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"“Please, daddy.” I slide two fingers down, letting out another moan. I feel my legs spreading wider, my body giving in, my mind breaking apart. Knock knock knock. “Lily?” My blood turns to ice. The door opens. It's him. My best friend's father. God. He actually listened to me. He listened to me begging him like a slvt. He heard me when I said""Please daddy” like it belonged to him. And now he's standing in front of me, his breath heavy, his eyes dark, and I can't even think straight. I can feel how soaked my panties are. He slides his fingers down and finds my clit. My whole body jolted like I'd been plugged into a live wire with his fingers buried deep inside me. “You want daddy's touch, kitten?”" ************************* ~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 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 bimbo, I’m going to burn in gosh” thing—three times, actually. Do you know when? Right after each or'gаsm. 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 cllt 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, nuts hard, and every cell in my body screaming to be claimed. And now here I am. Three 0rgа5ms 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 excitemed 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 sl'utty 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 cok 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 fckd. 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 stick and pretend it’s not intentional. That kind of thing. My hills bounced. My as looked fking perfect. My niples 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 hll 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 excitemed ten.” Bella groaned, but she was laughing. “You better move your sl'utty little as. 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 center 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 sx.” 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, core-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 bimbo. Flip the page. And don’t say I didn’t warn you. ~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 Dam cab like some heat-struck little perv. 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 sx 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 fking sin in motion. I don’t breathe. I don’t blink. I don’t move a muscle except for the way my knees Dam 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 on eаrth 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 mounts 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 cl1t 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 fking , I am not okay. My core clenches. My throat goes dry. My niples 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 fking course—Bella bursts out of nowhere like a human co'ckblock 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 or'gаsm. “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, center 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 bottom. 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 as 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 cllt 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 cave 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 dumb. “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 ge'tting lаid 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 ge'tting lаid” 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. fcking terrifying. And all mine — if I play this right. ~Lily~ I don’t even remember how I made it up the stairs. Like, I know my legs moved, because I’m physically standing here on the upper deck with Bella, and the sun is shining, and the wind is doing that sixy little ocean whip thing to her hair — but my brain? Still stuck back on the dock. Still watching Connor’s mouth move when he said my name. Still screaming that I just called him Connor and didn’t immediately die. Still short-circuiting from the fact that he looked at me like I was a whole dam snack he wanted to eat standing up, one leg over his shoulder, dress bunched at my waist, knot swelling inside me while I sob through it like a ruined little virgin. So yeah. I might be walking. I might be nodding and smiling and trying to listen to Bella rant about her boyfriend’s tight swim trunks and how she’s already planning to lose her bikini top “accidentally” at the first stop in France. But mentally? I’m on my knees. In his room. Begging to be claimed. I keep glancing over my shoulder like a little freak, hoping he’ll follow us. Just to look. Just to see my as sway in this Silly sundress that’s riding a little too high because I wanted it to. Just to breathe me in. Just to notice me again. But when I look back, he’s gone. Still on the dock. Talking to the captain or giving orders or whatever powerful Alpha dads do when they’re not busy starring in their daughter’s best friend’s wettest dreams. And then suddenly. Click. Click. Click. Heels. Fast, sharp, confident heels across the deck. Bella and I both turn at the same time, and there she is — Rose. The stewardess. And when I say stewardess, I don’t mean flight attendant