Damon’s Hunger
~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 t**s 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 f**k me in front of the Moon Goddess herself. My mouth opened. My chest rose.
My n*****s–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 little. Just enough to pout.
And then I smirked right back.
“No,” I said sweetly, blinking up at him with the fakest innocence I could manage. “You can’t suck them. Not
after saying I overreact. That’s your punishment. You get to look, not touch.”
His eyes narrowed, but the corner of his mouth, twitched–like he liked the challenge.
“You sure about that, kitten?” he whispered, his voice suddenly dropping into that low, husky, dangerous tone that made my spine shiver and my thighs press together without permission.
“Because I think you’re bluffing. I think you want Daddy to pull your dress down and suck those sore, heavy t**s until you’re crying from how good it feels.”
My breath hitched again. Instantly.
He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, and my eyes fluttered like he’d just breathed into my
bloodstream.
“I think you want me to bite them,” he continued, his hand sliding around to the front of my h
made me whimper. “I think you want me to leave teeth marks. I think your little Omega body leaking for it.”
so slowly it
ready
“Shut up,” I whispered, but my voice wasn’t strong. It wasn’t sharp. It was barely even real. I was already shaking again, already breathless, already clinging to the fabric of my dress like it could protect me from the fact that yes, he was right, I was wet. I was aching. I was seconds away from begging.
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Damon’s Hunger
“I think you’re going to let me do it anyway,” he said, his voice thick and hungry now, his nose trailing down the side of my cheek. “Because you’re mine, kitten. And those perfect t**s? They’re Daddy’s.”
And then he went further.
Because of course he did.
He doesn’t stop when I’m trembling. He doesn’t stop when I’m trying to hold myself together. He waits for it. He feeds on it. And once he sees that little crack in my voice, that stutter in my breath, that squeeze of my thighs–he goes straight for the kill.
“You know what I think, kitten?” he whispered, and his mouth was right at my ear now. His breath sent a full–body tremble down my spine. “I think they’re already swollen because your body’s preparing. It knows.
Your t**s are getting ready for our pup.”
I gasped.
Not softly.
Not politely.
I gasped so hard my whole chest jerked. My hand flew to his wrist like I was going to stop him, like I was going to say no, stop, be serious, Damon please, but I didn’t say any of those things. Because the second he touched the curve of my breast, the second he gripped the weight of it and brushed his thumb over the
sensitive top–I forgot what words were.
“I think they’re sore because your body’s getting full,” he murmured. “You feel it, don’t you? That tightness?
That heat? That need?”
“Damon,” I breathed out, and it sounded like a plea, but I didn’t even know what I was asking for anymore.
“Let Daddy suck them,” he whispered, his lips brushing my jaw as his hand slid back to the neckline of my
dress. “Let me bite them. Let me worship them.”
“No,” I said, but it came out too soft. Too wet. Too broken to mean anything. “No. You can’t. Not after saying I
was overreacting–this is my punishment for you.”
He chuckled low in his chest, and the sound vibrated against me.
“Are you sure about that, kitten?” he asked, and his fingers didn’t stop. “Because your body’s saying something else.”
His hand dipped lower, grazing the side of my breast now, thumb tracing just beneath the fabric like he was
memorizing the way it fit around my n****e.
“You’re shaking,” he said, his voice dripping into something darker, something hungrier. “You’re blushing. You’re soaking through your panties, and I haven’t even pulled your cloth down yet. You’re going to tell me no while your t**s are begging to be sucked?”
“I’m not “I tried to say, but the words cracked apart before I could finish.
Because it wasn’t true.
I was shaking.
I was wet.
I was aching in places I didn’t even know had nerves.
<Damon’s Hunger
And I was trying. I was trying so hard to stay firm, to keep my hands planted against his chest instead of letting them slide up into his hair and yank his face down to my t**s where I really wanted it. But he kept
going.
“You want my tongue, don’t you?” he whispered, his hand finally, finally sliding into my dress to cup the fuff weight of one aching, swollen breast.
“You want me to drag it over your n****e. You want me to suck until you cry. Until your milk comes in. Until
this tight little body starts leaking for me.”
My knees buckled.
I whimpered–like actually whimpered–mouth open, throat tight, and every inch of my body screaming at me
to give in.
But I didn’t.
Not completely.
I shook my head, weakly. I clutched his wrist like I was going to push him away. I opened my mouth to say
something bratty and mean, something like you wish or earn it, but all that came out was this soft, wrecked
moan as his thumb flicked my n****e through the fabric.
He leaned in closer.
Mouth at my ear again.
“You can’t fight me, kitten,” he whispered, and my eyes fluttered shut. “Not when you’re this wet. Not when
your t**s are this ready. Not when your little Omega cunt is already pulsing like it knows I’m about to knot you
again.”
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 they were begging for his tongue. My n*****s 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 pretend.
My fingers shook as I clutched the front of his shirt, dragged him closer, and finally said it.
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< Damon’s Hunger
“Take off my clothes, Damon,” I whispered, and even though my voice was trembling, I meant every word.” Take them off. Please. I want you to suck them.”
His eyes locked on mine, and the second I saw the look there–dark, hungry, feral–I knew I’d just started something I wasn’t ready to finish.
But I didn’t stop.
I couldn’t.
My voice was already spilling again, frantic and messy and too loud, but I didn’t care anymore. I wanted him. I needed him.
“Suck them,” I said, breath hitching as I pressed my chest against his hands like I was offering myself on a silver f*****g platter. “Make it stop hurting. They feel so tight. So sore. I want your mouth. I want you to use your tongue. I want you to bite down and leave marks and make me cry. Please, Damon. Please.”
My thighs were shaking now. My dress felt too tight, too hot, like it was choking me. I didn’t want to be covered. I wanted to be bare. Open. I wanted to be used.
“Oh f**k,” I moaned, my body arching up into him. “Please, Daddy. I can’t take it anymore. My t**s need you. I need your mouth on them or I’m going to lose it.”
His breath punched out of him in a low, rough groan that made my walls flutter.
He moved quickly then, gripping my cloth strap, sliding it down my shoulder like he’d been waiting for this moment since the second he saw me. My n****e brushed the air and I gasped–the sensation so sharp and raw I almost cried from how good it already felt.
“Oh look at my babies”
His head dipped.
His mouth opened.
I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, already feeling that first wet pull of his tongue in my imagination.
But before his lips could touch me-
“Damon!”
The door burst open.
I flinched.
His hand froze on my dress.
My breath died in my throat.
I didn’t even have to look. I already knew. I recognized the voice like a trauma response.
I didn’t turn around immediately.
I couldn’t.
I was still shaking. Still leaking Still wide open and so close to coming undone in his hands, and now this b***h had the audacity to walk in uninvited.
My hands clenched.
Damon’s Hunger
My body tensed.
My jaw locked.
And I didn’t even think.
I just said what I was already feeling.
“This b***h,” I muttered under my breath, eyes still locked on Damon’s, chest heaving, my cloth half–off,
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