Breed Me, Daddy Alpha-Chapter 11.

Because if I opened my mouth, I was scared I’d say his name.

She stood up, her towel clinging to her skin, her mouth curled in that same smug, knowing smirk.

"Good night," she muttered as she walked away, the Beta trailing behind her like a beast who’d just marked his territory.

And me?

I stayed there.

On the floor.

Legs still open.

Skin still tingling.

Throat still sore from every moan I hadn’t even realized I’d let out.

I pulled my robe over me slowly. My hands were trembling. My body was still dripping.

But it wasn’t over.

Not even close.

Because I could feel him.

Somewhere in the house.

Like he’d heard the shift in my body.

Like he’d tasted the shame on my skin.

Like he knew.

And maybe.

Just maybe.

He was coming.

For me.

I sat down there for a while. I didn’t care anymore.

I just needed to drink.

I needed to shut my brain the fuck off.

I yanked open the fridge and grabbed the first bottle as I unscrewed the cap with shaking fingers.

Raised it to my lips.

And drank.

Hard.

The first gulp burned. It scorched its way down my throat and punched my lungs from the inside out. I coughed, wiped my mouth, and drank again. This time longer.

I didn’t stop until my stomach clenched.

Until the alcohol settled like liquid iron in my gut.

Until the trembling dulled.

Just a little.

I braced my hand on the countertop, the marble cold under my palm. I could still hear her moaning in my head. Still hear the slap of skin, the wet sound of her pussy taking him, the Beta’s low grunts, the sound of flesh claiming flesh while I stood there like a shadow with soaked thighs and a starving womb.

I drank again.

Harder.

"Just sleep," I whispered to myself, voice shaking. "Just fucking sleep, Lyra. He doesn’t want you. You’re imagining everything. Just get drunk enough to forget."

But I didn’t forget.

My cunt still pulsed.

My mouth still ached.

His voice still lived in my head like a devil.

And then.

"I thought I told you to stay away from me."

My whole body froze.

The bottle slipped from my lips.

My heart stopped.

No.

No.

No no no no no.

My stomach flipped, and every drop of alcohol I’d swallowed turned to fire and panic in my bloodstream.

He was behind me.

The man I’d just tried to drown in whiskey.

The man who made my body betray me with nothing but a tone.

I didn’t turn around.

I couldn’t.

My breath hitched. My robe was still gaping open at the chest, barely hanging on by the belt I’d never tied. I could feel the sweat cooling on my back. The air around me changed. Guess what? It thickened instead.

My skin burned.

He took a step closer.

I could hear the soft fall of his bare feet on the tile. I wanted to sink through the floor but guess what? It wasn’t possible.

"I said," he repeated, "I thought I told you to stay the fuck away from me and anywhere I am."

My throat closed up.

My hands clutched the edge of the counter like it could save me.

But it couldn’t.

Nothing could.

Not when he was here.

Not when he was close.

"Hmm... yeah, you did," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I just came down to get a drink, that’s all."

But my voice cracked.

I fucking gulped.

Because I could feel him moving toward me slowly.

The kind of slow that makes your breath catch and your knees twitch.

I turned around...and he was there.

Closer than I thought.

His chest bare.

His body all hard lines and ink and power.

And his eyes?

They were fucking fire.

They didn’t look at my face. Not at first.

They dropped.

To my chest.

To where my robe had fallen open, to my exposed cleavages.

His hand lifted.

And I swear my heart stopped.

I held still. Completely still.

Like if I moved, the moment would break.

Like if I breathed too loud, he’d disappear.

His fingers brushed my collarbone. Just lightly. Just enough to feel like a matchstick dragging across my skin.

Then he went lower.

His whole hand flattened and slowly dragged down the center of my chest. My pulse skipped. My pussy clenched. My throat went dry.

He stopped just above my tits.

Right in the center.

Right where the fabric dipped and the skin was still warm from where I’d imagined him biting me there earlier.

Fuck.

Please squeeze it.

Please touch me.

Please make me cry from how good it feels.

But he didn’t.

He just let his hand hover there, his fingers twitching like he wanted to. Like he was thinking about it.

And then his voice dropped.

Rough. Dark. Filthy.

"You’ve grown, Lyra."

I swear I almost came just from that.

He said my name like a fucking price. Like it tasted wrong on his tongue but he still wanted to say it again and again and again.

"You’ve fucking grown," he muttered, almost to himself. "Look at the size of your breasts now. You’re not a little girl anymore."

My breath hitched.

My nipples peaked instantly, hard and aching, pressing against the silk like they wanted him to see. Like they needed his fucking mouth.

"Oh fuck," he said under his breath. "This is turning me on so fucking good."

I swallowed again.