Favorite Sin 41

~Damon~

The second the door clicked behind her, I stayed seated.

Still naked.

Still soaked in the scent of her.

Still staring at the faint trail of slick she left behind on the floor like her body was trying to mark every step, like it hadn’t figured out how to stop leaking all the filth I’d shoved into it.

f**k.

I leaned back, chest heaving, the aftershock still buzzing in my veins. My c**k was half–hard again, twitching against my stomach, gleaming with the same mix of her arousal and my c*m that had been f*****g dripping

out of her for what felt like hours.

My hand went to my jaw. Dragged down slowly. I was trying to breathe. Trying to calm the beast in me.

But then I looked down.

And saw them.

Her panties.

Damp as f**k.

They were bunched in the corner like they didn’t know what the hell had just happened. Twisted, soft, and

soaked through with everything we’d just done.

And I froze.

Because f**k me.

She left them behind.

I reached for them slowly. Reverently. Like they were holy. Like they were some sacred trophy carved from sin

itself. My fingers curled around the delicate fabric, still warm, still wet, still sticky with the mix of her

innocence and the wreckage I’d turned her into.

I brought them to my face.

And I f*****g inhaled.

Hard.

God.

Her scent was all over them. Sweet. Musky. Tangy. That addictive omega perfume that only came out when

her body was wrecked and wide open and f****d full of knot and c*m and ruin.

“f**k, Lyra,” I groaned, eyes fluttering shut as I held them there. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.

“Look at you,” I whispered, lifting the soft lace between my fingers. “What am I gonna do with you, huh? You sweet little thing. You filthy little piece of her.”

O

< Her Panties

The second I brought them to my face, I was gone.

I groaned–deep…as I inhaled her scent.

**PORTS

Sweet. Tangy. Innocent and wrecked at the same time. The kind of smell that shouldn’t belong to someone her age, shouldn’t exist at all, shouldn’t be coating her panties like that if the universe had a shred of decency

left.

But it did.

Because she wore these while she moaned for me.

While she bled for me.

While she came around my c**k and told me I ruined her.

And now?

Now they were mine.

“f**k,” I growled, dragging them across my nose again. “This is what you smell like when you’re mine. This is what your cunt smells like after I knot you..after I fill you up and stretch you until you’re crying and begging

and still asking for more.”

I inhaled again.

Harder.

Eyes closing as I let that sticky, musky perfume flood my lungs like it could fix every broken part of me. My c**k twitched again. Still wet. Still f*****g needy.

“This little strip of lace has more soul in it than half the women I’ve ever f****d,” I murmured, tongue flicking out to taste the edge. “Goddamn, Lyra. You smell like sin. Like sweet f*****g sin wrapped in baby pink and

breathless moans.”

I looked down at the panties in my hand.

“Were you wearing these when you came in here? When you gave me that look?” I smirked. “You weren’t ready. You had no f*****g clue what I’d do to you. But your p***y did. Your p***y was soaking these before I

even touched you, wasn’t it?”

I laughed softly.

Darkly.

“I could frame these,” I said, voice low and reverent, like I was talking to a f*****g relic. “Glass case. Bulletproof. Hang them in the study right over the fireplace. Let every bastard that steps foot in this house

know who owns you now.”

Another pause.

Another slow sniff.

Another groan.

“They still smell like me,” I whispered. “Still smell like my c*m. Still damp with everything I poured into that tight little cunt of yours.”

I turned toward the mirror on the door.

O

< Her Panties

My reflection stared back at me..hair mussed, chest scratched, eyes wild. I looked like a man who’d just

ruined something sacred and liked it. No shirt. No guilt. Just raw, feral satisfaction.

40 Points>

“You’re a grown–ass man, Damon,” I muttered to myself, half–laughing. “Sniffing panties. Talking to lace like it’s alive. What the f**k is wrong with you?”

“You run an empire. You’ve buried men in rivers, paid off governments, built your fortune with blood and

backbone…”

I raised them back to my nose, breathed deep.

“And now look at you. Losing your f*****g mind over a girl’s underwear.”

My laugh was low.

Bitter.

But not ashamed.

“I should be locked up,” I murmured, shaking my head slowly. “I should be f*****g institutionalized. Because this? This ain’t normal. This ain’t healthy. This ain’t what men like me are supposed to do.”

I turned and leaned against the closet door, holding the panties to my mouth like I needed to whisper my sins

into them.

“She’s eighteen,” I breathed. “Eighteen and ruined. Eighteen and knotted. Eighteen and dripping my f*****g c*m down her legs while my daughter’s down the goddamn hallway asking where we’ve been.”

I groaned and closed my eyes again, pressing the fabric tighter against my lips.

“And I’d do it all over again.”

Silence.

For a second.

Just the sound of my pulse thumping against my skull, the scent of her still coating the air, the warm press of her last moan echoing in my ears like it hadn’t really ended.

Then I spoke again.

“She doesn’t even know what she’s done to me,” I whispered. “She has no f*****g clue. That sweet, messy little cunt has more power over me than any deal I’ve ever signed. I’ve killed for less than what she gave me

– tonight.”

I opened my eyes.

Looked down at the soaked fabric again.

And f**k.

The sight of that dark, sticky stain/in the middle made my throat tighten.

“You begged me with this, didn’t you?” I asked, holding the panties like they could answer. “Your p***y soaked this before I even touched you.

“You were already mine. Already aching. Already waiting to be claimed. You didn’t say it with your mouth but this little f*****g thing right here?” I dragged my thumb across the center, rubbing the slick spot slow. This

was your consent.”

O

3/6

< Her Panties

Another breath. Shaky.

Another groan. Deeper now.

+ Porn X-

“You think I’m ever gonna forget this?” I asked the drawer, like it was some dark confessional. “You think I’m

ever gonna let another man breathe near you without remembering what you smelled like when you came for

me in this closet?”

I licked the inside of my cheek. My jaw clenched again.

