Because I wasn’t done. “You wanna know what I have that you don’t?” I asked, tilting my head like I was about to give her skincare advice. “I have his hands on my body. I have his scent on my skin. I have his voice in my ear when he calls me his kitten and tells me to open wider. I have the bruises on my hips from the last time he knotted me so deep I sobbed into the pillow and begged him not to stop.” I could feel Damon breathing behind me. And still? He didn’t let go. “I didn’t need to beg,” I said, softer now, slower, like I was explaining something to a child who couldn’t quite grasp the reality of the situation. “I didn’t need to cry or plead or sniff a fucking drug off my palm like it was my only hope. He wanted me. Just like this. Crying. Needy. In heat and dripping for him. And he hasn’t looked away once.” Camilla’s mouth opened. But nothing came out. Because what could she possibly say? She was standing there naked, shaking, drugged, sobbing, tits bouncing,
~Lyra~ Okay folks. Camilla has officially gone cray cray. Like, I’ve seen some wild shit in my life. Girls fighting in the bathroom over lip gloss. Two boys pissing in the same urinal like they were holding hands spiritually. A girl in my class once pretended to faint during a test just to get out of answering a math question. But this? This right here? This was next-level. Like, I’m talking full-blown Netflix series, season finale drama with extra cocaine and desperation sprinkled on top. You know, honestly, I always thought stuff like this only happened in movies. Like, the kind of scene where the ex-girlfriend shows up wearing smeared eyeliner and trauma and begs the rich older man to pick her while the new girl stands in the corner looking all innocent and untouched. But no. Nope. This was real life. This was me, standing half-dressed, nipple still out, body still shaking from the way Damon had just been whispering into my skin—and there she was. Camilla. Fully nak
“This bitch.” I turned my head slowly, eyes narrowing with every second that passed, until I saw her standing there in the doorway like a fucking storm. Camilla. Of course. Her hair was wild. Her eyeliner smudged. Her skin pale and sweaty, her pupils so wide they looked like ink had spilled across her eyes. Her mouth was curled into a twisted little smile, but her hands were shaking, and she had that look—the one I’d seen before. Too many times. “Camilla,” I said slowly, my voice low and sharp. “What the hell are you doing here?” She didn’t answer at first. She laughed. Not a normal laugh. It was brittle. The kind of sound you hear when something is unraveling at the seams and trying to pretend it’s fine. “Who gave you the right to come here?” I asked again, stepping in front of Lyra now, not to cover her, but to confront the disrespect. “Huh? Who the fuck told you you could walk into my house without knocking, without being invited?” Camilla just tilted her
~Damon~ I honestly thought she was in real danger when she called. Her voice had cracked over the line. She sounded like she couldn’t breathe, like something had gone terribly wrong, like someone had touched her, or worse. My entire body had tensed before she even said my name. I was ready to kill. Ready to rip a throat out bare-handed. I thought she’d been hurt. I thought someone had laid a hand on what belonged to me. But she came here. Trembling. Tear-stained. Still dressed in her little school uniform and breathing like her lungs didn’t work right. And she said she might be pregnant. Oh, my sweet little kitten. I won’t blame her. Still young. Still figuring out what it means to be an Omega, still new to the fire inside her. Her mind doesn’t understand what her body already knows. Of course she’s scared. Of course she’s confused. She’s still learning what it means to carry power between her legs. But now? She’s mine. And she’s about to be the mothe
I gasped. Loud. Desperate. Soaked. I couldn’t move. I wanted to resist. I wanted to say no again, just to be bratty, just to feel like I still had control over my body and this terrifying situation and the chaos in my chest. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I was frozen in place, my thighs shaking, my breasts heavy in his hands, and all I could think about was how badly I wanted his mouth on me. I wanted his mouth on me. Not in a vague, dreamy way. Not in a passing thought or a maybe-later kind of ache. No. I wanted it with every nerve ending in my body. I wanted it with my whole chest, with my soaking panties, with the heat crawling up my spine and the hunger twisting my stomach so hard it hurt. My breasts felt full. Aching. Like they were begging for his tongue. My nipples were so hard it was painful, and the only thing I could think about was how it would feel to finally have him on me again—his mouth, his hands, his breath. I couldn’t fight it anymore. I couldn’t preten
~Lyra~ “But I’m not gonna lie, kitten,” he murmured, his hand sliding up my side like he owned every inch of my skin, “your tits are big now.” I blinked at him, still trying to come down from the panic he’d just soothed out of me, and then my breath caught completely when he tilted his head slightly, licked his lips, and said— “Can Daddy suck them?” Oh. My. God. I stared at him like he’d just asked to fuck me in front of the Moon Goddess herself. My mouth opened. My chest rose. My nipples—those traitorous, sensitive, aching little things—hardened instantly like they were excited about the invitation. And for one hot second, I almost said yes. I almost melted right there in his hands and whispered please like the needy little Omega I always became in his arms. But then I remembered. I remembered him smirking. I remembered him making dumb jokes about biology class like I wasn’t standing in front of him sobbing about possibly being pregnant. So I pulled back just a l