Daddy Alpha, I’m In Heat

~Lily~ Okay, listen to me. I know I sound crazy, but I swear I’ve officially lost every ounce of self-control I ever had. Like completely, tragically, erotically gone. If there’s a special kind of werewolf hell for girls who moan their best friend’s dad’s name while fingering themselves in hotel beds, then I’m already seated in the front row. VIP. Permanent reservation. No chance of redemption. I’m going straight there, soaked and smiling. I don’t even care anymore. I’ve judged myself so many times I’ve run out of shame to spiral in. I already did the whole “Oh my God, I’m such a dirty b***h, I’m going to burn in hell” thing—three times, actually. Do you know when? Right after each orgasm. Because yes, I’ve been lying here for over an hour now. Legs open. Tank top rolled up. My fingers are shiny. My voice is wrecked. My thighs are sticky. I’m panting like an unclaimed Omega in heat, and all of it—all the moaning, the trembling, the insane whimpers that sound like I’m being exorcised—has been for one man. Connor Blackwood. Not just any man. My best friend’s father. Her Alpha dad. Her six-foot-something, silver-eyed, veiny-handed, gravel-voiced, emotionally unavailable, broad-shouldered, grumpy-as-f**k daddy whose scent alone makes my clit throb. The kind of man who makes my stomach flip and my cunt ache just by existing near me. He is dangerous in ways my body doesn’t want to survive. He is temptation wrapped in muscle and dominance. And if I could choose anyone in the entire world to take my virginity, ruin my innocence, and f**k the soul right out of my body with nothing but his knot and his hands on my hips—it would be him. No protection. No mercy. Just full Alpha madness. I want to be split open. I want to be marked and filled and pinned and broken. I want his voice in my ear saying “You’re mine now” while I scream into the pillow and beg him not to stop. I want to belong to someone so completely that I forget my own name and start worshipping his. And yes, I am eighteen. I’ve said it once, but I’ll say it again because it matters. I am legal. I am grown. I keep repeating it like some unholy prayer because I still don’t feel grown when I’m soaked through my panties and thinking about the way his mouth looked around the edge of a beer bottle. I don’t feel grown when I remember him getting out of the pool last summer, water dripping down his chest, dark hair slicked back, Alpha scent rolling off him so thick I almost passed out. I stood there frozen, thighs clenched, face red, n*****s hard, and every cell in my body screaming to be claimed. And now here I am. Three orgasms later. Still soaking. Still desperate. Still trembling. I feel like something wild has snapped inside me and now all that’s left is hunger. I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything, and the worst part is—I haven’t even gotten on the yacht yet. Yes. That’s right. I am going on a luxury private cruise in less than twenty-four hours. A yacht. Eight passengers. Expensive food. Ridiculously rich people. And one dangerously horny little Omega—me—who is one strong Alpha scent away from collapsing into a full-blown, body-breaking, heat-fueled meltdown. And guess who invited me? Bella. My best friend. The girl who has absolutely no idea that her sweet, smiley, innocent bestie has been soaking through her sheets for two years now imagining what it would feel like to choke on her daddy’s knot. I know I should have said no. I should have been mature and responsible and respectful. I should have said I was busy this summer. I should have said my grandma died again. I should have said I have a yacht allergy. But instead, I said yes. I said yes so fast I nearly screamed. Then I went home and packed every single slutty little thing I own. The red panties. The lace ones. The sheer ones. The crotchless ones I bought in secret even though I’ve never even kissed a guy before. I packed them all for him. Because I want him to see me. I want him to look at me and forget I was ever a little girl. I want his eyes to drop. I want him to smell the shift in my scent. I want him to freeze. I want his c**k to twitch. I want his inner Alpha to growl and snap awake. I want him to lose control. I stand in front of the mirror now, staring at myself as I close my eyes, I see it—the dock, the burning Spanish sun, the glint of the yacht, Bella squealing and running. And then I turn around. And there he is. Connor Blackwood. Wearing white linen pants. A dark shirt half unbuttoned. Sunglasses pushed up in his hair. Arms crossed. That mouth in a straight, unreadable line. That scent. That power. That him. Maybe he’ll