“You don’t even understand yet. You think this was s*x?” I laughed quietly. “You think this was just some secret quickie while your best friend was in the hallway? No. This was the beginning. This was the first time your body admitted it was mine.”

I tapped the panties against my palm.

Soft. Wet.

Still warm.

“Every time you put something between your legs now, you’ll remember this moment. Every time you try to

wear new ones, you’ll feel the difference.

“You’ll remember how these were torn off you. How you moaned when they came off. How your slick coated

them while you begged me not to stop.”

Another inhale.

Then I kissed them.

Dead center.

Pressed my lips to that warm, stained spot like I was worshiping the memory of her p***y.

And whispered against the lace-

“This is mine now.”

Then I walked back to the drawer, opened it like I was handling a f*****g relic, and laid the panties flat on the

velvet lining like I’d just placed the crown jewels.

I closed it.

Locked it.

Then stood there for a long minute with my hand on the wood, my chest rising and falling, my c**k twitching

with every breath.

“I’m a grown–ass man,” I said one last time, shaking my head and laughing again. “And I just fell in love with a

f*****g pair of panties.”

I dragged my hand down my face again.

Smirked at the mirror.

And muttered.

“God help me. Because I’m not stopping.”

I stood there for another breathless second, palm still pressed to the drawer like it had taken something from

O

Het Panties

me. Maybe it had. Maybe it was safer that way.

+0 Points

Safer if I didn’t look at those panties again tonight. Safer if I didn’t open that drawer again in the next ten minutes and take them back out just to smell her all over again.

Because I would.

I f*****g would.

And I needed to get a grip.

I turned back to the room, dragging a hand down my face and eyeing the bed.

The sheets were ruined.

Completely.

There was a wet, dark spot in the center where her virgin blood had soaked through, ringed in the mess of my c*m and sweat and everything else I’d left behind inside her.

Her scent was thick in the air. The headboard was still crooked from where I’d slammed her against it before dragging her into the closet like a starving animal.

I clicked my jaw, exhaled hard through my nose, and moved to strip the bed.

Just as my hand grabbed the edge of the fitted sheet, I heard it.

A voice.

“b***h, where the hell were you?”

f**k.

Tasha.

My stomach dropped.

“Oh, goddammit,” I hissed, yanking the sheet off with one pull.

There wasn’t time. I didn’t even fold it. I just bundled the entire soaked mess into my arms, shoved it in the hamper beneath the sink, and sprinted out of the room like I hadn’t just marked every inch of it with my c*m

and my c**k.

The second I stepped into the hallway.

There they were.

My daughter and my filthy little secret.

Her eyes narrowed, her expression pissed off and full of bratty fire. But it wasn’t her mouth that made my

blood turn cold.

It was her hand.

Lifted.

Reaching.

Fingers already halfway to Lyra’s throat..already reaching for the bite mark I’d left right at the junction

between her neck and shoulder.

|||

O

Her Panties

My mark.

My f*****g mark.

“Tasha.”

She froze.

Both of them did.

48 Points >

Lyra flinched like she wasn’t sure if I was about to yell or kiss her again. Her cheeks were flushed. Her legs were shaking. And she was still in my f*****g shirt.

And Tasha.

Tasha was standing there wide–eyed, hand suspended mid–air, mouth already opening to ask something I

would kill to never answer.

So I cut it all off.

Snapped like the father I was supposed to be.

“You are in big f*****g trouble, young lady.”

Tasha blinked.

“What?”

“Look at the goddamn time you’re coming home!” I barked, marching toward her like I hadn’t just been balls–deep in her best friend minutes ago.

“Ugh, chill, Dad..”

“Don’t ‘Dad‘ me!” I snapped, pointing toward the hall./

“I am never and I mean never allowing you to go to any f*****g party again. You hear me?! I don’t care if it’s a birthday, a wedding, a gender reveal or Jesus Christ himself hosting it in your mother’s backyard. You’re done. You’re grounded. Go. To. Your. Room. Now,

Favorite Sin 42

~Lyra~

“I am never and I mean never allowing you to go to any f*****g party again. You hear me?! I don’t care if it’s a birthday, a wedding, a gender reveal or Jesus Christ himself hosting it in your mother’s backyard. You’re

done. You’re grounded. Go. To. Your. Room. Now.”

Tasha just stood there, blinking like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her glossy lips parted

slightly.

“Are you serious right now?” Tasha finally said.

“You can’t do this, Dad!” Tasha shouted, eyes blazing as she stormed down the hall toward him. “You can’t f*****g do this! Can’t a girl live a little?! So what..I came home late! Am I hurt? No! Did I crash? No! I’m fine!”

“I’m not twelve anymore,” she snapped, throwing her arms out. “You don’t have to lock me in a f*****g tower

every time I step outside!”

Damon didn’t flinch. He just stood there; chest rising slow and hard, every line in his body tight with restraint.

His jaw flexed. His eyes didn’t leave her face, even as I shifted behind him like a ghost in oversized cotton.

“You don’t get to question the rules in my house,” he said. “You don’t get to vanish for hours, ignore your

phone, and then walk in like nothing happened.”

Tasha scoffed. “So what now, you’re going to ground me because I went to a party and had fun? That’s your

idea of parenting? Keeping me in a cage while everyone else lives?”

“You came home smelling like vodka and sweat,” Damon said, voice low but lethal. “Your skirt is up to here.”

He lifted a hand sharply. “And you almost put yourself in danger, Tasha. You don’t even know the kind of men

that wait for girls like you to slip.”

“I wasn’t in danger!” she screamed. “I was with friends!”

“Friends don’t let you disappear!” he barked. “Friends don’t leave you drunk and half–dressed, stumbling through the dark. You think I haven’t seen what happens to girls who take that one wrong step? You think I’d

survive it if something happened to you?!”

But Tasha didn’t back down.

She didn’t apologize.

She didn’t even blink.

She stepped forward, close enough that she had to tilt her head up to look him in the eyes.

