Breed Me, Daddy Alpha-Chapter 25.

I curled tighter on the tile. Nails digging into my palm. Thighs sticky with need and shame and the ache of a girl who had just wrecked herself for a man who didn’t even fuck her.

I didn’t hear the door.

Didn’t hear the footsteps.

I just felt it.

That shift in the air. That tightening in my gut. Like something dark had returned to claim what it owned.

And it had.

"Lyra."

His voice slid down my spine like ice.

I jerked up too fast. My hand slipped in the mess I’d made and I caught myself with a gasp. My knees splayed wide. My back hit the cold tile. My body laid out like a sacrifice.

He stood in the doorway.

Still dressed from the meeting. Shirt black. Collar open. Sleeves rolled. Forearms taut with fury. Veins bulging. One hand on the doorframe. The other curled into a fist like he was holding back violence.

His eyes dropped.

He saw everything.

The open legs. The flushed skin. The sticky trail on my inner thigh. My fingers. Still slick. Still twitching. Still buried halfway in my cunt.

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

Just watched.

My heart seized.

My mouth opened.

But he spoke first.

"I told you," he said, stepping in.. "You’d think about it all day."

I didn’t breathe.

"I told you," he repeated, "you’d fucking hate it."

He shut the door.

Click.

That sound echoed louder than my heartbeat.

"And yet," he said, slow steps bringing him closer, "you crawled back in here like a dog. And got yourself off on my fucking floor."

I whimpered.

He stopped at my feet.

Towering over me.

"I didn’t even touch you," he said.

I couldn’t speak.

"And look at you," he sneered. "Soaking. Shaking. Spreading your slutty little cunt for your own fingers like you thought they’d ever compare to mine."

He crouched.

Slow.

Calculated.

Like he had all the time in the world to dismantle me.

His eyes were molten.

Burning with disgust and hunger and something far more dangerous.

"You think I didn’t smell it," he murmured. "You think I didn’t know you were in here. Pathetic. Wet. Fucking whining into the silence because your pussy missed me."

I gasped.

He dragged a finger along my slit.

Wet.

Slick.

Still leaking.

Still fluttering.

"Did you cum."

I shook my head. "N-no."

"Why not."

My voice cracked. "Didn’t feel like you."

His jaw clenched.

"You’re right."

His hand shot forward.

Slapped my pussy.

Loud.

Brutal.

I cried out. My back arched. My thighs jerked.

"Because your fingers are useless."

He slapped it again.

Harder.

I sobbed. My cunt clenched in midair.

"Your fingers," he growled, "aren’t thick enough. Long enough. Cruel enough. You don’t deserve to touch what belongs to me."

I tried to speak.

He grabbed my jaw.

Squeezed.

"Open."

I opened.

He shoved his wet fingers in my mouth.

"Suck."

I did.

I sucked.

Tasted everything. My own heat. His dried precum. The shame. The ruin. The ache of a girl who had humiliated herself without ever being touched.

He pulled them out.

Stood.

He unbuckled his belt.

My breath caught.

The sound alone did something to me. Something deep. Something ugly. Like the floor under me shifted and all that slick between my thighs turned molten.

I watched him unzip slowly.

No rush. No mercy.

And then he pulled it out.

I stared.

I blinked.

I forgot how to fucking breathe.

Oh my God.

Oh my fucking God.

His cock was...

Huge.

Not just big. Not just thick. Not just long.

Monstrous.

My mouth fell open.

It hung heavy in his hand. Thick veins running along the shaft like punishment. The skin flushed dark with blood. Smooth and swollen and terrifying. The head was fat, engorged, flushed almost purple and dripped a strand of precum that stretched and broke, landing hot on the tile between us.

I was frozen.

Shaking.

My thighs clenched and all I could think was—

That can’t go inside me.

That can’t fit.

That would tear me apart.

That would split me.

I was a virgin. Untouched. I’d never even had a finger all the way in without wincing. I was too tight. Too small.

And he was massive.

The length alone had to be at least nine, maybe ten inches. Long enough that my throat clenched just imagining it. Thick enough to make my cunt flutter in fear. Not just around. Wide. Mean. Brutal. Like it was made for pain. Like it wasn’t meant for comfort or slow sex or first times.

It was meant to ruin.

It was meant to hurt.

And I couldn’t look away.

My breath hitched. My clit throbbed. My pussy leaked like my body was confused—terrified and desperate and soaking all at once.

He gripped the base. Slowly stroked it once.

I whimpered.

I wanted to run.

I wanted to choke on it.

I wanted him to force it between my legs and say don’t fight it, take it, take it all, take what you were fucking made for.

I bit my lip and moaned.

He saw it.

He fucking saw everything.

My dilated pupils.

My gaping mouth.

The pure filth on my face as I stared at that cock like it was my executioner and I wanted to die choking.

"You ever seen one this big," he asked.

I shook my head slowly. Couldn’t stop trembling. "No."

"You ever had anything inside you."

"No."

"Not even a toy."

I swallowed. "I tried. Once. It hurt too much."

He grinned.

A slow, cruel thing.

And stepped closer.

"So what makes you think you can take this."

I looked up at him.

Felt tears prick my eyes.

"I can’t."

He didn’t blink.

"Then beg me to break you."