Breed me Raw, Alpha

I never intended to fuck my best friend's alpha dad.

But I'd be a damn liar if I said I hadn't fantasized about it.

It started as a sick little whisper in the back of my mind the first time Chloe dragged me home freshman year of college. I was eighteen, untouched, raised in a strict beta household that pretended Omega verse dynamics were something that happened to other people. Chloe's house was different. It reeked of money, power, and something darker, something primal that made my thighs clench the second I stepped over the threshold.

And then there was him.

Alpha Damian Voss.

Six-foot-six of pure sin, broad shoulders that blocked out the sun, black hair threaded with silver at the temples, and eyes the color of winter storms. He didn't speak much. He didn't need to.

One look from those eyes and every omega instinct I'd spent years suppressing screamed kneel.

He'd nodded at me that first day, voice like gravel dragged over silk. "Selena."

That was it. Just my name.

But the way he said it, slow, deliberate, tasting every syllable, had me soaked through my cotton panties before I even made it upstairs.

I told myself it was a stupid crush. He was Chloe's dad. Widowed. Thirty years older than me. Forbidden on every level.

I buried the fantasies deep, dated nice beta boys who kissed like they were afraid of breaking me, and pretended I didn't wake up some nights humping my pillow to the memory of Alpha Voss's scent, dark, spiced cedar and smoke, wrapping around my throat like a collar.

Then Chloe begged me to spend the summer after graduation at the estate before we both started grad school.

"Just us girls," she said. "Dad's barely home anyway. He's always at the pack compound."

I should have said no.

Instead I packed sundresses that were far too short and lied to myself that I was coming for the pool, the beach, the freedom.

I came for him.

The first week was torture. He was home more than Chloe promised. I'd turn a corner and there he'd be, shirtless in the gym, sweat carving rivers down carved abs, the thick outline of his cock straining against grey sweatpants. I'd freeze like prey. He'd inhale, slow and deep, nostrils flaring, and I swear his eyes went black watching the way my nipples pebbled under thin cotton.

He never touched me.

Not yet.

But he started finding reasons to be near me.

Brushing past me in the hallway, his hand ghosting over the small of my back.

Leaning over me at the kitchen island to reach something, chest pressed to my back, the ridge of his half-hard cock nudging the cleft of my ass for one burning second before he moved away like nothing happened.

I was losing my mind.

I started wearing less. Tiny sleep shorts that barely covered my ass. Tank tops with no bra. I told myself it was the heat.

Lie.

I wanted him to snap.

And on the eighth night, he did.

Chloe had passed out early after too many margaritas by the pool. I couldn't sleep. My skin felt too tight, my body aching with a need I didn't understand until I admitted the truth: I was sliding into heat. My very first real one. Suppressants had kept them mild before, but being this close to a prime alpha for days had shattered every chemical barrier I'd built.

I padded downstairs for water, barefoot, wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt that smelled faintly of him, I'd stolen it from the laundry two days ago and hadn't washed it.

The kitchen was dark except for the moonlight spilling through the windows.

And he was there.

Leaning against the counter, shirtless, black sweatpants slung low on his hips, a tumbler of whiskey dangling from his fingers. His eyes locked on me the second I stepped into the room.

The air thickened, turned heavy, sweet with my slick and his answering growl.

"Little girl," he rumbled, voice so low I felt it between my legs. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?"

I should have run.

Instead I whispered, "I think I'm in heat."

The glass shattered in his hand.

One second he was across the room, the next his hand was fisted in my hair, yanking my head back so hard my scalp burned. His mouth crashed down on mine, brutal, punishing, teeth splitting my lip until I tasted blood. I whimpered into him, clung to his shoulders, tried to climb his body right there.

He spun me, slammed me belly-first onto the cold marble island, kicked my legs apart.

"You've been dripping for me all week," he snarled against my ear, grinding his cock against my ass. "Parading this sweet little omega cunt around my house like you don't know what it does to an alpha."

"I didn't..." I started, but he shoved three thick fingers into my mouth, gagging me.

"Don't lie to me, Selena. You want this. You've been begging for it with every breath."

He ripped my panties down my thighs, the fabric tearing like paper. Cool air hit my soaked folds and I cried out around his fingers as he spread me open with his thumbs.

"Fuck. Look at you. Virgin little hole clenching around nothing, dripping down your thighs for your best friend's daddy."

Shame burned through me, hot and vicious, but it only made me wetter.

He dragged the fat head of his cock through my slick, coating himself, teasing my entrance until I was sobbing, trying to push back, to take him inside.

"Beg," he growled.

"Please," I choked out the second he pulled his fingers from my mouth. "Please, Alpha, I need..."

"Need what?"