And then..she snapped.

“f**k you, Dad.”

Damon froze.

But Tasha didn’t stop.

Her mouth twisted into a grin. Not the sweet kind. Not the bratty kind.

The dangerous kind.

III

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< The Confrontation

“Yeah. You heard me. f**k you. And guess what…”

Her voice dropped into something sharp and slow.

“I had an orgy.”

Damon’s expression didn’t move.

But the air did.

The entire hallway dropped ten degrees.

Points>

“I f****d six men,” she said, louder now. “Six. In one night. On one couch. Do you wanna know their names? Hm? Should I list them alphabetically?”

Oh.

My.

God.

She didn’t just say that.

She didn’t just say that.

Oh f**k, she did.

I literally stopped breathing. My mouth was open, my brain was ringing, my legs were straight–up jelly. My toes curled into the floor like that would somehow ground me to reality, but it didn’t help.

Nothing helped. Not the shirt I was drowning in, not the thick air choking the hallway, not even the walls, because I was sure the walls heard it too.

Tasha just said she had an orgy.

With six men.

Six.

And not quietly. Not in a whisper. Not in a drunk–girl–giggle–while–l–confess kind of way. No. She yelled it. She screamed it at her dad like she was trying to burn the whole f*****g house down with her mouth.

And all I could think was Oh my god, she’s dead. She’s dead. Damon’s going to kill her. He’s going to

snap her neck and drag her into the basement and I’m going to have to help hide the body because technically I was a witness and I’m also in his shirt and also his c*m is still in me and oh f**k I should not be standing here.

I should’ve run.

I should’ve run the second she said “f**k you, Dad.”

But I didn’t.

Because I was frozen.

Because my legs weren’t working.

Because my brain wasn’t working.

Because when she said it–orgy–my stomach dropped like I’d been pushed off a cliff. And may heart? It was straight–up punching me in the ribs. Like boom. Boom. Boom. bh are you hearing this?

The Confrontation

Damon didn’t move at first.

That was the scariest part.

He just… stopped.

Not like paused. Not like thinking. More like calculating murder.

And I could feel the shift in the air. You know when someone’s about to explode, but they’re holding it in so tight the whole room starts to shake with silence? That was Damon. Still, Rigid. His eyes locked on her like he couldn’t believe what she’d just said. Like she’d spat in his face and then lit the house on fire just to prove

a point.

Then she kept talking.

She. Kept. Going.

“I liked it,” she said, with that devil–smile of hers.

And my knees buckled. Actually buckled.

I grabbed the wall beside me like a dramatic little Victorian lady about to faint and the only reason I didn’t collapse was because Damon was between us and thank God for that.

Because I don’t know what I would’ve done if Tasha had taken one more step.

I don’t know what he would’ve done if she said one more word.

Oh wait–she did.

She started talking about a guy with a tongue ring.

A tongue ring.

I nearly threw up.

Not from jealousy. Not from shock. From pure survival instinct. Like, my whole body was screaming abort! abort! We are in danger! Do not listen to this girl,

confess her sins at full volume when your thighs are still sticky with her father’s DNA!

And then..he moved.

Not a normal step.

He launched.

Damon was across the hallway in one breath, hands clamped on Tasha’s shoulders, face inches from hers, and suddenly it didn’t feel like a house anymore. It felt like a war zone.

And I was caught in the middle.

Naked.

Shaking.

Wearing the general’s shirt.

“What did you say?” he asked her, and oh f**k.

The way he said it.

< The Confrontation

I couldn’t breathe.

He wasn’t yelling. That was the terrifying part.

He was calm.

Too calm.

Points

Like he’d already murdered her six imaginary boyfriends in his head and was now working his way to deciding

if she should live or die.

And poor Tasha… she blinked.

Like it had finally hit her.

She said it out loud.

She said it in front of him.

She said it while I was in his f*****g shirt and still couldn’t look her in the eye.

I don’t know what she was thinking. Maybe she thought she was invincible. Maybe she thought saying something outrageous would hurt him the way he was hurting her. But oh my God, I swear on everything I

love..she had no idea who she was dealing with.

Because Damon wasn’t just a dad.

He was a loaded weapon disguised as one.

And right then?

He didn’t look angry.

He looked disappointed.

The worst kind. The kind that turns into destruction.

“You’re not my daughter tonight,” he said.

I gasped.

Out loud.

I couldn’t help it.

Because that wasn’t just punishment.

That was exile.

I watched Tasha’s face crumple like paper in a fire. Her lips parted, her whole body stilled, and for the first time since I met her, she looked like a child. Like a girl who had just realized her words had consequences

she couldn’t take back.

“What?” she whispered.

That’s all she managed to whisper. One word. One syllable. But it sounded so small coming out of her. So weak. Like she was a little girl again, and he’d just ripped the floor out from under her.

But Damon didn’t blink.

His jaw was locked. His eyes were lit from within. And then he said the words that made my stomach twist

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< The Confrontation

into a full–blown panic knot:

“Get out of my sight, Tasha. Before I do something I’ll regret.”

S**t.

His voice wasn’t loud.

It didn’t have to be.

It was the kind of voice that made your knees buckle and your heart slam against your chest because you

knew the man in front of you wasn’t entirely human anymore.

And oh God. His eyes.

They were glowing.

Not like metaphorical glow, not like poetic glow.

Glowing.

Amber. Wild. Alpha.

The wolf was right there, just beneath the surface, breathing heavy through his chest and looking for a

reason to snap.

And Tasha must’ve seen it too, because her face twisted in pure fear. Real fear. The kind you can’t fake. The kind you feel in your spine when instinct tells you you’re about to be devoured.

She staggered back.

Her lips parted like she wanted to speak.

But nothing came out.

Just a sharp inhale. Then a whimper.

And then she turned and ran..barefoot down the hallway, choked sobs spilling out of her as she vanished into

her room and slammed the door behind her.

Gone.

Silence.

