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~~Lyra~~
I couldn’t stop moaning.
“Daddy,” I moaned, breathless and desperate and shaking, “oh my God, daddy, f**k, please, please don’t stop..
My head slammed lightly against the wall when he rammed into me again, so hard and so deep that my thighs actually trembled around his hips.
I didn’t care.
I didn’t care about anything.
All I cared about was how full I felt, how good he made me feel, how badly I wanted him to keep going until I
couldn’t walk for a week.
“You feel that?” I gasped, voice cracking as my nails dragged down his back. “You feel how wet I am? I’ve been like this for days. I couldn’t even f*****g think without getting soaked.
Every time I saw a picture of you in my phone I almost started humping my f*****g pillow like a pathetic little girl, but I didn’t, I swear I didn’t, I waited for you like a good girl, like your good little fucktoy, like your personal
little cumdumpster..”
He growled when I said that word.
His fingers dug into my ass harder. His c**k hit even deeper. His teeth found my neck again, biting down until I gasped and moaned louder than I meant to.
My breasts kept bouncing with every movement, my n*****s so hard they ached, and I couldn’t stop clawing at him. My legs were shaking. My arms were shaking. My voice was a mess of moans and cries and high,
breathy gasps.
And through it all, I just kept saying his name.
“Damon–daddy–oh God–please, harder, I missed this, I missed you, I missed your c**k, please, please don’t stop, I need it–I need it so f*****g bad-”
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t think.
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And every single time he pulled out and slammed back in, I felt myself spiral a little more.
“Make me come,” I whispered against his throat. “Please, daddy, please make me come. I want to come on your c**k. I want to come while you’re still f*****g me against the wall like I’m your personal f*****g slut–like I’m just a hole for you to fill and ruin and leave dripping–please, please, I’m so close-”
And then he slammed into me.
Harder than before.
So hard I actually screamed.
My back slammed against the wall again. My legs nearly slipped from around his waist. My vision blurred.
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Who’s This?
My mouth opened but no sound came out. And then he growled something in my ear..something low and filthy and possessive that I couldn’t even process..and pulled out so fast my p***y clenched around nothing and I almost started crying.
But before I could say a single word..before I could beg or moan or even breathe..he moved.
Like fast.
Like I wasn’t even a person, just a toy he could bend and flip and use how he f*****g wanted.
He grabbed the back of my neck and dragged me from the wall, spun me around like a doll, and shoved me- not onto the floor, not onto the bed, not against the wall again–but onto him.
His back hit the floor, and I landed on top of him–but it wasn’t cowgirl.
No. Not even close.
Because the second I landed, he bent my legs backward, hooked my knees over his shoulders, and folded me in half–my back arched, my ass completely off the floor, my p***y spread wide and exposed with my ankles practically touching my ears. I was upside down, backwards, f****d–up and wide open with his c**k lining up to push in from above.
And I screamed.
Like full–body, unfiltered, holy–s**t–he’s–gonna–kill–me screamed.
Because I’d never felt anything like it in my life.
“Damon–what–what is this–oh my God, daddy–f**k, I can’t–this position–it’s–it’s so deep–I’ve never–f**k
My t**s bounced against my chest with every thrust. My throat kept catching on every moan. My p***y was so swollen and wet that the sounds–the f*****g sounds–were loud and messy and filthy as hell.
And I didn’t care.
“Daddy–f**k–f**k–oh my God–this position..I can feel it in my stomach–I swear I feel it in my f*****g ribs- I’m gonna come–f**k I’m gonna come so hard I’m gonna die..”
He grunted above me and slammed down again, and I saw stars. My body actually convulsed.
My legs trembled where they were locked over his shoulders.
My hands grabbed at nothing, fingers curling into the air like I could claw reality back into my palms.
And he didn’t stop.
He just f****d down into me, over and over, with this brutal rhythm that made me cry and moan and laugh like I was going insane.
My mouth wouldn’t close.
My eyes wouldn’t stay open.
And every single thrust made me feel like I was about to ascend and f*****g explode at the same time. “Daddy–please–I can’t–f**k I’m coming–I’m gonna come so hard–you’re going to break me..”
And then he stopped.
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Just for a second.
Just long enough for my brain to think I was going to get a break.
But I should’ve known better.
Because he didn’t stop to be kind.
He stopped to flip me.
PORE R
His hands gripped my thighs, strong and unforgiving, and in one smooth, brutal movement, he snatched me off the floor like I weighed nothing, like I wasn’t already soaking and trembling and seconds away from passing out. I barely had time to breathe before he twisted my body again–this time flipping me face down onto the cold marble, but he didn’t let go of my legs.