vibes. I mean ex-Victoria’s Secret model in all white linen with cheekbones carved by the Goddess herself and a clipboard that looks like it holds the secrets of everyone who’s ever sinned aboard this yacht. “Ladies,” she says in this gorgeous, clipped, vaguely French voice. “Cabin assignments are ready. Follow me.” Bella grins like she’s about to be escorted to her bridal suite. I follow her because I physically have no other option. My legs move, my brain lags, and my center is already anticipating the walls. Like, literally. I’m walking down this gold-detailed hallway wondering how soundproof the walls are, whether I’ll be able to hear him grunting in his sleep, and what I’ll do when I catch the scent of his skin on the sheets. Because I know I will. I know his room will smell like power and danger and the cologne that ruined my life last summer. Rose taps her clipboard and starts assigning the couples first. “Daphne and Elia — Lower Deck, Room One.” They shuffle off like they’re already ready to f'k-. “Courtney and Chase — Lower Deck, Room Two.” Bella leans over and whispers, “They break up twice a day but they f'k- like po'rn stars. Just wait. You’ll hear them.” I nod. I smile. I try to laugh like I’m not already soaking through my underwear. “Tyler and Bella — Lower Deck, Room Three.” Bella claps her hands. “Oh my God, I’m gonna ge't lаid on Italian silk. Bless this boat.” And then Rose looks up at me. And I swear, her eyes glint. Just a little. “Lily Vale,” she says, with that smooth, neutral voice that makes me feel like I’m about to be sacrificed to something expensive and sinful. “You’re in the Upper Deck Twin Suite. Second cabin on the right. You’ll have that half of the level to yourself.” My heart skips. Wait. What? That can’t be right. Everyone else is on the lower deck. Why would I—? Then she adds, “Except for the Master Suite. That’s occupied by Mr. Blackwood.” Mr. Blackwood. Connor. Connor. Her words hit me like a godаm bullet to the cllt. I’m on the upper deck. With him. The two of us. Alone. Sharing air. Sharing proximity. Sharing a hallway. Sharing a fkn wall. I can’t breathe. I actually can’t breathe. Bella doesn’t say a word. She’s too busy texting her boyfriend about room service lube or whatever. Everyone else is already dragging bags and making plans for drinks. But me? I am having a full-blown sexual identity crisis on this yacht because I just got assigned the room next to the man I have literally masturbated to in three different positions in my dreams this week. Rose doesn’t wait for a reaction. She simply turns and walks. So I follow. And every step I take toward that suite feels like I’m marching into my own personal dungeon. My niples are hard. My throat is dry. I swear I can already smell him through the walls. That intoxicating blend of woods, leather, and that low masculine scent that just clings to him like he was born to leave women wet and trembling in his wake. Rose opens the door. My door. It’s perfect. Clean. White sheets. A mirror. A window view of the ocean. Luxurious without being too try-hard. The kind of room where you either sleep like royalty or get fckd like a dirty little slvt who should’ve stayed home. “I’ll give you a moment to unpack,” she says. “Drinks will be served shortly.” I nod. I say thank you. I barely remember closing the door. And then I turn to face the wall. The wall. The one that separates my little twin suite from his king-sized, Alpha-scented den of temptation. And I just stand there. Staring at it. Like a crazy person. Like a virgin praying to the God of First 0rgа5ms. I walk toward it slowly, my heart pounding in my chest, my fingers twitching with need. I raise my hand and place it flat against the wood, and I swear to God, it feels warm. Not metaphorically. Not emotionally. Like, physically warm. Like maybe he’s on the other side, sitting down, leaning back, reading a book, rolling his sleeves up, pouring himself a drink, flexing his abs, I don’t know. Breathing. Existing. And every single thing about that idea makes my cl1t throb. I sit down on the bed, cross my legs, and lean forward like I’m plotting a heist. Because I kind of am. I am plotting how to survive this night without swelling the wall or sneaking into his room or leaving claw marks on his fking pillow from how bad I want it. But deep down, I already know the truth. I’m not going to survive this trip. Like genuinely, truly, medically, I think my center is about to call an ambulance on me. I’m sitting here on this Silly, gorgeous bed in this stubid, perfect room with this thin-as wall separating me from the man I’ve literally imagined suking the soul out of my cllt, and all I can think is — why the fck did I do this to myself? I mean, I knew. I knew. The second Bella said, “Come on the cruise, it’ll be fun, my dad’s paying for everything,” I should’ve said no. I should’ve lied and said I had mono or rabies or some tragic, bikini-preventing allergic reaction to rich people air. But did I? No. Because I’m a dumb, excitemed skank with a death wish and a vaginal sixth sense for dangerous older men who could ruin me with a single grunt. And now here I