Oh God. It was just me now.

Just me and him.

I was still standing by the wall like a statue that had witnessed a murder.

My fingers were trembling. My shirt–his shirt–was sticking to my back from how hard I was sweating. My

legs were soaked, still soaked, and didn’t know if it was from him, from me, or from the sheer panic pooling

down my thighs.

He turned.

Slowly.

And looked right at me.

Not at my thighs.

O

< The Confrontation

Not at the mark on my neck.

Not at the shirt clinging to my hips.

Right at my eyes.

“Did you know about this?” he asked.

His voice was quieter now. Too quiet. That dangerous quiet.

Lfroze.

Like actually froze.

+8 Points >

Not the cute movie kind where the girl gasps and puts hand over her mouth in dramatic shock. No. I froze like my nervous system short–circuited. Like my brain just threw its hands up and said, “Welp, this is it. This is how we die. Hope the coffin’s pink.”

Because Damon was looking at me.

Staring. Into. Me.

Like he could hear my thoughts. Like he could see every single dirty secret crawling out of my pores and spilling down my thighs. His face was calm, but it wasn’t calm. It was Alpha calm–that terrifying, cold, eerie stillness that only comes right before a storm swallows your whole world and spits out the bones.

And he asked me again.

“Did you know about this?”

Just like that.

Seven words.

But I swear it felt like a sledgehammer to the chest.

Because how the f**k do you answer that when your best friend just confessed to her father that she participated in a six–man gangbang and you’re standing there in his shirt, still dripping his c*m, with his bite mark glowing red on your neck like a neon sign that says TRAITOR?

My mouth opened. Nothing came out. My thoughts were tripping over each other like kids in a fire drill.

Say no, Lyra.

Lie. Lie through your teeth.

You’re already halfway to hell, just sprint.

I mean, what’s one more sin?

I knew everything.

I should’ve lied.

I really, really should’ve lied..

But my lips had a death wish.

“Yes,” I said. Like a goddamn,***t. “Dammit. I..yes.”

Favorite Sin 43

~Lyra~

Oh my God.

I said it.

1 f*****g said it.

And the second the word left my lips, I wanted to stuff it back in with both hands and maybe a sock.

His face didn’t move.

But everything else did.

The room. The air. The hallway. Me.

I felt it.

That shift.

“Wow,” Damon said. His voice didn’t even have teeth. It didn’t need to. Just that one word–and it gutted me.

“Get out of my sight too, Lyra.”

And I panicked.

“No, wait..I can expla…”

“I said get out.”

The way he cut me off.

Like I was a stain.

Like I wasn’t just a mistake–I was a waste of his breath.

I staggered back a step, my vision burning, my throat closing like it couldn’t bear the pressure of swallowing everything I wanted to scream.

But I couldn’t leave.

I didn’t move.

Because suddenly he was walking toward me.

Fast.

His jaw was clenched. His chest rising and falling. His fists were loose at his sides like he was holding something back and about to fail miserably.

And then he stopped.

Right in front of me.

Too close.

Way too close.

I could see his pupils dilating. I could feel the heat rolling off his body like steam. My whole soul was

< The Price Of Secrets

+ Points >

shivering and his shirt was sticking to me in the worst possible way. Every inch of me felt too exposed. Too bare. Too f*****g wet.

“You lied to me,” he growled, his voice low and rough and so close I could taste it on my tongue.

“I didn’t-“I started, but it was useless. He wasn’t listening. He was watching. Staring. Devouring.

“I should f**k you again for lying to me,” he murmured, and holy hell, I almost collapsed.

“What?”

His head tilted slightly, like a predator eyeing his prey right before he pounced.

“You knew she f****d six men. You knew she was out there letting boys pass her around like a party favor. And you didn’t tell me?”

His eyes dropped slowly, tracing the outline of my chest beneath the shirt–his shirt–the one that was still damp with sweat and stretched from where he tore it off himself in the closet like he was going to die if he

didn’t get inside me.

“You let me worry, when the whole time, you knew she was already gone.”

I couldn’t speak. My throat was dry. My hands were shaking so hard I thought he might see them blur.

“I should bend you over that dresser,” he whispered, voice like s*x and sin and smoke. “Pull this little shirt up, shove your face down, and remind you what happens when you lie to your Alpha.”

My legs buckled.

He caught me. Of course he did. One hand to my hip, firm and possessive, like even when he hated me, he

couldn’t help but own me.

“You look guilty,” he said, smirking now. “Soaked and guilty. You’re still wet, aren’t you?”

“I-“I couldn’t even lie. My thighs were f*****g drenched.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear. “Tell me… is that my c*m dripping down your legs or just the

sound of my voice getting you wet again?”

f**k.

I whimpered.

Actually whimpered.

I hated myself for it.

But I was shaking and turned on and humiliated all at once, and that combination broke something inside

me.

“You liked it when I used you,” he whispered, hot breath licking down my neck. “You begged me to ruin you in the closet. You came so hard you saw stars, didn’t you? And now you’re standing here, trying to lie to me with my seed still leaking out of you like a f****d–up little confession.”

I tried to speak.

Tried to breathe.

But I couldn’t.

>

Because his hand was sliding up the back of my thigh now, under the shirt, slow and teasing, just enough to

make me feel how slick I still was.

“Pathetic,” he muttered. “Still dripping. Still clenching for me.”

“I didn’t mean to lie,” I whispered.

“But you did.” His voice hardened, his fingers pressing against the inside of my thigh. “And now you’re going

to pay for it.”

“I’m sorry,” I breathed.

“Are you?”

He pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes, and I could see it now..that twisted, dark hunger fighting

with something deeper. Something angrier.

“You want me to forgive you?” he asked. “Then prove it.”

“How?”

“Strip.”

My breath hitched.

“Right here?” I whispered.

He leaned in.

“I just heard my daughter brag about an orgy,” he said coldly. “I’m in the mood to erase everything I heard.”