"Your cock. Need you to fuck me, breed me, please, I can't..."

He thrust in to the hilt in one brutal stroke.

I screamed. The stretch burned, white-hot, perfect. He was too big, splitting me open, but my body took him like I was made for it. He didn't give me time to adjust, just pulled back and slammed in again, over and over, the island creaking beneath us.

"Mine," he snarled, teeth scraping the back of my neck, right where a claiming bite would go. "This cunt is mine. Your heat is mine. Every drop of slick, every scream, every fucking orgasm belongs to me now."

I came with a wail, clenching around him so hard my vision went black at the edges. He didn't stop. He fucked me through it, harder, deeper, until I was limp and trembling and still begging for more.

His knot started to swell.

I felt it catch on every thrust, growing thicker, locking us together. Panic and ecstasy twisted inside me.

"Damian..." I gasped.

"Alpha," he corrected, voice feral. "Say it."

"Alpha, please...."

"Please what, baby?"

"Breed me," I sobbed. "Please breed me, Alpha, I need your knot, need your cum..."

He roared, hips snapping forward one last time, and his knot locked us together as he started to come. Pulse after pulse of heat flooded me, so deep I swore I felt it in my womb. His teeth sank into the back of my neck, not a full claim, not yet, but enough to mark, enough to scar.

I came again, harder than the first time, tears streaming down my face, body shaking as he held me pinned and filled me until I overflowed, his cum and my slick running down my thighs in filthy rivulets.

When it was over he didn't pull out. He stayed buried inside me, arms banded around my waist, lips brushing the bite mark he'd left.

"Tomorrow," he murmured against my skin, "you're going to sit at my breakfast table with my cum still leaking out of you and smile at my daughter like nothing happened."

I whimpered.

He chuckled, dark and possessive.

"And every night after that, little girl, you'll crawl into Daddy's bed and spread these legs until I've put my baby in you."

I should have been horrified.

Instead I clenched around his knot and moaned.

THIS IS NOT A STORY.

THIS IS A WARNING.

YOU'RE ABOUT TO ENTER A WORLD WHERE GIRLS GET ON THEIR KNEES AND BEG TO BE USED LIKE FILTHY, DESPERATE SLUTS.

IF YOU DON'T WANT TO CUM, PUT THIS BOOK DOWN, BECAUSE BY THE TIME DAMIAN'S DONE WITH ME... YOU'LL BE SOAKED TOO.

Good Girls Don't Sit at the Table With Alpha Cum Drying on Their Thighs

I woke up aching, ruined, and alone.

Sunlight sliced through the guest room blinds and painted gold stripes across the sheets that still smelled like him. My thighs were sticky. My pussy felt swollen and used, fluttering around nothing every time I shifted. The bite on the back of my neck throbbed in time with my heartbeat, a brand hidden under my hair that screamed mine, mine, mine with every pulse.

He'd carried me here at four in the morning, silent as a shadow. I'd been half-conscious, limp in his arms, his knot finally deflated enough for him to pull out. He'd cleaned me with a warm cloth, slow, possessive strokes between my legs that made me whimper even while I drifted. Then he'd tucked me in, kissed the bite he left, and whispered against my skin, Sleep, little girl. Daddy's not done with you yet.

I wanted to die. I wanted to do it again immediately.

I rolled out of bed and nearly collapsed. My legs shook like I'd run a marathon. The mirror showed a stranger: lips swollen, throat dotted with bruises shaped like his mouth, eyes glassy and wild. Between my thighs, a slow trickle of him still leaked out, pearlescent and filthy. I smelled like sex and alpha and utter surrender.

I locked the bathroom door and turned the shower scalding. I had to get him off me. Out of me. I scrubbed until my skin turned pink, but every touch sparked memory. His hand fisting my hair. His teeth on my neck. The brutal stretch when he forced his knot inside and made me take every drop.

My fingers slipped between my legs to rinse him away and ended up stroking instead. I sank to my knees on the tile, water pounding my back, and fucked myself with two fingers while I remembered the way he growled mine against my ear. I came shamefully fast, biting my own arm to stay quiet, his name a broken prayer on my tongue.

I hated myself. I hated how much I didn't hate it.

Dressing was its own torture. The bite was too high to hide with a normal neckline. I pulled on a thin white high-neck tank and a loose cream cardigan even though it was already eighty-five degrees outside. Panties were out of the question; he'd ripped mine to shreds and pocketed the scraps with a smirk that promised he'd sniff them later. Just the thought made fresh slick coat my thighs.

I looked innocent. I felt like a walking crime scene.

Downstairs smelled like coffee and bacon and danger. Chloe was slumped at the breakfast island, sunglasses on, hair in a messy bun, nursing a hangover.