am. Sharing a floor with him. Connor. Her dad. The man who has no idea I spent half of last summer grinding against his bathroom towel while fantasizing about what he smells like fresh out of the shower. And now I’m assigned the room next to his. With like, one sad little wall between us. I throw myself back onto the bed dramatically, arms flung out like I’m in a music video for emotionally unstable vi'rgins. “Okay, Lily. Let’s just walk this out real slow,” I say out loud because I talk to myself now. That’s who I am. “You are eighteen years old. You are not feral. You are not a eаsy girl. You are a respectful young woman who is here to relax, swim, drink fruity cocktails, and not throw yourself at her best friend’s emotionally unavailable, painfully curvaceous, vein-handed Alpha daddy.” I close my eyes. His face flashes in my head. His arms. His jaw. The way his shirt clung to his chest. The way he said “Connor’s fine.” I bolt upright. “Nope. I lied. I’m a slvt. I’m officially a eаsy girl. I’m going to jump that man’s bones and I don’t even care if I have to crawl across this dayum boat in the middle of the night with a mouthful of lube and a prayer.” I stand up and start pacing like I’m preparing for war, but instead of armor, I’m wearing a sundress that’s now soaked between the thighs and no bra because I wanted him to see my niples when I said his name. And now that he did? Now that he looked at them? I’m losing my fcking mind. “What if he heard me through the wall?” I ask the lamp. “What if he’s in there right now pacing too? What if he’s sitting there, rubbing his temples, thinking ‘What on earth is wrong with me, I’m thinking about my daughter’s friend’s mouth around my stick’? Because same, Connor. Same.” I stop at the wall. I press my hand to it. I stare at it like it’s a fcking portal to Narnia except instead of magical lions and talking animals, it’s just Connor lying on his king-size bed with his stick resting heavy against his thigh and the most sinful expression on his face while he imagines bending me over the balcony and making me scream. “Oh my God. I need to shut on earth up. I need to calm down. I need a cold shower. I need to be arrested. Like, what is wrong with me? Is this a heat thing? Am I going into early heat? Is that what this is? Because my entire body feels like a vi'brаtor left on high for six hours straight and no release in sight.” I walk in circles. I fan myself with a throw pillow. I mutter to myself like a possessed orphan in a Victorian asylum. And then I drop back onto the bed and say it. Really say it. “I want him to f'k- me.” My voice is shaking. Not because I’m scared. But because saying it out loud makes it real. “I want Connor Blackwood — my best friend’s ridiculously hot dad — to take that perfect, terrifying body of his and ruin me so bad I forget how to spell my own name.” I lay back. I stare at the ceiling. I talk like I’m confessing to the Moon Goddess herself. “I want him to grab me by the throat and say, ‘You asked for this, baby girl.’ I want him to slap my as and make me say thank you. I want him to press my face into this pillow and hold me there while he knots me so deep I swear I’ll never be able to walk straight again.” I slap a hand over my mouth and moan into it like a sick little virgin on the edge of death. “Oh God, I’m going to gosh.” And I hope he’s there waiting. ~Connor~ The moment she stepped onto the deck, I knew I was fked. It was not the kind of reaction I could write off. My /cok didn’t just twitch. It surged. The thick pulse of blood that slammed into my groin was so immediate and intense I actually shifted my stance to hide the way my stick pressed against my slacks. I clenched my teeth, not out of pain, but from the force of control it took not to react. She wasn’t a little girl anymore. That much was obvious the second her hips swayed onto my yacht like the goddess of temptation herself had decided to wear a summer dress and walk straight into my personal gosh. Lily was no longer the shy, lanky girl who used to follow my daughter around barefoot with chipped nail polish and glitter on her fingers. She was a full-grown Omega now. Eighteen. Legal. Untouched. Her scent was unclaimed. Sweet and Pure. But there was something underneath it — a heat that hadn’t surfaced yet but was blooming. I could smell the first hints of it rising from her skin like a warning. Or maybe a threat. Her mounts were the first thing I noticed. Not because I was looking for them, but because they were impossible to miss. Big. Juicy. Round and heavy with youth, barely restrained by the summer dress she wore without a bra. I could see the way the fabric hugged them, the way her niples pressed against it with every step, tight and obvious and aching for attention. The fullness of her chest made my mouth dry. They were the kind of brests you dream about. The kind you hold while you f'k- her from underneath and her hair sticks to her face while she whimpers and arches and begs for you to never stop. I imagined the weight of them in my hands. The softness. The way her breath would hitch when I suked one deep into my mouth and bit down until she