His thumb traced the edge of my inner thigh, slow and cruel.

“So take off my shirt, Lyra. Bend over. And let me punish you for lying.”

“But… we’re in the hallway,” I whispered, and I hated how weak I sounded. My voice barely made it out of my

throat. It was cracked and shaky and not even convincing.

I could hear myself, could hear the way I tried to keep control of the situation–but I had none. Absolutely

none.

Not when his eyes were on me. Not when he was standing that close. Not when my entire body was still

soaked with everything he’d done to me not even an hour ago.

“We’re in the hallway, Damon,” I said again, a little louder this time, like maybe repeating it would make him care. “This isn’t even the downstairs hallway. This is the one right outside Tasha’s room. What if she comes

out? What if someone sees? What if I…”

He cut me off before I could say another word.

“I don’t f*****g care.”

That’s what he said.

Just that. Calm. Cold. Sharp as a blade pressed right to my throat.

“I don’t care where we are,” he continued, his eyes locked onto mine like they could pin me in place without

even touching me. “I told you to strip. And then I told you to walk straight to your room. Naked.”

My jaw dropped a little. I didn’t even realize it until I felt the air hit my tongue. I stared at him like he’d lost his

mind.

>

Like I hadn’t just begged him to ruin me in a f*****g closet and cried his name into his shoulder while his knot held me open and full. Like I wasn’t standing there wearing his shirt with his scent all over me and his c*m still dripping down the inside of my thighs.

“But… my room’s not even that far from Tasha’s,” I said, trying to sound reasonable, like logic still had a place in whatever this was. “It’s literally right next to hers. What if she hears me? What if she opens her door? What

if she sees-”

“You talk too f*****g much,” he snapped, his voice like a punch to the gut. “Strip.”

My mouth opened again. “Damon-”

“Strip, Lyra.”

He didn’t even raise his voice.

He didn’t have to.

Because it wasn’t just a command.

It was a claim.

I could feel it in my bones. In my chest. In the slick heat between my legs that hadn’t cooled since the first

time he touched me.

My hands were shaking. My fingers were trembling as I reached for the hem of the shirt. I didn’t want to do it. I did, I didn’t. I wanted him to stop me. I wanted him to make me. I wanted to be good. I wanted to be bad. I wanted to cry. I wanted to moan.

I gripped the edge of the fabric with both hands and stared up at him.

His face didn’t move.

But his eyes did.

They burned.

Slowly, painfully, I lifted the shirt.

Inches at a time.

My bare stomach felt the air first. Then my chest. Then my entire body was out. I let the fabric fall to the floor, and there I was.

Completely naked.

In the hallway.

Right outside my best friend’s room.

Marked.

Claimed.

Sticky.

Humiliated.

And the worst part?

I was wet all over again.

He didn’t say anything at first.

He just looked.

Down my body.

Over every bruise he’d left.

Every red fingerprint.

Every drop of slick clinging to the insides of my thighs.

Then he said it again.

“Walk.”

I blinked. “W–walk?”

He tilted his head, slowly, like a wolf sizing up something it had already caught but wanted to play with

before it sank its teeth in.

“Walk to your room, Lyra. Slowly. No covering yourself. Let the shame burn through you with every step.”

I couldn’t breathe.

But I moved.

One foot in front of the other.

>

Bare soles on cold wood. Wet thighs brushing. My chest rising and falling too fast. I didn’t look back. I didn’t have to. I knew he was watching. I could feel the heat of his gaze between my shoulder blades. Between my

legs.

I passed Tasha’s door.

I held my breath.

Every nerve in my body was screaming. Every inch of me was praying she didn’t come out. That she didn’t see me like this. Naked. Owned. Walking down the hallway like some filthy secret trying to make it back to the shadows before the light caught me.

But she didn’t open the door.

And I kept going.

One trembling, aching, soaked step at a time.

Then SMACK.

I yelped.

The sound echoed down the hall.

My body jolted forward, and I nearly tripped over my own foot.

His palm had landed on my ass.

It stung. It sizzled.

It throbbed.

“Oh fuck..“I gasped, grabbing the wall to keep myself upright.

And then I heard him.

Damon’s voice behind me.

“What a big, fat ass you got here, little wolf.”

My toes curled.

“Oh, you like that?” he murmured, voice darker now, “You’ve been wagging this thing at me since, haven’t you? Thought I didn’t notice?”

“I wasn’t..” I stammered, but my voice was barely there. My throat was tight. My chest was heaving. My legs

were locked, and I could feel how wet I was.

“You think I didn’t see it?” he said. “This soft, perfect ass bouncing down the stairs every morning. Bent over my kitchen counter pretending to reach something. Sitting on my f*****g couch like it didn’t belong over my lap?”

And then.

SMACK.

Again.

Harder.

Right on the same cheek.

I cried out, louder this time. My knees buckled. My breath caught. My p***y clenched around nothing, desperate, dripping, shame blooming hot under my skin like a fever.

“I said walk,” he growled. “You stop again, and I’ll bend you over the hallway table and let the whole house.

hear you scream.”

My hand reached my doorknob.

I twisted it.

Opened the door.

Stepped inside.

And right before I could shut it, I heard his voice again.

“Get on the bed, Lyra.”

He was behind me.

Still watching.

Still commanding.

Still the man who’d told me to strip in the hallway and walk naked through my own shame–and now?

Now he was going to punish me for making him ask,

Favorite Sin 44

Bent And Fuckedet

Bent And F*cked(3)

I didn’t move at first.

I heard the door shut behind me. Click. Not a slam. Not a creak. Just that sharp, quiet click of finality. Like the sound a cell door makes when it locks you inside with everything you’re scared of and everything you

want.

My chest rose.

Then fell.

Then rose again, way too fast.

I could feel the air against my skin..cool, sharp, unforgiving. Every inch of me was bare. Every part of me knew it. My ass was still stinging.