"Morning, babe," she croaked. "I swear those margaritas were ninety percent tequila."

I managed a weak laugh and slid onto the stool across from her, thighs pressed tight together so nothing dripped onto the leather seat.

Then he walked in.

Damian Voss in a crisp white button-down, sleeves rolled to the elbow, top two buttons undone just enough to show the dark hair on his chest. Grey slacks hugged his thick thighs. He looked like he'd slept ten hours and ruined zero virgin omegas before breakfast.

He set a plate in front of me: scrambled eggs, bacon, toast cut into perfect triangles. His fingers brushed mine as he let go.

"Eat your breakfast, sweetheart," he said, voice warm and fatherly. "You need the protein after last night."

Chloe snorted. "Tell me about it. I'm never drinking again."

I nearly choked on air. Heat flooded my face. Under the table, his bare foot slid up my calf, slow and deliberate, forcing my knees apart. His eyes never left mine while he sipped his coffee, black and steaming.

I was going to combust.

Chloe kept talking about some pool party next weekend, oblivious. Damian's foot climbed higher, the arch pressing against my inner thigh, nudging until I had to spread wider or make a scene.

Cool air kissed my bare pussy. I gripped my fork so hard the metal bent.

He reached into his pocket.

A low buzz started inside me.

I jolted so hard my orange juice tipped, spilling across the marble.

"Shit, sorry..." I yelped, scrambling for napkins.

The vibration was steady, maddening, right against my clit. He'd slipped something inside me while I was half-conscious in the early hours. I remembered now: the cold press of silicone, his dark chuckle when I'd whimpered.

Chloe waved me off. "Relax, clumsy. Dad doesn't care."

Damian's lips curved. "Good girls clean up their messes, Selena."

He said it soft, conversational, but the words punched straight to my core. I mopped the juice with shaking hands while the toy pulsed inside me, slow and cruel.

Chloe's phone rang. She groaned and answered, sliding off the stool. "Hey, Aunt Liv... yeah, I'm alive, barely."

The second her footsteps faded toward the living room, Damian clicked the remote again.

The buzz went vicious.

He was on me before I could breathe, crowding me back against the fridge, one hand over my mouth, the other yanking my cardigan open. Buttons pinged across the tile.

"Come for me," he growled against my ear. "Right here with my daughter twenty feet away. Quiet like a good little slut."

I shattered instantly, knees buckling. He swallowed my scream with a filthy kiss, tongue fucking my mouth the way his cock had ruined my pussy hours ago. My nails clawed at his shoulders.

Slick gushed down my thighs.

He pulled back just enough to lick his lips, eyes black with victory.

Then he straightened my cardigan, smoothed my hair, and walked away like nothing happened.

Chloe came back thirty seconds later.

"Dude, you okay?" she asked, frowning. "You're flushed as hell and shaking."

I opened my mouth and nothing came out.

Damian answered for me, calm and smooth. "She's just not used to the summer heat yet."

He refilled my orange juice, fingers brushing mine again, and I felt the toy click off. Sweet relief and aching emptiness at the same time.

Chloe grabbed her beach bag. "Come on, pool time. You need to cool off."

I stood on wobbly legs. Damian caught my wrist at the patio door, thumb stroking the racing pulse there.

He slipped the small black remote into my cardigan pocket, closing my fingers around it.

"Two o'clock," he murmured, so low only I could hear. "My office. Wear the red bikini. Nothing else. If you're late, I'll bend you over my desk, spank you raw, and leave the window open so the groundskeepers can watch you cry and beg."

Then louder, for Chloe's benefit: "Have fun, girls."

Chloe tugged me outside into the blinding sun. I followed like a puppet with cut strings.

The toy was silent now, but I could still feel it, nestled deep, waiting for his next command.

I wasn't just fucked.

I was owned.

And the worst part? I was already counting the hours until two o'clock so I could crawl to him again.

Daddy's Office, Two O'Clock Sharp

The pool water had done nothing to cool the ache between my legs.

Chloe was sprawled on the next lounger, eyes closed, music blasting through her Air Pods, completely unaware that every few minutes her father was torturing me from afar.

Buzz.

A slow, cruel pulse deep inside.

Buzz-buzz.

Two sharp hits right against my clit.

I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, thighs clenched so tight the plastic straps of the lounger creaked. At 1:47 the egg went full throttle for ten merciless seconds. I came silently, hips jerking, sunglasses hiding the way my eyes rolled back, slick pouring out of me so fast it soaked the towel beneath my ass. Chloe never even opened her eyes.

I waited until 1:55 exactly, then slipped inside.

