Breed Me Cursed Alpha (Lyra and Ronan) novel Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Lyra

Ronan is gone when I wake up, but his scent still clings to the room, in the very air I breathe.

I’m wet.

E55 vouchers,

My pussy is clenching, begging for his cock even though he promised he’d never touch me. Dear God’s, just the thought of his voice is making the heat worse.

I’m sprawled against the door like a sacrifice, thighs splayed wide, slick dripping in a shameless puddle beneath me. The fire has burned down to glowing coals, but I’m the one on fire (skin fevered, nipples drawn so tight they throb with every heartbeat).

I imagine Ronan in the room with me, seeing me like this, smelling me dripping just for him. I want to die of humiliation. I want to cover myself. I want the earth to open up and swallow me whole. But at the same time I want to scream his name until he comes running then I want to beg him to take me hard near the fireplace, flames illuminating his perfect skin and he thrust in and out of me.

1 drag one trembling hand up my belly and cup my breast, hard. My thumb flicks the peak and the bolt of pleasure shoots straight to my clit. I let out a desperate moan and do it again, meaner, rolling the aching bud between my fingers until my hips jerk off the floor, chasing friction that isn’t there.

I replay every detail of him naked, burned into memory. And gods, the cut of his ass – hard muscle built to drive a woman insane just watching him walk away.

Every brutal inch of his perfect body is burned into me: the thick, half–hard weight of his cock, flushed dark and heavy against his thigh, the fat crown already slick with a single bead of precome when my scent first slammed into him.

I want that cock splitting me open. I want it so deep I taste him in my throat.

I spread my legs wider, knees falling open until cool air kisses my soaked cunt. I’m swollen, dripping, clit so hard it peeks from its hood like it’s begging for attention. His attention. I give it.

Two fingers settle right on that greedy little knot and I circle, slow, filthy, the way I imagine his tongue would, One slow, deep stroke. My slick coats everything (thighs, lips, the seam of my ass), and every glide is wetter, louder, more obscene than the last.

I pinch my nipple harder, twist until the sting melts into liquid heat, and grind the heel of my hand against my clit in tight,

merciless circles.

“Ronan,” I moan, loud enough for the stones to remember. Loud enough for his sensitive wolf ears to hear. “Fuck, please-”

I’m so wet I can hear it, slick squelching under my fingers, dripping down to soak the rug. My hips roll shamelessly, fucking the air, fucking my own hand, pretending it’s the fat head of his cock nudging my entrance, stretching me open one devastating inch at a time.

I slap my clit once (sharp, perfect) and cry out as the shock turns into a throb that nearly tips me over. I do it again, harder, then soothe it with fast, fluttering strokes that make my thighs quake.

I want his mouth here. I want him to drink me down while I scream, want to smear my slick across his lips and watch him lick it off like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. I want to ride his face until he’s drowning in me, until he forgets every promise he ever made and shoves that gorgeous thick rod so deep I feel him for days.

My fingers fly now (no mercy, no rhythm, just raw, frantic need). I’m swollen so tight it almost hurts, every nerve screaming for release.

Tue, Feb 3

Chapter 8

I twist my nipple brutally, grind down on my clit, and come with a ragged wail that echoes off the walls.

“Oh Ronan… fuuuuck”

༥༩ ༣ 45

65 vouchers

The orgasm detonates, vicious and perfect. My cunt spasms on nothing, pulsing so hard fresh cum gushes out in hot, messy waves. My back arches clear off the floor, hips bucking wildly, thighs clamping around my hand as I ride it out, rubbing and rubbing until the pleasure edges into too much and I still can’t stop.

When it finally releases me, I collapse in a trembling heap, cheek pressed to the door, fingers still lazily circling my oversensitive clit because I’m not ready to let the feeling go.

I’m drenched. Marked. Wrecked.

And somewhere in this fortress, Ronan is breathing me in, hearing every filthy sound I just made, knowing exactly how wet his name makes me.

I smile against the wood, slow and wicked, and flick my clit one last time just to feel it jerk.

My thighs are still trembling, heat rolling low and steady, an ache that refuses to fade. I drag a shaky breath in and bite down on a smile that feels almost delirious.

I’m soaked – embarrassingly, undeniably wet – and he hasn’t even touched me.

Not yet.

That truth hits harder than anything else tonight.

This is pure, unfiltered want.

If he stood here now – tall and furious and holding himself back like restraint is the only thing keeping us alive – I wouldn’t have a single defense left. My body has already betrayed me. It doesn’t care that I’m inexperienced. It doesn’t care that he stepped away. It doesn’t care that he refuses to be what I’m begging for. It doesn’t care that he’s cursed. It really gives zero fucks that I might die the second he spills his seed inside me.

It wants him anyway.

And the humiliation of that burns deeper than any pleasure could.

He walked away last night.

I’m the one left shaking.

–

A laugh breaks in my chest breathless, cracked, self–mocking.

I shouldn’t want him.

I shouldn’t want anyone like this.

Especially a man who looked at me like touching me would destroy us both…

and still chose not to.

My heart beats faster, whispering cruel truths:

He may not want me at all.

And here I am humiliated by need alone.

What does that make me?

12:13 Tue, Feb 3

Chapter 8

Pathetic.

Obsessed.

Ruined by possibility.

He swore he’d never touch me.

And I’m going to make that promise the first one he breaks.