cried. My eyes drifted lower, not by choice, but because my instincts were already fkn devouring her. Her waist was tiny. That perfect dip beneath her ribs that looked like it was made to be wrapped in the grip of my hands while I took her from behind. The kind of waist you hold onto when you’re fking an Omega so hard the sound of her as clapping against your hips echoes through the room. And speaking of that as—f'k- me, it was unreal. Her bottom was thick. Round. Bouncy. So full it stretched the dress as she walked. The fabric clung to the swell of her cheeks like it wanted to hide her but couldn’t stop from showing just how fu'ckаble she was. I wanted to grab it. I wanted to yank that dress up over her hips, slap my palm across both cheeks until she yelped, then spread them apart and bury my /cok between them. I could already see it. Her on all fours. Whimpering into the mattress. My stick sliding between her as cheeks as I pushed the tip into that tight little hole and made her take it inch by inch until she was sobbing. Her thighs were thick and soft. Not the kind of thighs that closed easily. No, these were the kind you had to pry apart. The kind that squeeze around your waist and lock behind your back when she’s shaking from her second or'gаsm and doesn’t want you to pull out. I imagined the feel of them on my shoulders. I imagined holding them open while I licked her core until she soaked my chin and begged for my cok inside her. And then there was her scent. She was near her first real heat. I knew it before she did. My Alpha instincts locked on to her like a predator. That scent was a substance. Pure fking chemical desire. My body reacted to it before I could think. My cok thickened. My hands itched. My wolf stirred inside me and whispered things no man should think about his daughter’s best friend. Things like bending her over the dining table and fking her in front of the windows. Things like marking her. Breeding her. Owning her. She smiled at me. And I nearly lost it. Because she had no idea. No idea what she looked like. No idea what that smile did to me. No idea that I was two seconds from dragging her into the nearest room and showing her what it meant to moan Daddy while an Alpha split her open and knotted her until she was crying into the sheets. She had no idea what that smile did to me. She had no clue that the moment her eyes met mine, I felt something snap inside my chest — something I had been burying for years. That soft, innocent grin she gave me as she stepped barefoot onto my yacht made my /cok throb with the kind of hunger I hadn’t felt since the first time I tasted core. She didn’t know what she looked like walking toward me in that tight little dress, no bra beneath it, the outline of her hard niples pressing against the thin fabric like they were begging to be suked. She didn’t know that her scent was starting to change. That her body was announcing itself as ready. That her heat was near. She didn’t know that every step she took was pushing me closer to the edge of something irreversible. She didn’t know that I was fighting for control and losing. I kept my hands at my sides, fists clenched so tight the bones in my knuckles cracked under the pressure. I focused on the horizon, on the breeze, on anything but the way her nuts bounced slightly with every step. And f'k- me, I wanted them in my mouth. I wanted to lay her down, pull that dress up to her waist, and tease those nuts until she whimpered and begged me to keep going. I wanted to slide my hand under her dress and feel how warm and soft her thighs were. I wanted to part them slowly, push one over my shoulder, and feel that heat pulsing between her legs before I even touched her. I would use my finger to touch her tight little core and cl1t. I wouldn’t be gentle. I wouldn’t ask for permission. I’d tease her just enough to make her whimper, then rub tight circles over that swollen little nub until she trembled and her hips lifted off the cushion trying to chase my hand. I’d push one finger inside, feel how tight she was, how untouched, how slick and desperate her little Omega cunt had become just from the scent of me. I’d slide in a second finger, then a third, stretch her out until she moaned and clenched down and came all over my hand while I whispered, “That’s it, kitten. Give it to Daddy.” Oh f'k-. I was getting hard again. Not just hard. I was throbbing. My cok was so stiff it pressed angrily against the fabric of my slacks, and I had to subtly shift my stance to keep from making it obvious. Every breath I took filled my lungs with her scent, and every cell in my body lit up with hunger. I shouldn’t be thinking of this. I shouldn’t be imagining what her pusy tastes like. I shouldn’t be standing here fantasizing about her on all fours, begging for my stick, her bottom arched high in the air while I slide into her tight little cunt and f'k- her until she forgets her own name. This was wrong. She is Bella’s best friend. She had just turned eighteen. She wasn’t mine. But my cok didn’t care. My instincts didn’t care. My wolf didn’t care. I was an Alpha, and she was an unclaimed Omega in the early stages of