The house was quiet, cool, the marble floor cold against my bare feet. I ducked into the pool-house bathroom, peeled off my wet one-piece, and tied on the red bikini he'd left folded on the counter this morning. Two tiny triangles and strings. Already drenched before I finished the bows.

The hallway to his office felt a mile long. Every step shifted the egg inside me. My nipples were so hard they ached against the thin fabric. I could smell myself, sweet, desperate omega in heat, and I knew he'd smell it the second I crossed the threshold.

The door was cracked open.

He was behind the desk, tie loosened, sleeves rolled high, forearms corded and inked. The blinds were drawn. The room smelled like leather, cedar, and the dark promise of ruin.

He didn't speak. Just crooked one finger.

I dropped to my knees and crawled.

The Persian rug burned my skin, but I didn't care. I crawled until my cheek rested against his thigh, hands trembling in my lap. He looked down at me like a king surveying new territory.

"Good girl," he murmured, voice velvet and gravel. "Right on time."

His fingers untied the bikini top with agonizing slowness, letting it fall. Cool air hit my breasts; he hummed approval at every bruise blooming across my skin. He turned my head gently, tongue tracing the bite on the back of my neck like he was tasting his own signature.

Then he reached between my legs, hooked the string of the bikini bottoms aside, and drew the egg out inch by inch. I watched, hypnotized, as he brought the glistening toy to his mouth and licked it clean, eyes locked on mine.

"Who does this pussy belong to, Selena?"

I swallowed. "You."

His hand cracked across my clit, sharp, perfect pain. I cried out.

"Wrong answer, baby. Try again."

Tears welled instantly. My voice cracked on the word I'd never said out loud. "It belongs to... Daddy."

The smile that spread across his face was the most terrifying, beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

He lifted me like I weighed nothing, bent me over the desk, papers scattering. My cheek pressed to contracts worth millions while he tied my wrists behind my back with his silk tie.

"Ten minutes late over the last two years," he said conversationally. "Ten for every time you made Daddy wait."

The first spank stole my breath. By the fifth I was sobbing, by the tenth I was begging, voice raw.

"Thank you, Daddy," I gasped after each one, exactly like he ordered.

He dropped to his knees behind me and ate me like a starving man, tongue fucking deep, sucking my clit until I tried to crawl away from the intensity. Every time I moved an inch, his hands dragged me back, spread me wider, feasted harder. I came twice on his mouth, screaming into the desk blotter.

Then he stood.

The blunt head of his cock nudged my entrance. He fed himself in slow, letting me feel every thick inch, letting me feel how perfectly I stretched around him.

"Feel that, baby?" he growled. "That's Daddy's cock owning you."

He started slow, long, deep strokes that ended with his hips flush against my ass, forcing me to say it on every thrust.

"Say it."

"Daddy, please breed me..."

Again.

"Daddy, please..."

Again.

Until the words were the only thing left in my head.

He lost control.

The desk slammed forward with every thrust, wood groaning, my bound wrists jerking against the tie. His hand fisted my hair, arching my back until my breasts scraped the leather inlay.

His knot swelled fast, catching on my rim, stretching me impossibly wide.

I panicked, tried to pull away.

He snarled, arm banding around my throat, anchoring me exactly where he wanted me.

"Take it," he roared. "Take Daddy's knot like the good little girl you are."

He shoved deep and locked.

I screamed as the knot seated fully, as the first hot pulse of his cum flooded my womb. He kept coming and coming, teeth scraping the claiming spot on my neck but not breaking skin, not yet.

Each pulse dragged another orgasm out of me until I was limp, trembling, sobbing his name.

When it was over he untied my wrists, turned me gently, and sat back in his chair with me cradled in his lap, still impaled, still tied to him. He stroked my hair, kissed the tears from my cheeks, whispered filthy praise against my temple.

"You're perfect, baby. You're mine. You're never leaving this house."

I clung to him, wrecked and floating.

His phone buzzed on the desk. He reached for it with one hand, the other still cupping my ass possessively.

He read the screen and went very, very still.

I felt the shift in his body, the sudden tension.

"Damian?" I whispered.

He turned the phone so I could see.

A text from Chloe.

Hey Dad, change of plans. Coming home early, like right now.

Tell Selena I brought her favorite wine and we're doing a movie night in the home theater.

Be there in five. Love you!

Five minutes.

I was naked, dripping his cum down my thighs, his knot still buried deep inside me, the taste of my own slick on his lips.

And Chloe was pulling into the driveway.

His eyes met mine, storm-grey, feral, and utterly calm.

"Looks like Daddy's going to have to figure out how to keep his little girl quiet for the rest of the night," he murmured, thumb brushing my swollen bottom lip.

He smiled, slow and savage.

"Don't worry, baby. I've got exactly the thing to put in that pretty mouth when she walks in."