She paused, waiting for my reaction. I gave her nothing. She clicked her tongue.
“Lyra. Hello? Earth to blue balls. You didn’t even blink.”
“I’m thinking white bikini for the morning boat ride. Or maybe the cherry red one. You know, the one with the gold chain sides that makes my ass look like it could finance a war.”
My throat clenched. I forced a nod. She didn’t stop.
“And for the dinner party? That sheer black dress with the slit up to my cervix. I want Daddy to threaten to send me home. Just once. Just enough to remind me I’m his favorite problem.”
I twitched. Not because of her. Because of that word. Daddy. It shouldn’t have made my p***y clench. But it did. She groaned, tossing her phone down.
“Ugh. You’re not even listening.”
“I am.”
“Then contribute.”
“I’m tired.”
“From what?”
She leaned across the table, eyes narrowing.
“You barely came out of your room yesterday.”
I looked away.
“I didn’t sleep.”
She tilted her head.
“Nightmares?”
No. Worse. Fucking worse. The kind of dream that leaves you sobbing under the sheets, nails digging into your own thighs because you can’t come hard enough. The kind that leaves you sticky and shaking and ashamed the second you open your eyes. But I wasn’t asleep. I didn’t tell her that. I didn’t say I’d seen the footprints outside the bathroom. I didn’t say the hallway still stank of s*x and sweat and primal heat hours after I locked myself in. I “I’ll nap later,”
I said instead, voice tight.
“Where’s your dad?”
“Out. Patrol meeting. Some rogue pissed him off yesterday. Might be a war if it gets messy.”
Something flickered in my chest. Sharp. Bright. He’s gone. Gone. Gone. I tried not to react. Tried not to let the breath catch in my throat or the blush rise back into my cheeks. But she noticed.
“What?”
I blinked.
“Nothing.”
“You asked about him.”
“It was just a question.”
“You smiled.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you f*****g did.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Wait. Are you seriously..Lyra. Oh my f*****g goddess. You’re not thinking about my dad, are you? You f*****g better not girl!!”
“What? No. God. No.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“You are!” she shrieked, slamming her hand on the table.
“You’re thinking about him. You’re f*****g wet, aren’t you? You little freak. You’re sitting at breakfast dripping for my father.”
I stood up too fast. My chair scraped the floor. My robe slipped at the shoulder, exposing the curve of my collarbone. Her eyes went wide.
“Holy s**t,” she whispered.
“You are.”
“Shut up.”
She leaned back, lips curling into a wicked grin.
“He’s gonna ruin you, Lyra. He doesn’t f**k virgins. He breaks them. So it’s best you f*****g stay away from him. You hear me!”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Because I was already walking away. ****
I waited an hour. Maybe less. My nerves were shot. My body was on fire. My clit throbbed with every step. I paced my room barefoot, robe still tied too tight, my n*****s painfully hard against the silk fabric, my thighs slick from arousal I couldn’t control. I’d tried the shower. Ice cold. Brutal. Didn’t work. The more I scrubbed, the more sensitive I became. I could still feel his voice on my skin. Next time, I’m the one making you c*m. It played in my head on a loop. Over and over. The sound of it. The weight of it. The way his breath had fogged the air behind the bathroom door like he was already inside me, whispering straight into my soul. I should have stayed put. Should have locked the door and prayed to the Moon Goddess. But I was already lost. Already his. I slipped into the hallway like a thief. Heart pounding. Feet silent. Turned left. Past the family photos. Past the silver-framed mirrors. Past the places I was allowed to be. Toward his wing. Tasha’s words echoed. Never go there. It’s where the bad s**t happens. Good. I wanted it. The carpet thickened under my soles. The scent grew darker. Wilder. Like pine and whiskey and wolf heat. Like something forbidden. Like something that could eat me alive. I reached the last door. It was cracked open. Barely. Just enough to tempt. I touched the edge. Pushed. The creak was loud. Almost gut wrenching. I winced. And then I saw him. Damon. Alpha. Flesh and danger. He stood at the center of the room like he owned the whole f*****g world. Sweat ran down his bare chest. His muscles flexed with every breath. A single drop slid from his jaw to his pec, glistening like sin before disappearing into the dark tattoos that clawed across his torso. He didn’t turn. But I knew he knew. He always knew. He shifted. His voice cut through the silence.
“You lost, little girl?”
I tried to speak. Failed. My mouth opened. Nothing came out. He turned. And holy f*****g hell. His face. His body. That raw, brutal beauty that made your lungs forget how to work. His sweatpants hung low, hips sharp, c**k heavy. Not hard. Not yet. But thick. Lying against his thigh like a loaded weapon. Veins coiled up the shaft. His scent wrapped around me like a noose. My p***y pulsed. Soaked. Throbbing. I backed up. His smirk deepened.
“You didn’t mean to come here?”
I shook my head. Useless lie. He stepped closer. One step. Two. Like a god descending.
“You did.”
“You came here knowing what I’d do. What I’d say. What I’d take.”
“No..I didn’t…”
He cut me off with a look. A growl low in his throat.
“Say it again.”
“I didn’t mean to,”
I whispered. He moved fast. Too fast. Suddenly his hand was under my chin. Fingers rough. Grip firm. He tilted my face up. Eyes locked.
“You lie pretty,” he murmured.
“But your p***y’s louder.”
My breath hitched.
“I can smell it. Leaking down your thighs like you’re begging me to put you on your knees.”
He leaned closer.
“You don’t know what to do with this ache, do you?”
I whimpered. He pressed his body into mine. I felt everything. The heat. The weight. The promise of what he could do. His mouth brushed my cheek.
“You touch yourself thinking of me. You whisper my name into your pillow while you f**k your fingers like a needy little bitch.”
I moaned. He chuckled. Dark. Sinful. Cruel. Like he was f*****g enjoying this.
“You want to be ruined. Say it.”
“I…”
“Say it.”
My lips trembled.
“I want you to ruin me.”
“Please”
“I beg you”
He stepped back. Just enough to tease. His eyes burned.
“Not yet little girl. I don’t know if you can f*****g take me”
“I can, sir.”
The words slipped out of my mouth. It was trembling, breathless, soaked in desperation. But he didn’t soften. He didn’t praise me. He laughed.
“You can’t,” he murmured, stepping into me so close his breath kissed my lips.
“You think you can take me? That sweet little virgin cunt of yours wouldn’t survive a f*****g inch.”
His fingers curled around my throat. Not tight. Just enough. Enough to make me swallow. Enough to make me wet.
“Do you know what this c**k would do to you?” he hissed.
“It would tear you open. You’d scream. Cry. Maybe even bleed. You’d beg me to stop halfway in.”
He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of my ear.
“And I wouldn’t.”
I gasped. My knees buckled. His grip caught me.
“f**k, you want it that bad, don’t you? You want to be ruined. Used. Split open like a toy. But look at you..shaking. Dripping down your thighs. You’re not ready for this.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.