her heat, standing on my yacht like she belonged here. Like she belonged to me. Every muscle in my body was tense, coiled like a spring, ready to pounce the second she gave me even the smallest sign that she wanted it too. And the worst part? I wasn’t even sure I needed a sign. The way her body moved. The way her thighs peeked through the slit in her dress. The way she smiled up at me like she still thought I was harmless — it all made me want to grab her by the throat and f'k- the innocence out of her until she cried my name. I shut my eyes for half a second and forced myself to breathe. I told myself to get a grip. I told myself to be strong. But every time I looked at her, that strength cracked a little more. I didn’t know how long I could hold out. I didn’t know how many days I could keep pretending I didn’t want to shove her against the glass railing, yank her panties down, and slide my cok between those slick, untouched folds while she begged me not to stop. She had no idea. She had no idea how close she was to being mine. If she ever said my name in the wrong tone, if she ever looked at me with even a flicker of need — it would be over. Because I wouldn’t be able to stop. I’d ruin her. I’d claim her. I’d knot her so deep and so hard she’d never be able to f'k- anyone else without crying for Daddy to come fix it. She had no idea that I was already imagining it. And I had no intention of stopping. I didn’t even realize how badly I was sweating until I felt a drop slide down my temple and into the corner of my mouth. My jaw was still clenched, and I hadn’t moved. Not really. I hadn’t taken a full breath in minutes. All I could do was stand there, rooted to the deck like some fkn beast caught in a trance, trying not to imagine what her cunt would taste like if I dropped to my knees and lifted that dress. Then I heard the voices. “Connor?” Oh f'k-. ~Conner~ “Connor?” It was Nathan’s voice. My oldest friend. I invited him over for us to talk business together. He had come down from the upper deck at some point without me noticing, and now he stood a few feet away with a glass of something amber in one hand and his wife tucked into his side. Her eyes were narrowed with concern, head tilted like she was studying me. Nathan was frowning, brows drawn low as he stepped closer. “Jesus, man. You alright? You’re sweating like gosh.” I blinked, dragging my gaze away from Lily with all the force of a man trying to rip himself free from a fkn trance. I looked at Nathan, then quickly swiped a hand over the back of my neck. My shirt was sticking to my back. My palms were damp. My throat was bone dry. It wasn’t the sun. It wasn’t the heat. It was her. “I’m fine,” I said, and my voice came out low, gravelly, so obviously not fine it made Nathan raise an eyebrow. “You don’t look fine,” his wife, Delilah, said gently. She reached forward and placed a cool hand on my forearm, and I almost flinched from the contact. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or… something worse.” I forced a smile. Or maybe I didn’t. I wasn’t even sure what my face was doing anymore. Everything felt tight, tense, hot. I was still hard. Still painfully, desperately hard. The outline of my /cok was digging into the zipper of my pants and I knew if I didn’t turn around and walk away, it would get worse. I glanced over my shoulder and of course she was still there. Lily. She had walked over to the railing now, her back to me, bent slightly forward as she looked over the water. The curve of her as pushed back, making that white dress ride up even higher on her thighs. One breeze — one strong gust — and I’d see everything. I’d see if she had anything on underneath. I’d see the swell of her heat-drunk cunt outlined in soft cotton and sun. “I need water,” I said suddenly, cutting Nathan off before he could ask anything else. I ran a hand through my hair, which was already damp at the roots. “Too much sun.” Delilah gave me a concerned look, but Nathan chuckled and clapped me on the shoulder. “You’re not as young as you used to be,” he teased. “You probably need to pace yourself with the bourbon and the view.” I gave a sharp laugh — dry, humorless — and nodded. “Yeah. The view’s a lot to take in.” I turned, already walking toward the interior of the yacht. I needed space. I needed cold. I needed to lock myself in my cabin and jger'erk the fck off to the image of her walking barefoot into my life like a godаm temptation wrapped in white cotton and bare thighs. Because if I didn’t—if I stood there one second longer— I was going to walk over to her, grab her by the hips, press her to that railing, and f'k- her until the crew heard her scream. ~~ I slammed the door to my private cabin behind me and locked it. The second I turned, I yanked my belt open and shoved my pants down just enough to free my stick. It sprang up thick and angry, already glistening at the tip. I let out a long groan and leaned back against the door, chest rising and falling like I’d run through a godаm war zone. “f'k-,” I whispered, wrapping my hand around the base of my stick and squeezing hard, trying to take the edge off the desperation flooding my