Semua Bab Breed Me. Daddy Alpha: Bab 211 - Bab 220

The truth I hadn’t even processed yet. I pushed against his chest just enough to make space between us, my hands shaking, my stomach twisting, my mind screaming at me not to say it—but it was already rising in my throat, choking me with its weight. “I think I’m pregnant,” I whispered again, louder this time, like I needed him to really hear it. I didn’t know what reaction I expected. Shock. Denial. Panic. But all I got was calm. The same terrifying calm he always used when he was completely, totally in control of the situation—and everyone else just hadn’t caught up yet. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t blink. He didn’t even loosen his grip on my ass. He just said, “Then it’s fine, kitten.” I blinked up at him, stunned. Fine? Fine? Was he being serious right now? Did he understand what I had just said? “I—what?” I stammered, because my brain was still buffering like a bad Wi-Fi signal. “What do you mean fine?” He looked down at me like I was adorable. Li

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

“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

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,

That’s what he said, and the way it came out of his mouth made me freeze. Not because I didn’t believe it, but because I had never, in my wildest, most dramatic little eighteen-year-old imagination, thought I’d hear that tone from him. Damon always spoke like thunder. Like sin wrapped in control. Like nothing in the world could shake him. But right then? His voice didn’t sound like Damon, the Alpha. It sounded like Damon, the man who almost lost something he didn’t know how to live without. “I know this is so unlike me, okay,” he continued, and I swear he was pacing again, his hands flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with all the weight pressing down on his chest. “But I was a bit scared. You—and our baby…” His voice caught for a second, and it made my heart skip, because he said it. He said our baby. “…you could’ve been gone. And I couldn’t stop it.” I just stared at him. I didn’t interrupt. I didn’t even blink. I was trying to hold onto every word. “I know y