Breed Me, Daddy Alph Chapter 176

Chapter 176: Chapter 176

Lyra

Alright, let’s get sothing straight because I know so of y’all are out there absolutely foaming at the mouth, ready to drag

by my hair through the comnts like, "Lyra, what the actual fuck is wrong with you?"

And you know what? That’s fair.

Because yes. Yes, I did it.

I told Damon—while his cock was still buried inside , while my legs were trembling and my pussy was still spasming from the kind of orgasm that rewires your brainstem—I told that man, let’s go check on Camilla.

I know. I deserve jail. Maybe a slap. Maybe a whole trial by fire. But before you light your pitchforks and scream betrayal, let

explain.

First of all, I hate Camilla. Not a little. Not in a "she’s annoying" kind of way. I hate her like my soul recognizes her as its personal enemy.

She’s fake. She’s evil. She’s every terrible female villain trope combined and shoved into a painfully skinny body with a designer bag and zero morals.

So do I want her dead?

Yeno.

That’s my new word for the situation. A hybrid. Yes and no. Yeno. Because deep in the lowest, darkest, filthiest part of ? Yes. I want her to vanish. To crumble. To feel every ounce of humiliation she’s ever thrown at . But another part of —the smaller part, the human part, the annoyingly soft part—didn’t want her to die. Not like that. Not yet.

And that’s why I said it.

That’s why I looked up at my mate, my Alpha, the man who had just filled

with enough cum to breed an entire generation, and said, "Let’s go see if she’s okay."

Now fast forward, we’re in the car. And Damon hasn’t spoken a single word.

Not one.

He’s not yelling. He’s not grunting. He’s not breathing loudly. He’s just driving—calmly, silently, with his jaw locked so tight it looks like it might snap.

His hands are gripping the steering wheel like it personally offended him. His knuckles are pale, his veins are raised, and there’s a line between his brows that could cut glass.

And ? I’m sitting there like a damn idiot with his cum still dripping out of , my thighs sticking together, and the echo of his last thrust still pulsing in my core.

The car still slls like sex. The windows are fogged at the edges. I can feel the slick ss between my legs every ti I shift. My body is sore in all the best ways. And the tension between us? It’s a live wire pressed against my throat.

I glanced at him. I knew that look. That quiet rage. That internal fury. It wasn’t about Camilla. It wasn’t even about the interruption.

It was about

choosing that mont—the mont where he had been completely inside , claiming , owning every inch of my body—and tearing it away.

I shifted again, pressing my thighs together and swallowing the whimper that threatened to slip out.

His jaw flexed.

His hand twitched on the wheel.

"Damon," I said softly, my voice low, careful, trying to reach him through the anger behind his eyes.

He didn’t look at . Didn’t even flicker.

"Not now, kitten."

His voice was sharp. Cold. The kind of cold that burns. It wasn’t raised, but it was heavy. It carried weight. Authority. Punishnt. And sothing in

tightened.

I nodded. Quietly. But I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. I never could. I was a ss. I spoke without thinking, and I felt everything all at once.

"I didn’t an to ruin it," I whispered, my voice trembling slightly. "I just thought... what if she really do it? You’ll hate yourself for life.

He didn’t respond.

"I know she’s manipulative. I know she’s cruel. I know she’d burn

alive if she could. But if she actually do it—if she kills herself—I don’t want you to bla yourself for not stopping it."

Still nothing.

His eyes were locked on the road. His body unmoving. But I saw it. The way his throat moved when he swallowed. The way his grip on the steering wheel got even tighter.

"She’s not going to," he said finally, his voice barely above a growl. "She’s a perforr. She’s always been a perforr."

I bit my lip. I stared at my lap.

"You’re mad at ," I said softly.

He didn’t say anything for a second. Then he slowly exhaled through his nose.

"I’m not mad," he said. "I’m calculating what I’m going to do to you when we get ho. I’m deciding whether to fuck the apology out of you slowly... or tear it from your throat while you’re choking on my cock."

My breath hitched. My legs squeezed shut so fast I could feel the ss between them spread further. It was like every nerve in my body stood at attention, panting, desperate, waiting for more. And of course, because I’m —eighteen, stupidly brave, and recklessly in love with my possessive, vengeful, Daddy Alpha mate—I smiled.

Not a soft smile.

A dirty one.

The kind that said you wouldn’t dare—but I fucking want you to.

I turned to face him fully, legs crossed in my seat, and dragged my gaze over his profile like I was tracing each edge of his fury.

He looked like a man on the verge of destruction. Of soone else’s destruction. Or mine. Or both. His lashes cast shadows across his cheekbones, his lips were pressed into a sharp line, and his scent—gods, his scent—was thick and angry and aroused all at once.

My voice ca out a little breathless, a little amused, and way too bold for soone who was still wearing his cum like perfu.