glance at me. Maybe he’ll say my name. Maybe he’ll say “Lily.” And I’ll smile. I’ll act like I’m not soaking wet underneath this dress. Like I haven’t been dreaming about this moment with my fingers stuffed between my legs since I was sixteen. ~~~ I was still standing in front of the mirror like a psycho, one hand on my hip, the other flailing dramatically as I practiced how I’d bend over without making it look like I was begging to get f****d. I kept tilting my hips, arching my back, tilting my head just right like, Oops, I dropped my drink, guess I’ll just bend down in front of your c**k and pretend it’s not intentional. That kind of thing. My t**s bounced. My ass looked f*****g perfect. My n*****s were poking through my tank top like they were screaming pick me. And listen, don’t you dare judge me. I know for a fact I’m not the only girl who’s ever done this. I know you’ve arched your back in front of your crush like you just happened to need a stretch. I know you’ve “accidentally” dropped something just to see if his eyes would follow. So don’t even look at me sideways right now. I’m just being honest. I’m just brave enough to say out loud what your slick little cunt already knows — we’re all dirty when the right man walks in. I was mid-squat, practicing how I’d moan a fake “oops” while pretending to pick up a lip gloss, when my phone buzzed on the bed. Bella. Oh. f**k. I swiped to answer. “Hello?” I tried to sound normal, but my voice came out breathy. “Where the hell are you?” Bella shouted over the wind and the sound of water slapping the dock. I could hear seagulls, someone popping champagne, and a yacht horn blaring like it was laughing at me. “Lily, the captain’s literally about to untie the ropes! If you miss this cruise because you’re curling your lashes—” “I’m on my way!” I spun in a panicked circle, like that would somehow teleport me closer. “I’m five minutes out. Like, literally.” “That didn’t sound convincing.” “Eight! Okay, maybe ten. But a really fast ten. Like a horny ten.” Bella groaned, but she was laughing. “You better move your slutty little ass. This is going to be the summer that changes everything. Spain. France. Italy. Greece. Do you know how many hot guys are already on this boat?” I tried to laugh. It came out as a dying whimper. “Oh, I’m so ready.” She giggled. “Good. Champagne’s already flowing, nobody brought rules, and my dad’s the only adult on board. But he’s so boring he doesn’t count. He’s probably already in a corner somewhere glaring at the ocean with a whiskey in one hand and a trauma in the other.” My whole body went still. Her dad. Connor. And then she said it. “I think Rose put you in the suite next to his. So maybe try not to moan too loud when you’re playing with yourself, yeah?” My stomach dropped. My legs buckled. My p***y clenched so hard I gasped. Her dad’s room is next to mine? I could actually die. Or combust. Or just melt into a puddle of slick and sinful thoughts and slide under his door like some heat-struck ghost begging to be touched. “Lily?” Bella’s voice dragged me back. “You okay?” “Y-yeah,” I said, breathless. “Just…processing.” She cackled. “Don’t overthink it. Just get here. This yacht is ridiculous. It has levels. Like, actual upstairs-downstairs levels. King beds. Showers that could fit six people. Mood lighting. This whole thing feels like it was made for sex.” I was already grabbing my bag, shoving my feet into sandals, yanking my damp panties back into place with trembling fingers. “I’m leaving right now.” “Good,” she said. “Let’s make some sins we’ll never forget.” She hung up. And I just stood there, staring at myself in the mirror again, shaking from the inside out.. This was it. The beginning of everything. The summer that would destroy me in the best possible way. Okay wait before I open this door, before I see him again, before I do the dumbest, filthiest thing I’ve ever done in my life—I need to say something. To you. Yeah, you. The one reading this with your thighs tight and your lip bitten so hard it’s basically bruised. Don’t even pretend you’re not already wet, because I know you are. You wouldn’t be here otherwise. Welcome to my disaster. No, scratch that. Welcome to my dirty, unholy, p***y-throbbing descent into madness. Because what’s coming? Is not cute. It’s not slow-burn. It’s not romance. It’s something you haven’t read before. You better have your toy charged. The real one. The one that doesn’t stop until you’re crying and breathless. Because this story? It’s not for the soft-hearted. It’s for the ones who love filth. So be a good little slut. Flip the page. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.