Breed Me, Daddy Alph Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Chapter 8.

Fuck. There was no point honestly.

There was no fucking point in even checking the ti again.

No point in grabbing my phone again or pretending I’d sleep. Sleep was a lie. A cruel fucking fantasy I kept telling myself while my body throbbed, my cunt ached, and my skin burned like soone had set fire to it from the inside.

My limbs wouldn’t stay still.

My legs twitched.

My feet kept flexing.

My fingers? Still tingling.

Every ti I closed my eyes, I didn’t see dreams.

I saw him.

Damon. Alpha. Daddy. The man whose voice had already broken

from the other side of a door. Who hadn’t even touched

and still left

shaking through three orgasms that barely scratched the itch he put in .

I shifted on the bed, and my thighs stuck together..wet, raw, used. The slick was cold now, and it made everything sharper. I could feel it drying on the inside of my legs, between my folds, everywhere.

I should’ve gotten up.

I should’ve cleaned up.

But I didn’t want to.

I wanted to feel it.

I wanted the ss to remind

of what I’d done.

Of how filthy I’d been.

Of how loud I’d moaned for a man who wasn’t even in the room.

I swallowed hard.

My throat was sore.

Had I been crying?

No.

Moaning.

Whimpering. Begging. Gasping.

Like so fucking heat-sick Oga in the middle of a rut.

And maybe I was.

Because nothing else explained this.

This need.

This deep, bone-level, spine-cracking ache that lived in my womb now. It wasn’t just arousal anymore. It was possession. Fever. It was a sickness with his na tattooed on it.

I pulled the pillow tighter around

and tried to breathe.

It didn’t work.

My nipples still hurt. My pussy still pulsed. The air against my skin still made

clench like I was seconds from breaking again.

I rolled onto my side.

The robe slipped down my hip.

I didn’t fix it.

My skin was slicked in sweat, hair clinging to my face and neck, and I felt feral. Desperate. Like I’d crawl across the floor if it ant soone would fill this fucking emptiness.

And not just soone.

Him.

"Do you know what this cock would do to you?"

Fuck.

My hips bucked just thinking about it. I squeezed my thighs together and whimpered when that pulse hit

again. That sharp, sensitive throb that started in my clit and echoed up through my belly like lightning.

I could touch myself again.

I could.

But I knew it wouldn’t help.

Nothing would. Not unless it was him. Not unless he was pressing my face into the mattress while he stretched

open, whispering cruel things while I cried from how good it hurt.

I moaned.

Out loud.

No sha.

No one was awake.

Everyone was asleep.

The guards. The maids. Tasha.

Even him. Probably.

Or maybe not.

Maybe he was sitting in the dark sowhere.

Half-naked. Cock hard. Drink in hand. Thinking about how wet I’d been when he had

against the wall. Thinking about how I whimpered when he said I couldn’t take him.

I could still hear it.

"You think you can take ? That sweet little virgin cunt of yours wouldn’t survive a fucking inch."

My breath hitched.

I rolled back onto my back and pressed my palm against my belly.

It was warm.

Still twitching.

Still hungry.

I let my hand slide lower, hovering just above my mound. I could feel the heat rising off . My folds were so swollen I didn’t even need to part them to know I was soaked again. Already.

I pulled my hand back.

No.

No, not again.

My body couldn’t take another orgasm. Not without breaking.

"I need a drink," I whispered. "I need to get the fuck out of my head. I need to waste myself until this goes away."

Even though I knew it wouldn’t.

Even if I drank the whole fucking bottle, the ache would still be there, whispering his na through my skin.

I sat up.

Slow. Shaky.

My legs were unsteady, and the sheets clung to my thighs from the ss I’d made. My robe was twisted around my waist. I didn’t bother adjusting it. What was the point?

It was already open.

My breasts were already out.

My nipples were already hard and begging to be sucked. Pinched. Bitten.

The cool air hit

the second I stood.

And fuck, I felt it.

Everywhere.

Between my legs.

Across my chest.

Down my spine.

I didn’t fix my robe.

Let it hang.

Let it show everything.

I padded barefoot to the door, body still aching, pussy still leaking, and I didn’t care.

Because sowhere in this house, there was whiskey.

And sowhere deeper in the dark, maybe... just maybe...

He was awake.

I stepped out into the hall, and the silence swallowed

whole. It felt like the walls were holding their breath.

The floor was cool under my feet, but my skin was too hot to care. Every step I took made the silk of my robe slide against my thighs, brushing my sensitive folds. My slick made it worse. The way it clung, wet and sticky, had

clenching with every brush of air.

I moved like a ghost.

Down the stairs.

Past the long windows and old family portraits that glared at

like they knew exactly where I was going. What I looked like. What I wanted.

I didn’t stop.