My thighs were slick. My p***y was pulsing like it hadn’t learned how to stop. And his voice was still in my ear, dragging down my spine, wrapping around my body like a second skin I couldn’t shed.

“Get. On. The bed.”

I turned slowly.

He was already inside. Already closing the distance between us. Already stripping the last shred of space from the room with the weight of his body and his voice and his rage and his need. His eyes were still glowing. Still watching me like I was prey.

I backed up.

Step by step until the backs of my knees hit the edge of the mattress.

I didn’t dare speak.

Didn’t dare blink.

I climbed on the bed the way a girl climbs

to her own execution table. Slowly. Quietly. Too aware of every

breath. Every heartbeat. Every drop sliding down the insides of my thighs.

I moved to lie down on my

back.

“No.”

His voice stopped me cold.

“You don’t lie down.”

I froze.

“Hands and knees, Lyra.”

My mouth opened. I didn’t mean for it to. “But-”

“I said hands and f*****g knees!”

My heart jumped so hard I swore it hit my throat. I turned. My palms met the sheets. My knees followed.

I was shaking already. Breathing too hard. Thinking too loud. The sheets were cool beneath me, but my skin,

175

Bent And

was too hot. My thighs were parted. My ass was high. My shame was everywhere

I felt him behind me.

I didn’t need to look.

I could feel the tension in the air shift. I could feel his gaze settle right where I didn’t want it to. Or maybe f

did. Maybe that was the sickest part of all this. Maybe I wanted him to look. To see.

I was on my hands and knees.

Ass high. Thighs soaked. Face buried in his sheets that still smelled like him. My skin was on fire. My mouth was open. I could barely breathe. I could barely think.

And the only thing I could feel was my heartbeat slamming against the inside of my chest like it was trying to escape before he broke me completely.

His hand was on me. I could feel his thumb dragging down the cleft of my ass, spreading me just slightly, just enough for the air to hit where I was still open.

Still pulsing. Still dripping. And I swear to God, I felt another drop of his c*m slide out of me and cling to my

skin like it didn’t want to leave either.

I wanted to hide.

I wanted to run.

I wanted to f*****g scream.

Because I was so wet I could feel it on my knees. I was so open I couldn’t even close my legs. And my mind wouldn’t shut up. Not for one second. Not even now.

I kept thinking about his daughter.

In the next room.

Crying.

Whimpering into her pillow while I was bent over the bed like a dog in heat begging her father to ruin me harder. I was disgusting. I was horrible. I was sick. And I loved every f*****g second of it.

His breath hit the back of my thigh before his tongue did.

And I screamed.

Not loud. Not fake. Not pretty.

Real.

Raw.

He licked me like he had something to prove. Like his tongue was a punishment and a threat and a claim all

at once. He dragged it slow, firm, deep, straight through the mess between my thighs like he wanted to taste every lie I told and f**k it out of me with his mouth.

My eyes rolled back.

My knees buckled.

And I was thinking the nastiest things.

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Bent And FuckedG

HER

Like how much I wanted to be filled again. Like how much I missed the way his c**k split me open and didn’t stop. Like how it felt when his knot locked inside me and made me his and kept me full for hours.

I wanted that again. I wanted it harder. Meaner. Rougher. I wanted to forget my name. Forget hers. Forget the hallway and the shame and the fact that I was eighteen and he was my best friend’s dad and none of this was supposed to happen.

His tongue slipped inside me.

I gasped so hard I choked on it.

My hands clawed the bed. My face rubbed against the sheets. I could feel my own slick sticking to my thighs and the back of my calves and the curve of my stomach. I could hear myself moaning and I didn’t even care

how pathetic it sounded.

I wanted more.

More of his tongue.

More of his hands.

More of the brutal, filthy things he whispered into my skin while I begged him to break me again.

He pulled back just enough to breathe. His fingers spread me wider. I could feel everything. My own arousal. His spit. The open ache of my p***y begging to be filled. The breeze against the raw sting of my ass. I was so wet I was leaking onto my sheets and I didn’t even try to stop it.

He groaned behind me.

“You’re such a dirty little thing,” he said, voice rough with hunger. “You like this, don’t you. You like crawling for me with your ass in the air and my c*m dripping out of you like a slut.”

I nodded.

I actually nodded.

I couldn’t even form words. My brain was a blur of heat and mess and please. I needed to be filled. I needed him inside me. I needed him to destroy me all over again.

“You think you’re ready for more?” he asked, dragging his fingers down the slick seam of my p***y. “You think I should f**k you again and teach you what happens to girls who lie to their Alpha?”

“Yes,” I gasped, louder now. “Yes please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied. Please just ”

SMACK.

Right across my p***y.

I cried out.

The sound that left me wasn’t human. It was high and broken and desperate.

“Say it again,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” I moaned. “I’m sorry. I was wrong. I should’ve told you. Please, Damon. Please punish me.”

He growled.

Actually growled.

Beat And F

And I swear I heard the sound of him unbuckling his belt like it was thunder in my ears. I wanted him to use it. I wanted him to mark me. I wanted him to wrap it around my throat while he drove himself so deep inside me I couldn’t remember what it felt like to be untouched.

I wanted his c**k.

His hands.

His breath on my neck while he told me I was filthy and perfect and his.

I wanted him to make me gag. To make me sob. To make me scream so loud I forgot I had a name at all.

And then I felt it.

The heat of him.

Right behind me.

Thick. Hard. Angry.

His c**k dragged against my folds and I shook.

Because I wasn’t ready.

Not physically.

Not mentally.

Not emotionally.

And that was the entire f*****g point.

“You want forgiveness, little wolf?” he murmured as the tip pressed against my dripping hole. “Then take it. Take every inch. Take my c**k so deep you forget how to lie.”

And then he slammed inside me.

