust. It was hunger. The kind she didn’t yet understand. The kind that made her thighs press together

while she begged for mercy she didn’t really want granted.

She wasn’t scared I would break him.

She was scared she would love watching me do it.

Her scent was proof. It was thicker now, sweeter, burning hotter in the air like the first flame of a wildfire. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. Her body was frozen, and her lips were parted, and her pulse was

visible in her neck.

I saw it. I smelled it.

And that was when I turned back to the boy and made my decision.

My voice came out calm. Steady. Final.

“Close your eyes and ears, kitten.”

She blinked at me, dazed.

“What-?”

“Now,” I said, stepping forward until the blood on my hands was once again visible under the light. “You don’t need to witness this. Not like this. Not today. You’ve already seen more than you should have.”

Her lips trembled.

“Damon…”

“I mean it, Lyra. Close your eyes. Block your ears. Bite your knuckles if you have to. I don’t want this part to

live in your memory.”

Her breath caught, but slowly–obediently–she nodded. She turned her back, pressing her palm to her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut. She leaned against the wall like her knees might give out.

And that was when I moved.

I crouched beside him again, grabbed his shirt, and lifted him halfway off the floor until his body dangled awkwardly between my knees. His breathing was ragged, broken. He stank of piss and fear and fresh blood. He wasn’t even resisting anymore. He was done.

But I wasn’t.

My voice dropped to a whisper as I leaned in close to his ear.

“She begged you not to touch her You heard her voice crack. You heard the word ‘please.‘ And you smiled.”

He didn’t respond.

“You told her you didn’t care who claimed her,” I went on. “You said you’d f**k her until she

behave.”

ned how to

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I tightened my grip on his collar.

I leaned in until he could feel the heat of my breath against his cheek.

“You made a mistake.”

He choked. “I’m s–sorry-”

“You’re sorry because you got caught,” I snapped. “Not because you meant a single word of that apology You’re sorry because I’m the one who walked around the corner. You’re sorry because she’s claimed, because she’s mine, and now you’re on the floor choking on your own spit.”

He coughed again. His face was wet. Blood. Tears. Snot. A mess of all of it.

My claws extended fully.

I reached down and gripped the inner seam of what was left of his pants and yanked until he screamed. The

fabric tore straight down the middle. I grabbed him by the base of his c**k and squeezed–not hard enough to

tear it yet, but hard enough that he shrieked like an animal.

“You used this like a threat,” I said. “So I’m going to ruin it.”

He wailed, but I didn’t let go.

“Feel every second,” I growled. “Remember this every time you even think about another Omega.”

That was what I told him before I grabbed his c**k in my hand–not with lust, not with mercy, but with the

precision of a man about to end something permanently.

He screamed beneath me, his voice splitting the hallway as his spine arched off the tile, his heels kicking

against the floor, but I didn’t stop. I pressed my knees into the inside of his thighs and spread him open like an animal being prepared for slaughter. He didn’t deserve modesty. He didn’t deserve dignity. He deserved to

bleed.

He squirmed under me, trying to twist his hips away, but I slammed them flat against the ground with one hand while the other gripped his shriveling little c**k between my fingers. He was already soft, already shrinking in fear, and the smell of his urine mixing with the blood from his broken nose made me sick.

I looked down at it–at him–and laughed.

It wasn’t a polite laugh. It wasn’t amused. It was cold. Loud. Vicious.

“For a big guy,” I said, dragging my gaze from his bloody face to the useless thing between his legs, “you have a very, very small cock.”

His eyes rolled back as he cried out, but I didn’t loosen my grip.

“This,” I said, tightening my fingers around him, “is what you thought you would use to f**k her? This pitiful, twitching little thing? You pressed her against a wall with this disgusting excuse for manhood and thought, for a second, that you had the right to even imagine being inside her?”

He tried to breathe. Tried to speak. But I cut him off by pressing the edge of my claws against his shaft-

lightly at first, just enough to make him freeze.

“You thought she would moan for you?” I asked, lowering my voice into a slow, deliberate “You thought she would beg for this pathetic length? Do you have any idea what she sounds like when she’s actually being touched properly? When I take her apart inch by inch with a c**k that makes her cry before she even takes

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the whole thing?”

He whimpered something–a breathless apology or another attempt at begging–but I ignored it.

I reached down and unzipped my pants slowly, never breaking eye contact with him.

Then I pulled out my own c**k–still thick, still hanging low with the weight of what she’d drained from me that morning—and I let him see it. I wanted him to look. I wanted him to understand exactly what he would

never live up to.

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