system. But the second I closed my eyes—she was there. Lily. That fkn dress. Those mounts bouncing without a bra. That innocent fcking smile like she didn’t even know her scent was dragging me to the brink of madness. My hand started to move before I even realized it. Long strokes. Tight. I pictured her on her knees. Mouth open. Eyes wide and teary while she struggled to take my stick down her throat like a good little Omega bimbo. I groaned louder now, my hips jrking forward into my own grip. I imagined her whimpering beneath me, one leg thrown over my shoulder, her pusy stretched wide as I shoved my fingers into her and made her come over and over until she was begging for my knot. I imagined grabbing her by the throat, pressing her face into the mattress, and pounding her from behind while she screamed Daddy and shook from the force of it. I imagined flipping her over, licking her thighs, her cl1t, then slapping her cunt just to watch her cry and spread her legs wider for more. “Oh f'k-,” I growled, my voice hoarse, my chest heaving. “Oh f'k-, Lily—f'k-.” I was panting like a wild fking animal. My hand pumped harder, faster, rougher. I could feel the veins in my /cok bulging against my palm, feel the fire racing up my spine, feel my'bаlls tightening under me like they were seconds away from unleashing a fcking flood. I couldn’t stop picturing her. I saw her on my bed, legs spread, eyes wide and lips trembling as I forced her thighs open. Her center would be glistening, untouched, pink and tight and swollen with need. I’d slide two fingers into her just to hear the way she cried out, then use my thumb to rub her cl1t until she was begging to be filled. I imagined her breath hitching, her voice breaking as she whispered, “Please, Daddy, I want it—I want all of it.” “f'k-—yes—just like that, kitten. Just like that,” I groaned, slamming my head back against the door as my /cok jumped in my hand. I kept stroking. My grip was brutal. My pace was savage. I needed this. I needed to come. I needed to fcking release the weeks of pent-up hunger I’d buried beneath shirts and manners and fake fatherly smiles. I wasn’t thinking like a man anymore. I was thinking like an Alpha. I was thinking like a beast who had seen his Omega and was losing his godаm mind. I imagined grabbing her from behind, yanking her dress over her as, and slamming my cok into her so hard her breath left her lungs. I imagined her sobbing my name as I stretched her open, my knot swelling inside her, locking her down while her little pusy milked me for every last drop. I stroked harder. I grunted. I swore. “Oh f'k-—oh f'k-—oh f'k-, Lily—I’m gonna fkn come—” My hand was flying over my /cok, slick with pre-cvm, thick and flushed red, twitching in my palm like it already knew it belonged inside her. I was panting, sweating, hunched slightly as my hips bucked into my fist like I was thrvsting into her soaked little cunt and not my own Dam hand. I fastened my rhythm, tightened my grip, squeezed the head of my /cok so hard the pleasure turned sharp, burning, filthy. “Oh f'k-—oh f'k- yes—oh f'k- that as—I can’t wait to spank it.” I imagined it. Her bent over the captain’s desk, bare from the waist down, her thighs trembling, her pusy soaked and pink and swollen, just waiting. Her as was round and soft and high, that perfect little curve made to be punished. I saw myself grabbing both cheeks in my hands, spreading her open, spitting on her hole, then slapping her as until it bounced and turned red under my palm. She’d moan through the pain, bite her lip, arch back for more. I gritted my teeth and stroked faster, harder, my muscles locking tight. “Gonna slap that bottom until you cry, kitten,” I growled under my breath. “Then I’m gonna f'k- you from behind, stretch that center around Daddy’s /cok until you’re dripping and stuffed.” my'bаlls were drawn up so tight I thought they’d snap. I pumped my cok with both hands now, one wrapped around the base, the other twisting over the head, slick and furious and soaked in my own filth. I didn’t care how I looked. I didn’t care how loud I was. I was a man lost in lvst, drunk on her scent, her image, her innocence. “I’m gonna bend you over the window, make you scream my name while the whole fking ocean hears you getting ruined,” I hissed. “Gonna f'k- you with my fingers first. One. Then two. Then three until that little cunt begs for more.” My breath stuttered. My thighs locked. “Then I’ll put it in, nice and slow, all of it. Every fcking inch.” I could hear her voice in my head. I could hear her whimpering, “Daddy, please—more—I need it, I need your stick—” That was it. I snapped. My whole body tensed as the or'gаsm hit me like a fking truck. My /cok jrked in my grip and thick, hot ropes of cvm shot out of me, spilling across my stomach, my hand, my shirt, hitting the floor in heavy, wet splatters. I groaned deep and loud, head thrown back, chest heaving. I kept stroking through it, milking myself for every last drop, hips twitching with each pulse, cvm pouring from me like I hadn’t come in months. “f'k-—yes—take it—take all of Daddy’s cvm—so fcking much—I’m gonna fill you up, kitten—gonna breed