Breed Me, Daddy Alph Chapter 155

Chapter 155: Chapter 155

Lyra

He leaned in close, way too close, and my back hit the locker behind

with a soft thud. His eyes dragged down my body, slow and smug and invasive, until they landed right where they shouldn’t—just beneath the hem of my skirt.

"—you’re still walking around like a brat who doesn’t know she needs to be leashed."

I gasped so loud I swore the whole hallway heard , but nobody was looking. Nobody cared. The students kept walking, chattering, slamming lockers, gossiping about assignnts and lunch, and here I was, being verbally assaulted by a hot demon in uniform.

"Get away from ," I hissed, but it ca out more breathless than threatening, and his grin told

he knew it.

"Fuck, you got thicker," he murmured, his voice so casual, so full of hunger, like he was talking about a al he couldn’t wait to eat. "That Alpha’s been feeding you right, huh? Pumping you full of cum and stuffing you with breakfast in bed?"

His hand moved before I could stop it.

Down.

Over the curve of my hip. Across the outer edge of my thigh.

And then lower.

"Don’t touch !" I snapped, shoving his chest, but his other arm snaked around my waist like a fucking trap, and then we were moving—he dragged , dragged , across the hallway and into the shadowy corner between the janitor’s closet and the vending machine.

It was half-hidden. Dark. Forgotten. Like it was made for secrets and sin. And oh God, the second we stopped moving, his eyes dropped to my thighs again.

"You shouldn’t wear skirts this short if you don’t want people staring," he whispered, brushing his knuckles along my bare thigh like it was nothing. Like he had the right. "But maybe you do.

My breath ca out in a sharp, panicked burst. I tried to speak, but it just turned into a squeak. A full-on Oga squeak, and I hated myself for it.

His hand moved higher.

"Let

go," I said through clenched teeth, trying to shove him again, but he was too strong, and my stupid body wasn’t cooperating. My thighs were shaking. My knees were weak. And worst of all—my core was getting wet. Wet. In the middle of school. In a hallway. With this boy touching

like he had no fucking sha.

I opened my mouth to yell—really yell—but his hand slapped over my mouth so fast I didn’t even see it coming.

"Shhh," he murmured, voice dark now. Dangerous. But not loud. Not panicked. Like he’d done this before. Like this was just routine. "You don’t want Daddy hearing, do you? You don’t want him storming in here, sniffing the air, and finding out so little punk made his Oga wet in the middle of the hallway."

I froze.

Because holy shit.

He was right.

Damon would sll it. If he ca near this corridor, if he caught even a whiff of my heat or arousal or distress, he’d co charging in like a fucking wolf possessed. And it wouldn’t be a warning. It wouldn’t be a threat. It would be blood and broken bones and a whole-ass murder scene.

I shook my head against his palm, and his smirk widened.

"Good girl," he purred, his fingers still tracing that line down my thigh, getting closer and closer to the edge of my panties, and I couldn’t believe this was happening. I couldn’t believe I was letting this happen. My mind was screaming, begging

to move, to run, to bite him or knee him or do sothing. But I wasn’t strong enough for him.

"You sll so fucking good," he whispered, bending down now, nose brushing the side of my neck. "I could taste you right now. I could bend you over this vending machine, pull your panties to the side, and fuck you so good you’d forget how to spell your na."

A whimper slipped out against his palm.

Goddamn it.

I whimpered.

.

"You want

to stop?" he asked softly, fingers now dancing just under the edge of my skirt, barely touching the inside of my thigh.

I nodded fast, but my hips betrayed

and tilted slightly forward.

"Liar," he whispered, pressing a kiss—an actual kiss—to the side of my jaw. "You like being cornered. You like being hunted. You like knowing soone’s watching you, needing you, wanting to ruin every inch of you.

"Shut the fuck up!" I hissed, heart racing, face burning. "Don’t you ever talk to

like that again. You don’t know . You don’t own . I don’t care what you think you sll or how much fucking Alpha cock you think I’ve had—I am not yours, you sick fucking freak."

He froze.

For just a second.

Like I’d short-circuited him. Like the slap hadn’t just bruised his face—it had bruised his fucking ego.

Then slowly, slowly, he turned back toward .

His cheek was red. His jaw was flexing. And his eyes—those cocky, infuriating eyes—were no longer amused. They were dark now. Shadowed.

"Oh, baby," he said low, voice like gravel dragged through a storm. "You are gonna regret that."

My stomach dropped.

My breath caught.

Because the way he said it?

It wasn’t a threat.

It was a promise.

He stepped forward, just one step, and I backed up imdiately—but there was nowhere left to go. My spine hit the wall again, and for the first ti since this whole stupid morning started, I actually felt scared.

Not just turned on.

Not just annoyed.

Not just horny.

But scared.

Because he was smiling again.

Not that cute little smirk from earlier. Not the arrogant "I want to fuck you in front of the vending machine" smile.

No.

This smile was darker. Sharper.