Breed Me, Daddy Alpha-Chapter 79

Lyra

I didn’t move at first.

I heard the door shut behind me. Click. Not a slam. Not a creak. Just that sharp, quiet click of finality. Like the sound a cell door makes when it locks you inside with everything you’re scared of and everything you want.

My chest rose.

Then fell.

Then rose again, way too fast.

I could feel the air against my skin..cool, sharp, unforgiving. Every inch of me was bare. Every part of me knew it. My ass was still stinging.

My thighs were slick. My pussy was pulsing like it hadn’t learned how to stop. And his voice was still in my ear, dragging down my spine, wrapping around my body like a second skin I couldn’t shed.

"Get. On. The bed."

I turned slowly.

He was already inside. Already closing the distance between us. Already stripping the last shred of space from the room with the weight of his body and his voice and his rage and his need. His eyes were still glowing. Still watching me like I was prey.

I backed up.

Step by step until the backs of my knees hit the edge of the mattress.

I didn’t dare speak.

Didn’t dare blink.

I climbed on the bed the way a girl climbs onto her own execution table. Slowly. Quietly. Too aware of every breath. Every heartbeat. Every drop sliding down the insides of my thighs.

I moved to lie down on my back.

"No."

His voice stopped me cold.

"You don’t lie down."

I froze.

"Hands and knees, Lyra."

My mouth opened. I didn’t mean for it to. "But—"

"I said hands and fucking knees."

My heart jumped so hard I swore it hit my throat. I turned. My palms met the sheets. My knees followed.

I was shaking already. Breathing too hard. Thinking too loud. The sheets were cool beneath me, but my skin was too hot. My thighs were parted. My ass was high. My shame was everywhere.

I felt him behind me.

I didn’t need to look.

I could feel the tension in the air shift. I could feel his gaze settle right where I didn’t want it to. Or maybe I did. Maybe that was the sickest part of all this. Maybe I wanted him to look. To see.

I was on my hands and knees.

Ass high. Thighs soaked. Face buried in his sheets that still smelled like him. My skin was on fire. My mouth was open. I could barely breathe. I could barely think.

And the only thing I could feel was my heartbeat slamming against the inside of my chest like it was trying to escape before he broke me completely.

His hand was on me. I could feel his thumb dragging down the cleft of my ass, spreading me just slightly, just enough for the air to hit where I was still open.

Still pulsing. Still dripping. And I swear to God, I felt another drop of his cum slide out of me and cling to my skin like it didn’t want to leave either.

I wanted to hide.

I wanted to run.

I wanted to fucking scream.

Because I was so wet I could feel it on my knees. I was so open I couldn’t even close my legs. And my mind wouldn’t shut up. Not for one second. Not even now.

I kept thinking about his daughter.

In the next room.

Crying.

Whimpering into herpillow while I was bent over the bed like a dog in heat begging her father to ruin me harder. I was disgusting. I was horrible. I was sick. And I loved every fucking second of it.

His breath hit the back of my thigh before his tongue did.

And I screamed.

Not loud. Not fake. Not pretty.

Real.

Raw.

He licked me like he had something to prove. Like his tongue was a punishment and a threat and a claim all at once. He dragged it slow, firm, deep, straight through the mess between my thighs like he wanted to taste every lie I told and fuck it out of me with his mouth.

My eyes rolled back.

My knees buckled.

And I was thinking the nastiest things.

Like how much I wanted to be filled again. Like how much I missed the way his cock split me open and didn’t stop. Like how it felt when his knot locked inside me and made me his and kept me full for hours.

I wanted that again. I wanted it harder. Meaner. Rougher. I wanted to forget my name. Forget hers. Forget the hallway and the shame and the fact that I was eighteen and he was my best friend’s dad and none of this was supposed to happen.

His tongue slipped inside me.

I gasped so hard I choked on it.

My hands clawed the bed. My face rubbed against the sheets. I could feel my own slick sticking to my thighs and the back of my calves and the curve of my stomach. I could hear myself moaning and I didn’t even care how pathetic it sounded.

I wanted more.

More of his tongue.

More of his hands.

More of the brutal, filthy things he whispered into my skin while I begged him to break me again.

He pulled back just enough to breathe. His fingers spread me wider. I could feel everything. My own arousal. His spit. The open ache of my pussy begging to be filled. The breeze against the raw sting of my ass. I was so wet I was leaking onto my sheets and I didn’t even try to stop it.

He groaned behind me.

"You’re such a dirty little thing," he said, voice rough with hunger. "You like this, don’t you. You like crawling for me with your ass in the air and my cum dripping out of you like a slut."