Chapter 115: Chapter 115
Lyra
I didn’t even get the chance to breathe.
Because the second those words left his mouth, he grabbed .
His hands slamd down on my hips like he was done pretending, done letting
run wild, done letting
act like I had any control over this. And then he dragged
forward, yanked my soaked little cunt right over his cock, and slamd
down so fucking deep I swear I blacked out for a second.
My whole body convulsed.
My mouth opened.
And the sound that ca out of
didn’t even sound human.
"Oh my fucking God—Damon..fuck..Daddy..shit..I wasn’t ready..why the fuck does it feel even bigger now..I swear to God I can feel you in my ribs.."
He didn’t answer.
Didn’t give
a second to process.
He just thrust up again, brutal and slow, grinding deep into my core like he was trying to carve out every thought I’d ever had. And I couldn’t stop the words pouring out of my mouth because I was overstimulated and ruined and shaking all over again.
"You can’t just say that..you can’t just say you’re gonna fuck
while talking about your wife—do you know how insane that is—I’m literally leaking all over you and you’re about to give
trauma and orgasms at the sa ti—I don’t even know if I should cry or moan or scream—oh my God—I think I’m doing all three—"
He slamd up into
again.
I scread.
My legs started shaking instantly. My clit throbbed. My nipples were already tight, brushing against the silk shirt that was still clinging to my body like it had given up trying to hide anything.
"She was my wife," he growled, voice low, dangerous, vibrating straight through my spine as he thrust up again. "Her na was Camilla. She died ten fucking years ago. You think I would keep her around? Keep her in this house? You think I’d touch you if I was still touching her?"
I tried to answer.
But I couldn’t.
Because his cock was already hitting too deep again. Too hard. Too fucking good. My body was clenching around him like it wanted to eat him, like it needed him to stay there forever.
"You’re not a replacent, Lyra," he snarled, grabbing my hips tighter, slamming
down over and over until my moans turned into sobs. "You’re not second best. You’re worse. You’re filthier. Louder. Needier. You don’t shut up. You don’t listen. And you make
so fucking hard I forget I ever had a past."
"Oh my God—fuck—fuck, Damon—Daddy, I swear I’m gonna die like this—your cock’s in too deep—I can’t even sit still—it keeps hitting this spot like you’re trying to pull the orgasm straight out of my fucking soul—I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore—I think I forgot my own na—just keep going—please keep going—fuck—"
I was riding him like my life depended on it.
Except I wasn’t even doing it. He was making . He was forcing
to bounce. His hands were locked around my waist and he was just using , dragging my soaked pussy up and down his cock like I was a toy built just to take it. And I was. I felt like it.
Like I didn’t exist for anything else but this.
"But you want to know about her?" he grunted. "You want to hear about the wife while I fuck you stupid?"
I nodded—too hard, too fast.
"Yes—yes—I want to know—I need to know—I can take it, I swear—I’m already a ss, just give
the truth—I’ll take it with cock—I’ll take it with everything—fuck—Damon—"
"She was a good girl," he growled, dragging
down hard. "Too good. Too soft. She didn’t fight . Didn’t scream at . Didn’t talk back like you do."
I clenched.
So fucking hard around him I almost scread again.
"She died in a car accident," he went on. "Ten years ago. Drunk driver. Hit her head-on. I held her while she bled out in my arms."
My body stilled.
Just for a second.
But he didn’t stop.
He didn’t let
pause.
He just slamd back up into
and forced the orgasm out of my silence.
"She bled all over . And I haven’t touched anyone since. Not until you."
My mouth dropped open.
I moaned.
Loud.
So loud I almost scared myself.
"Oh my God—fuck—fuck—Damon—I’m gonna co—don’t stop—please don’t stop—keep going—keep going—tell
more—I want to know—I need to know—I want to feel everything—I want to feel your wife’s ghost and your rage and your fucking guilt all inside
while you break
open—"
"You’re sick," he growled, slamming
down again.
"I know," I sobbed, nails clawing at his shoulders as I rode the edge. "I know—I’m sick—I’m so sick and needy and wrong—but I’m yours—I’m your ss—your little fucktoy—your cumdump—I don’t care if I’m second—I don’t care if I’m nothing—just don’t fucking stop—"
"You’re not nothing," he hissed. "You’re everything I shouldn’t want. Everything I swore I’d never touch again."
And then he flipped
again.
Fast.
Brutal.
He yanked
off his lap, bent
over the armrest of the chair, and slamd into
from behind so hard my scream hit the windows.
"You’re everything!"he growled.
"Then why did you keep her photo?" I moaned out. "Why was it there—right there—next to your goddamn mail like she’s still here—like she still matters more than —"
Reviews
All reviews (0)