Oh my God.
Oh my f*****g God.
Because he bent my knees up behind me–like a frog, like a w***e–and sat on the back of my thighs, holding me completely pinned under his weight with my ass in the air, my face smashed to the floor, and my p***y exposed and open beneath him like it was made to be destroyed.
I let out a scream.
Not even a cute moan.
A real scream.
Because my ass was up, my back was arched in the filthiest f*****g position, and his c**k was already pushing back into me–from above again, but this time with gravity and pressure and his entire goddamn bodyweight holding me down like a helpless little fucktoy.
“Damon,” I gasped, voice muffled by the floor, “Daddy–please–what–what are you doing–oh my God–I can’t -I can’t move–I can’t even-”
“You don’t need to move,” he growled behind me, voice so deep and nasty it made my whole body convulse.” You just need to take it.”
And I did.
I took it.
I took everything.
Because the second he started thrusting into me in that position–knees pinned under his weight, ass up, chest down, p***y leaking all over the marble–I lost every single thought I’d ever had. He was grinding so deep into me, hitting spots I didn’t even know existed, pulling back just enough to make me ache before slamming in with this sick, brutal rhythm that made my jaw drop and my eyes roll back.
I was stuck.
Fully restrained under his hips. Legs bent and shaking. Arms stretched above my head. Face pressed to the floor like a dumb little ragdoll while he ruined me from behind like it was his f*****g job.
And my moans?
They were constant.
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“Oh my God–oh my God–f**k, daddy–please–please don’t stop–please don’t stop–oh my f*****g God–l
can feel you in my throat–this position–what the f**k–why does it feel so good–why does it feel this f*****g good-”
I was crying now.
Actually crying.
Tears dripping down my cheeks and onto the marble from how hard he was f*****g me. My cunt was so wet the sound of it echoed in the room–every slap of skin on skin.
“You wanted this?” he growled, slapping my ass so hard it echoed. Then take it, Lyra. Take every f*****g inch like the c*m–dumb slut you are.”
And I did.
I f*****g took it.
I screamed his name.
I begged like I’d never begged in my life.
I came so hard my body convulsed beneath him, my p***y squeezing around him like it never wanted to let go, and still–he didn’t stop.
Because Damon Thornvale wasn’t here to make love.
He was here to break me.
I didn’t know how long I laid there.
My body was still twitching.
My legs were numb. My throat was sore. My cunt felt like it had been torn apart and kissed back together all in the same hour. The marble was cold beneath me, but Damon’s skin was hot, stretched behind me, warm and solid as his chest pressed to my back and his hand slid slowly down the curve of my thigh.
For a second, we didn’t say anything.
There was just breathing. Heavy. Uneven. Mine fast and shaky, his slow and controlled like he hadn’t just f****d me into the f*****g stone.
Then I felt his lips graze my shoulder.
Lazy.
Possessive.
Warm.
“So,” he said, voice low, still soaked in that post–orgasm growl that made my insides clench all over again, what’ve you and Tasha been up to since I left?”
I blinked slowly, my breath catching a little as my brain tried to focus on anything besides the c*m still dripping down my thighs.
“Nothing much, really,” I said, voice hoarse, light, a little too casual for someone who just got wrecked
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face–down on the floor. “She’s been annoying. You know, typical Tasha shit.”
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I reached for the silk shirt he’d thrown on the chair earlier and tugged it over my head, dragging myself up to sit on shaky legs. He stayed on the floor behind me, lounging like he was watching art, eyes still burning into
the back of my neck.
I was about to say something else–some joke, something dumb and flirty–but then my eyes caught on
something by the window.
A photo.
Folded down. Tucked halfway under a stack of unopened mail.
I tilted my head.
“What’s that?”
I reached over, curiosity getting the better of me, fingers brushing the edge of the glossy frame as I pulled it
closer.
It was a picture.
Old. A little dusty.
Elegant.
A woman with high cheekbones, dark hair swept up in a way that screamed class and power, standing beside Damon in what looked like a black–and–white wedding photo.
My breath hitched slightly.
She was beautiful. Not soft. Not innocent. But elegant in a way that made my chest tighten.
I turned to him slowly, holding up the frame as my voice went quiet.
“Oh wow,” I said, blinking, my fingers tightening slightly around the edge. “Is this your wife?”
I licked my lips. My voice dropped lower.
“So tell me something, Damon.”
My fingers tapped the photo once.
Then again.
Then I looked him straight in the eyes and whispered:
“Am I just her replacement?”
Royalty Writes
#Vote# Hey there my amazing readers. I hope you are enjoying this story so far
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