Breed Me, Daddy Alpha-Chapter 129

Lyra

I was running.

Like, really actually running. Not the cutesy kind of jog you do on a treadmill when you’re pretending to be fit.

Not a TikTok-worthy, slow-motion bounce with a ponytail swishing and butterflies fluttering around you. No.

I was running like my life depended on it. Like the man I just called Daddy told me to run or he was going to fuck me up against the kitchen counter until I forgot my name, my address, and every single vowel in the English alphabet.

And oh my God, the worst part?

I wanted to be caught.

Like, I was literally sprinting through the woods barefoot with twigs scratching my ankles and branches tugging at my hair, and all I could think about was his voice—Damon’s voice—in my head, dark and feral and so fucking hot it made my spine curl.

"Ten seconds, kitten."

Ten seconds to get away. Ten seconds before he stopped pretending to be civilized. Ten seconds before the big, dangerous, fucked-up Alpha I couldn’t stop dreaming about let his wolf out and came after me. And here I was, panting like I just ran a marathon, tripping over roots, soaked between my thighs, and talking to myself like a lunatic.

"This is such a bad idea," I muttered, practically hopping over a patch of rocks. "Who lets an Alpha count to ten and then runs into the woods like it’s foreplay? Oh wait. Me. I do. I’m that bitch. I’m the stupid horny Omega who thinks a murder chase is romantic."

Leaves whipped at my face. The cold wind licked up my bare legs, and my chest was burning from how hard I was breathing. But it wasn’t just exhaustion. No, this wasn’t normal cardio. This was heat. Pure, concentrated, panty-destroying heat crawling up my stomach and curling low in my belly like it was trying to bloom into something feral. Something wet. Something alive.

Because I could feel him.

Behind me.

Not close enough to see, but close enough to know.

And that’s when I realized something deeply disturbing. My wolf wasn’t scared. Not even a little. She was humming. Buzzing. Rolling under my skin like she was stretching for the first time in forever. She wanted this. She wanted him. She wanted to be seen. Touched. Claimed.

Which was absolutely insane because I was still technically recovering from the last time he touched me. You know. When he bit me during sex. Like bit me for real. With teeth and blood and a whole possessive snarl like I was some prize he’d won in a war.

And maybe I was.

Because Damon didn’t just sleep with me.

He chose me.

He made it very fucking clear—with every thrust, every bruise, every growl that vibrated against my throat—that I was his. His mate. His Omega. His obsession.

And now he wanted me to run so he could chase me down and remind me.

Fuck.

Fuck.

FUCK.

I nearly tripped over my own feet again, but I kept going, muttering under my breath like that would somehow keep me sane.

"Okay. Okay. You’re fine. Just a quick little feral forest jog with your psycho A. Naothing to panic about. You’re just running in the woods, leaking like a broken faucet, while a six-foot-five Alpha with fangs and no chill is somewhere behind you breathing heavy and deciding whether to fuck you against a tree or on the ground."

I turned sharply to the right, brushing past a branch that snagged my tank top, and I swear to the Moon Goddess I heard something behind me.

A growl.

Low.

Sharp.

Deadly.

Oh no.

Nope.

No thank you.

My legs pumped harder. My heart slammed into my ribs like it wanted out. And my cunt—oh my GOD, my fucking cunt—was pulsing like it knew what was coming.

Which, I guess, it did.

Because right then—right then—I felt him.

I didn’t even have to look.

The whole forest went silent. The air turned electric. And every hair on my body stood up like it had a death wish.

Damon was here.

Close.

So close I could feel the heat of his body stretching through the trees. His scent was thick in the air, all smoke and sin and something that made my stomach clench.

And then he moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

I barely had time to scream before his arms were around me, his body crashing into mine like a fucking freight train of muscle and heat and growling, snarling lust. My feet left the ground. My back hit bark. My breath flew out of my lungs in a gasp that turned into a moan halfway through because—holy hell—he was hard.

So fucking hard.

He pinned me to the tree like I weighed nothing, one hand gripping my thigh and hiking it up around his waist while the other cupped the back of my neck and tilted my head up so I had no choice but to look at him.

And what I saw?

I almost came.

Right then.

His eyes weren’t human anymore. They were glowing gold and black, and his pupils were wide and wild like he’d been starving and just found his first meal. His chest was rising and falling like he’d sprinted for miles, and there was a little trickle of sweat running down his throat that I actually wanted to lick.

"Damon," I breathed, and it wasn’t even a real word. It was a sound. A prayer. A full-body whimper that belonged in a porno.

"You ran," he growled, pressing his forehead to mine and dragging in a deep, shaky breath like he was trying to hold himself together. "You smelled like you wanted to be caught."

"I—" My voice cracked because I didn’t have one anymore. "I didn’t mean to. I mean, I meant to, but I also didn’t. You told me to run! What the hell was I supposed to do? Bake a cake?!"