And I broke.

~~~

The second he shoved inside me, I screamed.

I couldn’t help it. I didn’t even try. My mouth dropped open and the sound came pouring out of me like it had been hiding in my lungs for hours just waiting to be released.

It wasn’t a whimper. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t a breathy porn moan designed to sound good. It was a full–body, real, ugly, filthy scream.

His c**k was so thick. So hot. So angry. He didn’t ease inside me. He didn’t warm me up. He didn’t stroke my back or ask if I was ready.

He just grabbed my hips and shoved in like he had a point to prove. Like my p***y had offended him and now he was going to punish it with every brutal inch.

And I loved it.

I f*****g loved it.

He filled me so deep I could feel him in my stomach. My walls stretched wide to take him and still clenched so tight around him it made me want to cry.

Best And

My knees were already shaking. My arms collapsed beneath me.

My chest slammed into the sheets and I just laid there moaning like a filthy little b***h while he kept grinding in deeper like he wanted to mark my womb from the inside.

“Damon,” I gasped. “Oh my God. Oh my f*****g God.”

That was all I could say. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t do anything but take it. His c**k was pounding into me like it belonged there. Like my body was made for it.

Like this was always how it was supposed to end. Me. Eighteen. Naked. On all fours. In my best friend’s house. With my thighs soaked and my p***y being used like a c*m dump for the man I should have never looked at in the first place.

“You feel that?” he grunted, slamming into me harder. “You feel how tight this filthy little cunt is?”

I nodded. I nodded like my life depended on it. I nodded so fast I thought my head would fall off. Because! could feel it. I could feel every stretch, every push, every deep drag of his c**k through my soaked heat.

My p***y was clenching around him like it didn’t want to let him go. I was so wet I could hear it. Every thrust sounded like a slap of skin.

I could feel it dripping out of me. I could feel it on my inner thighs and my calves and between my ass cheeks. I was soaking his c**k. His sheets. Myself. And I didn’t care. I didn’t want to stop. I wanted more. “You like that,” he growled, yanking my hair and forcing me to arch my back like I was a toy made for display. “You like crawling around this house naked with your p***y leaking c*m while my daughter cries in the next

room.”

“I do,” I cried. “I do. I like it. I’m sorry. I’m so f*****g sorry but I like it.”

He growled behind me. A real growl. Low and hungry and dark enough to make me tremble.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said. “You’re mine.”

My p***y clenched around him so hard it made me choke. I couldn’t hold back anymore. My head fell forward. My mouth was open. I was panting into the sheets while he destroyed me from behind and I couldn’t think of a single reason to stop him.

Royalty Writes

#Vote# Thank you all for your support. I am very happy and grateful I have amazing readers like y’all

e. And I hope when reading this you didn’t feel a sensation

Favorite Sin 45

He kept thrusting. Hard. Deep. Fast. Each one harder than the last. His hands gripped my waist like he was

holding onto his last bit of control and about to lose it.

I could feel him getting bigger. Thicker. His knot was swelling. That hard, round pressure at the base of his

c**k started to stretch me open all over again.

I cried out. Not in fear. In desperation.

“Yes,” I screamed. “Yes, please. Knot me. Knot me again. I want to feel it. I want to feel you swell. I want to feel it lock. I want to feel your c*m shoot into me and stay there.”

He slapped my ass. So hard the sound echoed.

“You want Daddy’s knot?” he said. “You want me to lock this little cunt and fill you so deep it leaks out for

days?”

“Yes, please, f**k me,” I cried, my voice cracking under the weight of how badly I needed it, how ruined I already was.

“Please. I want it. I want all of it. I want your c**k, I want it so deep it touches places I’ve never even felt

before.

“I want it to hurt, Daddy. I want to feel it tomorrow. I want to taste it. I want to remember it when I sit down, when I walk, when I breathe. Please, Damon, please.”

I was babbling.

I knew I was.

But I couldn’t stop. The words were pouring out of my mouth like my cunt was the one speaking, like every desperate clench of my p***y was dragging the filth up my throat and forcing it out.

“You want it hard, baby girl?” he growled behind me. “You want to feel me ruin this little cunt again?”

“Yes,” I gasped, my fingers clawing at the sheets as I shoved my ass higher in the air. “Yes, f**k, yes. Ruin me. Break me. Make me scream into the mattress..

“I want your c**k to stretch me until I cry. I want to feel your knot swell inside me and lock me open. I want you to use me like I’m just a hole for your cum.”

He snarled.

I heard it.

I felt it.

His hands gripped my hips and then he slammed into me.

The scream that left my throat was animal. I didn’t even know I could make sounds like that. His c**k was so hard, so thick, so hot I felt it pulse the second he filled me.

My p***y clenched around him and the mess was instant. Loud. I could hear the squelch of my slick as he started to thrust and I moaned louder.

III

O

When Good Gala Get Run

“f**k,” I whimpered. “You’re so deep. You’re so f*****g deep, Daddy. I can feel you in my belly. You’re stretching me so wide. Oh my God. Oh my God.”

He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back while he kept f*****g me. My back arched. My mouth fell open. My n*****s dragged across the sheets. I was dripping. Drenched.

My thighs were soaked. My ass was jiggling with every brutal slap of his hips against me and all I could think

was how f*****g good it felt to be owned.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he grunted. “This is what you were begging for. This tight, greedy little p***y swallowing my c**k like it was made for me.”

“It was,” I moaned. “It was made for you. I swear it was. No one’s ever been inside me like this. You’re the first. The only. The only one who’s ever made me scream like this.”

His c**k slammed deeper.

I saw stars.

My mouth dropped open again and I moaned so loud I didn’t even care if the whole f*****g neighborhood

heard me.

“You’re so tight,” he groaned, his hands gripping me harder, bruising my hips. “You keep clenching. You keep sucking me in. You’re so wet I can feel your slick on my thighs.”

