Mag-log inâFuck, kitten,â I growled, my hand tangling in her hair. âYou know exactly what youâre doing. Look at you, kneeling there, making me lose my mind. You want to play? Then do it right. Worship me. Donât stop until I tell you.â âFuck,â I snarled, my voice already shaking with how fucking hard I was. My hand shot into her hair, tugging her head back just to see that wicked smirk on her lips. âOpen your fucking mouth.â She obeyed, lips parting like sheâd been waiting for this command all night. When her tongue dragged from the base of my cock to the swollen head, I nearly doubled over. âFUCKING HELL! FUCK!.â The head of my cock slipped past her lips. âGoddamn it, kitten,â I panted, voice breaking as her lips smeared with spit and pre-cum. âYouâre mine. My filthy little whore on her knees.â âFaster,â I barked, my voice breaking into a growl. âFuck..faster!â I grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head like she was nothing but my toy, guiding that sweet mouth up and down my
~Damon~ We made it to our room with that quiet kind of victory you only earn after surviving a battlefield of four toddlers. The door clicked shut behind us, and for the first time all day, the house felt like it belonged to us again. No crying, no howling, no shirt-stealing rebellions. Lyra leaned against the dresser, hair spilling over her shoulders, a mischievous tilt to her lips like she knew exactly what was coming. She tapped one finger on the wood, eyes trailing me like I was prey. âSo,â she said, voice soft and dangerous, âhow exactly is Daddy going to help me dress up?â I pulled my jacket off and tossed it onto the chair, moving toward her like the room had shrunk down to the space between us. âFirst,â I said, letting my voice drop, âDaddy is going to pick out what you wear. Because if I leave you alone, youâll come out in something that makes every man in that restaurant forget his wifeâs name, and then Iâll have to start breaking bones before dessert.â She gas
Her eyes widened like I had just offered her the moon. âA date?â I scowled because the disbelief offended me. âDo not make it sound like I am asking you to fight a war. It is dinner, kitten. Put on a dress.â Her lips curved slowly, dangerously, into the kind of smirk that makes me suspicious every single time. She dragged her eyes over me, deliberately slow, and then tilted her head. âHmm, daddy,â she purred, her voice teasing, sweet enough to be a trap. âAnd what exactly do you have in mind for this date?â I froze. My brain short-circuited because I know this tone. I know this woman. When Lyra calls me daddy with that look in her eyes, it is never safe. Never. âDinner,â I said flatly, trying to sound like an Alpha with control of the situation. âWe are going to dinner like normal people. In public. With other human beings around us. You will sit across from me and eat food that is not reheated five times in the microwave. That is what I have in mind.â She leaned closer, bru
~Damin~ A Year And Half Later. The sun was not even up yet, and already I could feel it in my bones that my house had turned into a war zone. You learn to recognize the signs when you live with four pups and a wife who could talk a saint into committing murder. It started with Lyraâs voice carrying down the hallway, that sweet, fake-patient tone she only used when she was about five seconds away from snapping someoneâs neck. Then came the sound of a babyâs screech, sharp enough to make me wince and powerful enough that the entire pack probably heard it echo through the damn walls. I pushed open the nursery door and was greeted by pure chaos. Not a little chaos. Not the kind you can laugh off. I mean full-scale destruction, tiny bodies in rebellion, toys on the floor like landmines, and in the center of it all stood my stubborn little demon spawn, Leo. He was not wearing his clothes. No, of course not. He was wearing my shirt. My actual black shirt. Not a baby-sized ver
The thick head of him pushed in and I lost my breath, my whole body arching, my mouth spilling curses I didnât even know I knew. âFuck! Oh Goddess, Damon, I canât..â âYou can,â he snarled, pulling me harder, sinking me down inch by inch. âTake all of me. Every. Single. Inch.â My nails dug into his shoulders, my cries echoing off the walls. My thighs shook, my core stretched, burned, split open, and oh Goddess, I felt so full I thought I might break in half. âDamon,â I gasped, my voice high, messy, desperate. âYouâre too much! Youâre too big! I canât breathe, I canât think, I canâtââ âYou donât need to think.â His hand slammed into my lower back, forcing me down until I was seated fully, completely, choking on the fullness of him. His voice dropped to a growl that rumbled straight into my bones. âYou just need to moan for me.â And oh Goddess, I did. I moaned so loud my throat hurt, my body trembling, my hips grinding down because once he was inside me there was no going back.
~Lyra~ My throat went dry. My whole body went dry. Except it didnât, not really, because between my legs it was the opposite, heat rushing in so fast I swore it leaked into the sheets. Damonâs hand was wrapped around himself like he owned the world, like he was the only man alive worth looking at, and I couldnât even breathe without feeling it. âOh my Goddess,â I whispered. My eyes wouldnât move. Couldnât move. They were glued to the thick, veined length of him, his thumb dragging slow over the head, smearing that bead of cum, his tattoos flexing on his arm as he stroked. My husband. My Alpha. My monster. And all I could think was how the hell am I supposed to ride that? âYouâre staring, kitten.â âYou missed it. Admit it.â I shook my head so fast my hair whipped, but my mouth betrayed me. âI did. I missed it so much it hurt. Every night, Damon. Every damn night I thought about it. About you. About how empty I felt without you stretching me openâ. His smirk turned c







