Breed Me, Daddy Alph Chapter 79

Chapter 79: Chapter 79

Lyra

I didn’t move at first.

I heard the door shut behind . 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

was bare. Every part of

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

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

cold.

"You don’t lie down."

I froze.

"Hands and knees, Lyra."

My mouth opened. I didn’t an 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 t the sheets. My knees followed.

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

I felt him behind .

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 slled 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

completely.

His hand was on . I could feel his thumb dragging down the cleft of my ass, spreading

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

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

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 scread.

Not loud. Not fake. Not pretty.

Real.

Raw.

He licked

like he had sothing to prove. Like his tongue was a punishnt and a threat and a claim all at once. He dragged it slow, firm, deep, straight through the ss between my thighs like he wanted to taste every lie I told and fuck it out of

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

open and didn’t stop. Like how it felt when his knot locked inside

and made

his and kept

full for hours.

I wanted that again. I wanted it harder. aner. Rougher. I wanted to forget my na. Forget hers. Forget the hallway and the sha 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 .

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

again.

He pulled back just enough to breathe. His fingers spread

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 .

"You’re such a dirty little thing," he said, voice rough with hunger. "You like this, don’t you. You like crawling for

with your ass in the air and my cum dripping out of you like a slut."