Daddy Alpha, I’m In Heat

A Forbidden Attraction

~Lily~

I’ve never sweat through a sundress before. Not like this. Not with the sun barely even up and my thighs already soaked from the way I’ve been rubbing them together in the back of this damn cab like some heat-struck little pervert.

I’m trying so hard to look normal, to act like I’m just an innocent eighteen-year-old girl on a luxury yacht cruise with her best friend’s family, but every time I blink I see him.

I see the way he looked last summer, shirtless and wet, his muscles tight and flexing while he poured himself a drink by the pool like the world was his. I see the way his mouth curved when he said my name.

I see the little silver ring on his pinky finger and the veins on his forearms and the deep, deep line between his brows that only comes out when he’s focused.

And I don’t even know what he was focused on that day, but God, I pretended it was me. I walked around that whole villa in tiny shorts and no bra, pretending I didn’t feel his eyes burning into my back, and when I heard his bedroom door close late that night, I swear I touched myself so hard I saw stars.

And now? Now I’m back. I’m legal. I’m dripping through my lace panties. And I’m about to step out of this cab and face the man I’ve been obsessing over since before I even understood why my body reacted to his voice the way it does.

I lick my lips as the car rolls to a stop and my stomach does this wild, dangerous flip that makes my whole body buzz.

This is it. This is the dock. This is the moment. The yacht is right there. Big and white and sparkling in the Spanish sun like it’s made of secrets and s*x and scandal.

The crew is loading the last of the bags, the waves are lapping at the dock, and I can hear laughter and champagne corks popping somewhere on the upper deck, but none of that matters because as soon as the car door opens.

I see him.

Connor.

Walking down the stairs of the yacht like a f*****g sin in motion.

I don’t breathe. I don’t blink. I don’t move a muscle except for the way my knees damn near buckle at the sight of him. He’s not wearing a jacket.

His shirt is black and unbuttoned just enough to make me want to bite his chest, and it’s tucked into white linen pants that make his waist look lethal.

His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and his skin is tan and golden and glowing, and I swear if I die right now, I’ll die wet.

He doesn’t say anything at first. He just stops at the bottom of the steps and stares. Like he’s trying to figure out what the hell I’ve turned into since last summer. Like he knows I’m not a girl anymore. Like he can smell what’s happening between my thighs.

Because I’m pretty sure he can.

His eyes drag from my hair to my lips to the bare skin above my neckline to the soft swell of my t**s barely held up by the thin straps of my white sundress. I didn’t wear a bra. I didn’t want to. I wanted this. I wanted his eyes on them. And now that I have them, I swear my clit is throbbing so hard I might faint.

“Lily,” he says.

Just that. One word. My name. But the way he says it is low and slow and thick with something he’s trying to hide, and it makes my entire spine lock up because holy f*****g hell, I am not okay. My p***y clenches. My throat goes dry.

My n*****s stiffen so fast they hurt, and all I can think is that this man is standing six feet away from me and already my body wants to crawl into his hands.

“H-hi,” I whisper, trying to keep my voice from breaking, but it cracks anyway and I probably sound like a virgin in a porno. “Hi, Mr. Blackwood.”

His jaw tightens.

His eyes narrow just a little.

“Connor’s fine.”

And just like that, I know I’m not surviving this cruise.

Because that tone? That name? That casual drop of formality?

That’s an invitation. That’s him stepping over the line, even just an inch. That’s him saying I see you. That’s him saying you’re not a child anymore. That’s him giving me just enough to drown in.

“Connor,” I repeat, and the name tastes like sin on my tongue.

He stares a second longer, and for a split second, I see it — I feel it — the flash of heat in his eyes. The flare of Alpha tension in the air. The way his chest lifts just slightly like he had to breathe me in. I don’t even think he realizes he’s doing it. It’s instinct. Raw, primal instinct.

And my slick pulses between my legs like it knows what’s coming.

Then—of f*****g course—Bella bursts out of nowhere like a human cockblock wrapped in pink sunglasses and excitement. She throws her arms around me before I can even process what just happened and starts squealing in my ear about champagne and rooms and how hot the boys are upstairs.

“Oh my God, you made it!” she shouts, hugging me like she didn’t just interrupt a silent, full-body orgasm. “I thought you were gonna miss it! The boat’s insane, Lily. You are not ready. Come on, come on, everyone’s waiting! Wait ‘til you see the rooms.”

She grabs my wrist and pulls me toward the ramp, still chattering about bikinis and booze, and I have no choice but to follow her, legs like jelly, heart in my throat, p***y soaked and throbbing and practically screaming at the fact that I just locked eyes with Connor Blackwood and survived.

