The Penthouse
The Penthouse
~Lyra~
He was coming home. As in..here. As in this house. The same house where the music was still playing, where half the school was probably grinding in the living room..
He couldn’t see this.
He would kill Tasha. Not figuratively. Not emotionally. Like, literally. We’d both be dead. Buried six feet under a
f*****g rose garden with matching tombstones that said, “Here lies Lyra and Tasha. They tried Damon
Thornvale.”
I started pacing again, the panic fully kicking in.
Think, think, think, b***h.
He could not find out.
So I did what any emotionally unwell, freshly heartbroken, wildly overstimulated girl would do.
I lied.
“Nooo. The insect fumigants just left. Like just now. The house is fumigated and still smells like poison. It’s not safe to come in yet.”
I held my breath. Sent it.
He read it instantly.
And then his reply dropped like a bomb.
Ohh. So where are you?
Oh God. Oh f**k. My brain was on fire. My thoughts were a hamster on cocaine. I didn’t even blink before ! typed back:
About to follow Tasha to hang out at a friend’s place.
Boom. Sent.
There. That sounded casual. That sounded chill. That sounded like something a normal, mentally stable teenage girl would say. You know, if she hadn’t just committed social homicide in the backyard.
But no.
Damon Thornvale wasn’t done.
His message came so fast I barely had time to flinch.
Don’t go there.
That’s all it said at first.
I stared at the screen, heart thudding, brain melting, thighs already pressed tight like they knew what was coming.
And then the next message popped up.
1/8
The Penthouse
One.
By.
One.
Like he was doing it on purpose.
I don’t give a f**k whose house it is.
I don’t give a f**k who’s there.
You’re not going anywhere.
I want you to come to me.
Now,
I blinked, the air leaving my lungs in a slow, choking breath.
Another message.
I’m heading to my penthouse. I’ll send the location.
And then.
Come sit on daddy’s lap like a good girl.
I gasped.
I could feel the way my entire soul arched at those words. My n*****s hardened beneath my bra like they’d just heard the gates of heaven open, and my cunt – oh my God, my cunt – pulsed like it had a mind of its own. Like my body didn’t give a single f**k that I was still crying five minutes ago.
My fingers tightened around the phone. My jaw clenched. And before I could even process that, the next message came in.
I’ve f*****g missed you.
I want to feel your mouth on my c**k.
I want your lips swollen and your throat stretched until you forget your own name.
I want to f**k you so hard your little teenage legs forget how to walk.
I want to watch you cry with your cheeks full of spit and my c*m dripping out of your p***y like a ruined doll.
That’s what I need tonight.
I made a sound. A real, choked, needy sound. A whimper caught between a sob and a moan.
“Oh fuck.”
ugh
I was soaking. I could feel it – that hot, sinful wetness seeping into my panties like my cunt had given up on pretending to be innocent. My thighs pressed tighter. My legs twitched. My eyes fluttered shut.
–
And still more messages.
Come to me.
Come let daddy bend you over the counter and f**k the pain out of you.
2/8
The Penthouse
I want to hear you scream my name until you forget who the f**k Tasha even is.
You belong to me.
You hear me, baby?
Mine.
+ Parts
I let out a high, shaking breath, chest heaving, heart pounding, mouth open like I needed to be fed more filth just to stay conscious.
I whispered out loud to no one.
“Daddy…”
My hands were trembling.
My entire body was on fire.
–
He hadn’t even touched me he wasn’t even near me – and still, I was soaking through my f*****g underwear like a dumb little w***e who couldn’t think when he snapped his fingers.
I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.
I read the messages again.
Then again.
And I whispered, “Yes, yes, yes, yes…”
Because Damon Thornvale was the only man alive who could send a paragraph and make me want to get on all fours in traffic.
He was the only man who could make my cunt cry harder than my eyes ever did.
And after tonight?
After the betrayal, the heartbreak, the public humiliation?
I didn’t want soft.
I didn’t want gentle.
I wanted to drown in him.
I wanted him to make me forget every name except his.
I wanted him to make my throat sore and my body beg and my soul break.
I didn’t even think.
My thumb was shaking, my body already humming, my panties soaked like I’d been sweating sin between my thighs for hours – and I needed to hear him. I needed to hear his voice. I needed him in my ear, raw, filthy, live. My heart was racing. My fingers were slipping on the screen from how f*****g sweaty my palms were. I
a real mess
and none of it mattered because the only name in my head was his.
was a mess
I hit call.
It rang once.
Twice.
–
—
3/8
The Penthouse
He picked up.
His voice was already low, already thick, already lethal,
“You couldn’t wait, could you?”
I let out a whimper, biting my lip, breath already shaky. “Were you… were you saying the truth?”
He chuckled. Dark. Dangerous.
“You mean about bending you over and f*****g the pain out of you?”
My breath hitched.
“About f*****g your mouth till you can’t speak, Lyra? About filling your throat and your tight little p***y until all
you know is daddy?”
I moaned. Audibly.
Like a dumb little toy. Like a desperate, pathetic little slut who needed permission to keep breathing.
“Oh f**k…” I gasped.
“About missing me”
“You just had to call me, didn’t you?” he murmured, voice like silk soaked in gasoline. “Had to let me hear how soaked you are through the phone. You wanted me to hear you fall apart.”
“I… I needed to know if you meant it,” I whispered, thighs clenching so tight I thought I might bruise myself.
“Check your message,” he growled.
My hands were shaking as I pulled the phone away just long enough to swipe down.
New photo.
Oh my God.
My entire soul screamed.
It was a picture of his c**k.
Hard.
Huge.
Veins popping.
Thick, flushed, leaking.
And in the background?
My name.
Written on a little torn slip of paper.
Placed next to his c**k like a f*****g signature.
Lyra.
I gasped so hard I choked on my own breath.
He was hard for me.
A
<
4/8
The Penthouse
He’d taken the picture for me.
And he didn’t stop there.
Another text came in immediately after.
“I’m hard for you.”
“Now be fast.”
“Come suck it.”
“Don’t waste my f*****g time, Lyra.”
“Unless you want to be punished the second you walk through that door.”
I moaned again.
I didn’t even try to hold it back. It came out loud. Raw. Like it punched itself straight out of my stomach and
into the sky.
Because my cunt was throbbing.
My mouth was watering.
My whole body was buzzing like it needed to be used.
I lifted the phone back to my ear, heart pounding, cheeks flushed, breath fogging up the screen.
“D–daddy,” I whispered.
“I’m coming.”
“No,” he said, voice dropping. “You’re not coming. Yet. You don’t come until my c**k is down your throat and my fingers are in your hair and I’m f*****g your face like you were made for it. Now get. The f**k. Over here.”
“Yes, Daddy,” I whimpered.
And then I ran and took a cab to the location he sent to me.
