Breed Me, Daddy Alpha-Chapter 30.

"The car was boring anyway."

Tasha crossed her arms, her pout deepening into full-blown brat mode as she stared up at Damon like he was the villain of her movie.

Her eyes glinted with irritation, the gloss on her lips catching the light as she tilted her head just enough to make the halo of her curls bounce. She looked like a spoiled heiress in heat..and she was.

"You want me to show up to the biggest party of the summer in a Jeep, Daddy? What will people say?" She threw her hands up in dramatic exasperation. "I’ll look like the designated driver or some divorced mom trying to relive her glory days."

Damon didn’t budge.

Didn’t blink.

He was still standing shirtless in the middle of the living room, the soft amber of the whiskey in his hand catching the light, highlighting the sweat on his abs and the sharp lines carved into his inked chest.

His cock was still half-hard, outlined thick and heavy beneath his sweatpants, a silent, pulsing threat that hadn’t gone away since the moment he’d tasted me.

He looked at her like she was a mild inconvenience.

"I said take the Jeep."

"You have hundreds of cars, Daddy," she groaned. "Why do you care about that one?"

"Because you drive like a fucking lunatic."

Tasha gasped. "That’s so unfair! I only hit that statue because it came out of nowhere."

"It was bolted to the ground."

"It looked like it was going to move!"

He arched a brow. "It was a marble lion."

She stomped her heel once against the tile. "Ugh! Whatever. You’re impossible."

He didn’t answer.

Just took a slow sip of his drink and turned slightly toward the bar, ignoring her tantrum like he was used to it. Like it was just another storm that would pass.

But he didn’t look at me, and that silence between us was screaming. My thighs were still wet. My body still shaking. The wreckage of what almost happened still clung to every inch of me like perfume.

Tasha huffed again, snatched the Jeep keys off the console, and turned on her heel.

"Fine. I’ll take the stupid car. But if I get pulled over, I’m telling them you forced me."

Damon said nothing.

She stormed toward the door, then paused halfway, glancing back at me with narrowed eyes.

"You coming?"

I blinked, heart thundering.

My mouth opened before I could think. "I... I forgot something upstairs."

Tasha rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out. "Oh my God, bitch. Go grab it and hurry up. If you make me wait more than five minutes, I swear I’m leaving your ass behind."

She turned, heels clicking with every step as she marched to the garage like a glittering hurricane.

The door slammed.

Silence fell again.

Real silence.

No voices. No heels. No excuses.

Just me.

Just him.

And the tension still dripping from my thighs.

I didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

I stood there like prey that knew the predator was behind her.

I felt him watching me. Felt the burn of his gaze sliding back down my body. Felt his hunger pulsing louder than the echo of my heartbeat.

His glass clinked as he set it down on the bar. The sound echoed like a goddamn countdown.

One.

Two.

Three steps.

He was behind me again.

His chest touched my back.

His hand wrapped tight around my throat. Not choking. Not gentle either. Just there. Dominant. Warm. Firm. Like a collar I’d never asked for but couldn’t breathe without.

He spun me fast, the mesh dress fluttering around my thighs, what was left of it clinging to my damp skin. My ass hit the bar.

His chest pressed into mine. I felt the heat of him again..every rigid muscle, every twitch of his cock through his sweats, every drop of hunger that hadn’t been fed.

"You forgot something upstairs?"

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

He already knew I was lying.

He already knew the only thing I forgot was my fucking sanity.

And I could feel it in his smirk as his hand slid from my throat to my jaw. His thumb traced the corner of my lip, slow, almost lazy, like he was remembering the feel of my mouth wrapped around it.

Then it dipped into my mouth again.

Not deep.

Just enough to taste me.

To make me open.

I moaned around it like a goddamn slut.

His eyes darkened.

He leaned in close, mouth barely brushing mine. "You lie so sweetly," he whispered. "Like your pussy’s not still dripping down your thighs. Like your cunt didn’t beg for my cock a minute ago."

I whimpered as he dragged his thumb out of my mouth and slid it straight down.

Over my chin.

Between my tits.

Down my stomach.

Until he reached the hem of the dress—what was left of it.

He lifted it slow.

So slow.

And there it was again.

My bare, throbbing pussy.

Still leaking.

Still pink.

Still ruined from his tongue.

He didn’t touch it.

Didn’t even brush his fingers over it.

He just stared.

Like it belonged to him.

Like it was already tattooed with his fucking name.

"Open your legs," he murmured.

I did.

Barely.

My thighs shook.

My breath caught.

His mouth was at my ear again.

"If I told you to sit on the edge of this bar and keep your legs spread all night while your friend danced with boys and got drunk off cheap vodka," he whispered, "would you do it?"

I whimpered.

His palm smoothed up my thigh, stopped just shy of where I needed it.