Barely.

But I can feel him behind me.

I can feel his eyes on my ass.

I can feel his control slipping — just a little.

And that’s all I need.

~~

Bella was talking so fast I can barely keep up. Something about drinks and the hot tub schedule and the couple who already hooked up in the downstairs cabin even though we literally just boarded.

I nod. I smile. I say “Oh my God” and “That’s wild” and try to pretend like I’m not still clenching my thighs with every step because the back of my dress keeps brushing against my ass and it’s making me imagine Connor’s hand there instead.

Then I see them.

The rest of the group.

Four of them are already gathered in the lounge chairs under the canopy — two guys, two girls, all tan and laughing and sipping cocktails like this is their fourth summer in Saint-Tropez. One guy has tattoos. One girl has gold hoops the size of my fists. Everyone looks older, cooler, more relaxed. And me?

I look like a virgin with a secret daddy kink and a pulse in my clit so strong I might black out.

Bella points them out like she’s doing roll call. “Okay, that’s Tyler — he’s mine, don’t touch, I’ll murder you. That’s Chase and Courtney — they break up like three times a day, so just smile and nod. And that’s Daphne and Elia — they’re obnoxiously in love and you’ll probably want to push them overboard by Day Three.”

I wave. I smile. I nod. I say something polite. I don’t remember what.

Because my mouth opens and the next words that come out?

I want to kill myself the second I say them.

“Your dad looks really built.”

Oh my God.

Did I just say that?

I said that.

I actually said that.

Out loud.

To her.

To his daughter.

In public.

Surrounded by people.

I want to grab the words and stuff them back down my throat, but they’re already hanging there in the air, sticky and perverted and impossible to explain away. And Bella — bless her oblivious heart — just turns her head and raises one brow at me like she heard exactly what I said and she’s giving me a chance to walk it back before it gets weird.

I panic.

“I mean not, like, in a weird way,” I blurt, talking faster than my brain can process. “I’m just saying he looks like, you know, he takes care of himself. Like, fit. Like, for his age. Not that he’s old. I didn’t mean that. I just meant like, if he wasn’t your dad—and obviously he is—but if he wasn’t, people would definitely think he’s like, some hot ex-military guy who jogs shirtless through the woods or something. Not that I imagine him jogging. I mean, not often. Maybe once. Or twice.”

I want to drown myself in the sea. Right now. I’ll tie an anchor to my ankle. I’ll do it.

But Bella? Bella just laughs.

Like a full, honest laugh. She covers her mouth and everything.

“Oh my God, Lily,” she wheezes. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I whisper, even though I 100% did and we both know it.

She waves it off. “It’s fine. Everyone says that. My friends used to call him ‘Alpha Daddy’ and I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.”

Alpha Daddy. He’s mine.

My p***y throbs so hard I have to clench my jaw.

I laugh nervously, pushing my hair behind my ear and trying to pretend my face isn’t beet red. “Well… I mean… I get it. He definitely has that whole… power thing going on.”

She shrugs. “He works out every morning. Like obsessively. Gets up at 5 a.m., lifts weights, runs in the sand, fights imaginary people in the backyard like he’s training for war. He doesn’t even use headphones. Just… growls.”

Growls.

My brain explodes.

My entire body turns into one giant need.

I make some kind of sound — half gasp, half squeak, half moan disguised as a cough — and pray no one hears it over the music.

“He sounds intense,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say without screaming I want him to bend me over this railing and f**k me stupid.

“He’s a psycho about discipline,” Bella continues. “All Alpha stuff. Always has to be in control. Even of his body. It’s like, scary sometimes. But yeah. He’s hot, I guess. If you’re into terrifying men with emotional damage.”

Oh, I am.

I so am.

I am into terrifying men with emotional damage and thick veins in their forearms and brooding daddy eyes and fists big enough to wrap around my throat while they make me moan into the pillows with their knot swelling inside me—

“Lily?”

Bella waves her hand in front of my face.

I blink. “Huh?”

“You spaced out.”

“Sorry.” I clear my throat. “Probably jet lag.”

She nods, grinning. “Or maybe you’re just thinking of getting laid soon. You virgin”

“I hate you,” I whisper.

She cackles and grabs my wrist. “Come on,. Let’s get you a drink before you keep on thinking of getting laid”

And I let her pull me toward the open bar, but my brain?

It’s stuck on that image now.

Connor.

Sweaty. Growling. Shirtless. Dominant.

Fucking terrifying.

And all mine — if I play this right.