< The Price Of Secrets
The Price Of Secrets
~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,
