Breed Me, Daddy Alph Chapter 189

Chapter 189: Chapter 189

Lyra

"You’re delusional," she hissed. "You’re a fucking Oga in heat, and you let it ruin your brain."

"No," I snapped. "I let it free ."

I stepped forward until I was right in front of her. My body was shaking. My cheeks were hot. My cunt was soaked. My heart was thundering so loud it felt like it echoed in my throat. And I didn’t care anymore if it was cruel. I didn’t care if she cried. I didn’t care if it destroyed us completely.

I wanted her to know.

"When he knots ," I whispered, "I cry. I scream. I beg him to stay inside. I beg him not to pull out. I beg him to fill

so deep I can’t think for days. I thank him when he finishes. I wrap my legs around him and tell him I want more. And he gives it to . Over and over and over again."

Tasha’s breath hitched.

My eyes were glassy, my throat raw, but I kept going.

"You want to know how many tis I’ve moaned his na in this house? You want to know how many nights I’ve bit down the pillow and ca so hard I forgot my own? You want to know where he touched

the first ti? Right here." I grabbed my own breast, squeezing it through the fabric. "On the couch. With my shirt halfway off and his hand down my shorts. I ca on his fingers while you were brushing your teeth."

"Stop—" she whimpered, but I didn’t let her.

"Then he fucked

against the bedroom wall," I said, eyes locked on hers. "He pushed

up, pulled my panties aside, and shoved his cock so deep inside

I saw stars. And I loved it. Every second. Every thrust. Every knot. I loved it. I begged for it. I would do it again. Right now. In front of you."

Tasha shook her head violently, hands shaking like she was about to lose control.

"You’re disgusting," she whispered.

"No," I said, "I’m just done hiding what I am."

Her mouth opened to say sothing, but Damon’s voice suddenly growled low behind , rough and final.

"That’s enough," Damon growled from behind , his voice low, brutal, and shaking the air like thunder. His fingers clenched tighter around my waist, like he was trying to hold

back before I went too far.

But I didn’t stop.

I turned my head, my eyes wide, my chest rising with sharp, ragged breaths, and I looked at him over my shoulder with the kind of heat that could ignite a city.

"No, Daddy," I said, my voice sweet and venom-laced and soaked in fire. "It’s not enough. I want to make her understand. I want to make both of them understand exactly who the fuck I am."

Tasha stepped back like I’d slapped her across the face with my words.

Camilla, still in the corner, looked up from her sobs, mascara streaked down her cheeks, lip trembling like I had just ripped her soul in half.

I turned toward them fully now, not hiding, not flinching, not trying to spare a single shard of their dignity. I stood tall, ruined and flushed and trembling from the heat still dripping between my legs, and I said it.

"I am his Luna."

Tasha’s eyes went wide. Camilla’s breath caught. And I felt Damon behind —his body stiffening, his fingers twitching on my waist like I’d just said sothing sacred and forbidden and true.

"You heard ," I snapped, voice shaking with so much rage and heat I thought I might pass out from how alive I felt. "I’m not the quiet guest anymore. I’m not the scared little best friend. I’m not your pity project, or your backup singer, or your emotional punching bag. I am the Luna of this house. Your Luna. I am his mate. And I’m done acting like I owe either of you shit."

"You think being fucked by him makes you powerful?" Tasha choked out, her voice wobbling like her knees were about to give out. "You think letting him knot you makes you so kind of queen?"

"No," I said. "Being his makes

powerful. Being chosen—being claid, marked, bred—makes

exactly what you’re too scared to be. And if either of you can’t handle that..."

I smiled.

Wicked.

Ferocious.

Dripping.

"Get the fuck out of my house."

Yes, folks. I said my house. Because he made it mine the second he bent

over, pulled my hair back and whispered

"Let them hear, baby." And I did. I scread for him like I was born for it. Like my cunt was made for his knot.

You can’t erase that.

They can cry. They can scream. They can fall to their knees and beg for the version of him they used to have.

But he’s mine now.

And I don’t share. So I’d advise you buckle up your belt.

And hell, while you’re at it, slide a hand between your legs and rub that desperate little clit you’ve been neglecting.

Because rember that apology sex? Yeah I think I owe Damon one.