“Because I love it,” I cried. “Because your c**k makes me wet just from the sound of your voice. I’m soaking your c**k, Daddy. I’m soaking your c**k and I want you to f**k me until it squirts out of me again. Please. Please don’t stop.”

“Say it,” he growled.

“Say what?”

“Say what you are.”

“I’m your slut,” I moaned. “I’m your little fucktoy. I’m your filthy, wet, c*m–soaked girl. I’m your best friend’s daughter’s best friend, bent over your bed and begging for your knot.”

He slammed in harder.

I choked on my scream.

My p***y fluttered like it couldn’t handle the stretch. His c**k was swelling. I could feel it. The knot. The pressure. The growing thickness of him locking inside me.

“Please, Daddy,” I sobbed. “Please knot me. Please stretch me open and lock me full. I want it. I need it. I want to feel your knot throb inside me. I want to be stuck. I want to feel you explode so deep it fills my womb.

His hand reached around and slapped my p***y.

I screamed.

Again.

My thighs trembled violently.

I was about to come.

When Good Onts dat Pan

“I’m gonna come,” I whimpered, barely able to form the words. “I’m gonna come all over your c**k. I’m gonna soak it. I’m gonna squirt. Please don’t stop. Please let me. Please”

“Do it,” he growled. “*****g do it. Make a mess. Soak me, you filthy little bitch.”

And then I exploded.

My orgasm ripped through me so hard I collapsed onto the bed, shaking, sobbing, screaming his name while my p***y clamped around his c**k and squeezed like it was trying to milk every drop of c’m from his balls.

And then.

He knotted me.

I felt it swell.

I felt it lock.

I felt it stretch me open so wide I screamed again.

And then he came.

It flooded me.

It filled me.

It spilled out around his knot and ran down my legs and soaked the sheets. I was sobbing. I was breathless. I was shaking so hard my body wouldn’t stop clenching.

His c**k was still twitching. Still pulsing. Still pumping load after load of thick, hot, claiming c*m into my already overstretched p***y.

I couldn’t move.

I didn’t want to.

I was dripping.

Destroyed.

Knotted.

And f*****g proud of it.

I was still on my hands and knees, still spread, still trembling with his c**k knotted deep inside me like a plug, like a claim, like a brand. I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to.

My body was still dripping from the orgasm he ripped out of me and my mind was spinning in circles because I couldn’t process anything except the way his c*m was still pouring into me like he was trying to breed me right here, right now, like my body was just a leaking container for everything he had inside him.

And then.

The knock.

No. The slam.

Against my f*****g door.

“Lyra!”

When Good Girls Get Ruin

The voice shrieked my name like a curse and my heart jumped straight into my throat.

Oh no.

No. No. No.

That wasn’t just any voice.

That was Tasha.

I froze.

Like actually froze.

My p***y clenched instinctively around Damon’s c**k, which was still rock–hard and knotted and buried so deep inside me I could barely breathe. I whimpered because I was too full to think and too wrecked to move and too scared to even look at the door.

Then she screamed again..

“b***h!”

My stomach dropped.

“You f*****g asshole!”

Her words cracked through the air like thunder and I swear I felt them hit my spine. I was still naked. Still knotted. Still–face–down in her father’s sheets while her father held my hips like he was still deciding whether to f**k me again or shut her up first.

“You’re getting f****d too?!”

Oh my God. No. No. She couldn’t know. She couldn’t hear. She couldn’t see me like this.

“And you were looking at me like a saint when you found out I f****d six men?!”

Her voice was shrill, furious, shaking. And mine? Mine was f*****g gone. I couldn’t speak. My mouth was open. My face was flushed. My brain was screaming run but my p***y was still throbbing with the memory of how hard Damon had just come inside me.

“You–your moans are disturbing me!” she shouted. “I can’t even cry in peace without hearing you getting railed through the f*****g wall like a b***h in heat!”

I buried my face in the sheets and sobbed.

Not from pain.

From shame.

Because I was a b***h in heat. I was still clenching. I was still leaking. I was still twitching around Damon’s knot and thinking about how it had felt when he slammed in deep and told me I was his. And the worst part? I liked that she could hear it. I liked that she knew.

Because I wanted her to know what it sounded like when her father made me come so hard I forgot who I

was.

“Keep f*****g quiet,” she snapped again, pounding the door one more time. “Because if I hear one more moan come out of your mouth, I swear to God I’m kicking this door open and dragging your naked, c*m–drenched ass down the hallway.”

O

When Good Girls Get Ruin

I was shaking.

Literally shaking.

Not from fear. From need.

Because hearing her yell like that only made it worse. Only made my p***y throb harder around Darnón’s knot. Only made the mess between my thighs thicker and hotter and wetter.

I was dripping again. Actually dripping. I could feel it. His c*m sliding down the backs of my legs and sticking to my skin like I had been claimed in the dirtiest, most humiliating way possible.

And then Damon leaned down.

He was still inside me.

Still locked.

Still hard.

He leaned over my back, his chest heavy and hot against my spine, his mouth so close to my ear I felt the vibration of every word he said next.

“Moan louder.”

My heart stopped.

“What?” I breathed, too stunned to speak.

“Let her hear you,” he whispered.

My stomach twisted.

“Let her know exactly who owns you.”

I whimpered again, but it wasn’t fear.

It was arousal.

My brain was screaming this is wrong but my body was soaked and needy and trembling like it wanted to be heard. Like I wanted her to know how f*****g good her father had just ruined me.

“You want to be a slut?” he growled. “Then be one. Be loud. Be proud. Show her what it sounds like when Daddy makes you come.

~f**k.

I froze for maybe a second. Maybe half

Then I moaned.

Loud.

Like embarrassingly loud.

Like the kind of moan that makes your toes curl and your face go hot because it doesn’t even sound like it’s coming from your throat – it sounds like it’s clawing out of your p***y.

“Oh God,” I whimpered, my whole body clenching. “Oh my God, Daddy, I can still feel it. Your c**k’s so deep I can feel it in my f*****g stomach.”

When Good Girls Get Rum

I didn’t even care if she heard anymore.

No, that was a lie.

I wanted her to hear.

I wanted her to hear what it sounded like when her father knotted me.