you so deep you’ll never forget how this cok felt inside you.” “I’m gonna fill you, kitten. I’m gonna f'k- you so deep you won’t remember your fcking name,” I hissed, my jaw locked tight, my breath coming in ragged gasps. My whole body was shaking, sweat soaking through my shirt, cvm streaking down my knuckles. I kept pumping my stick, even as it throbbed from the overstimulation, even as I came again My breath hitched as my /cok twitched again, leaking more cvm even though I’d already emptied myself twice. “f'k-, I’m gonna breed you,” I snarled, voice low, shaky, unhinged. “Gonna knot you so deep you’ll never be able to f'k- anyone else. Gonna fill your little cunt till it leaks down your thighs. You’ll smell like me for days.” Just as I stood there, stick in hand, cvm sliding down my wrist and cooling on my stomach, there was a knock at the door. “Sir?” a female voice called gently through the wood. “Your room on the deck is ready.” f'k- It was the stewardess. I coughed once, rough and low, trying to clear my throat of the filth that was practically choking me. “I’ll be there in a few minutes,” I said, my voice deeper than it should’ve been “Yes, sir,” the stewardess answered politely, and I heard the soft click of her heels as she walked away. I reached for a towel, wiping myself off slowly, still staring down at my cok, still breathing like I’d just fought for my life. I was going to see her again. Up there. On the deck. Looking sweet and innocent with the same mouth I dreamed of fking. Smiling like she had no idea what she’d done to me. What she was still doing. And I knew the truth. This wasn’t over. This was just the beginning. ~Lily~ Oh God. I can’t stop. I tried. I really did. I told myself to shut up. To sit still. To breathe and think about literally anything else. I even stared at the ceiling and counted how many lights there were and tried to remember if I packed my sunscreen, but none of it worked. Not a single thought could compete with the image of him. Not one innocent little distraction stood a chance against the mental picture of Connor Blackwood standing in his room next door, n8ked from the waist up, maybe holding a glass of whiskey in one hand, his /cok thick and heavy in the other, stroking himself while growling my name under his breath like I belong to him. I’m going to touch myself. There’s no use pretending anymore. My thighs are already trembling. My panties are soaked. I can feel the slick every time I move, and it’s not just a little dampness. It’s wet, heat-blooming-between-my-legs wet. And my cllt is throbbing so hard it actually hurts. I roll onto my side and let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. My heart is racing. My body is flushed. I’m still wearing this sundress, but it’s hitched up around my waist now, and I don’t remember doing it. I slide my hand down over my stomach, biting my lip, breathing hard, and I already know I’m about to go completely feral. I hook a finger into the waistband of my panties and slide them down slowly, just past my thighs, letting the wet fabric cling for a moment before I push them to my knees. I spread my legs, just a little, just enough for the cool air to hit the soaked mess between them, and I hiss through my teeth because even that tiny bit of contact sends a shockwave up my spine. I’m so wet. So stupidly, embarrassingly wet. My cave is swollen and slick, glistening in the low light, and I can already see how sticky it is just from looking down. I press two fingers into the folds and drag them upward, just a slow little slide from my entrance to my cl1t, and I moan. Loud. Real. No-faking-it moan that makes me slap a hand over my mouth immediately. Because oh my God, what if he heard that? What if Connor heard me moan through the wall? What if he knows exactly what I’m doing? The thought makes my center clench so hard I nearly cry. My fingers start moving again, faster this time. My middle finger circles my cllt, tight and slow, and the second my hips start rocking into it, I’m gone. I can’t stop now. My mind is gone. I whisper his name without meaning to. I don’t even try to hold it back. I let it slip past my lips like a secret. Like a prayer. Like a confession. “Connor…” It sounds so dirty coming from me. So filthy. So wrong and perfect at the same time. I slide two fingers down, dip them into my hole, and my core clenches around them like it was made for this. I let out another moan, this one muffled into the pillow, and I feel my legs spreading wider, my body giving in, my mind breaking apart. I curl my fingers inside me and my back arches so fast I nearly cry out. I’m tight. I’m aching. I’m throbbing around myself like I’ve been needing this for weeks. I imagine it’s him. I imagine his fingers instead of mine. Longer. Rougher. Thicker. Pressing deep into me while he whispers in my ear that I’m his now, that this tight little cave belongs to him, that I’m not allowed to come until he says I can. I imagine him growling in my ear, holding my wrists down while I squirm and cry and beg for his stick. I rub my cllt faster. My fingers are soaked now, dripping with slick, making filthy little sounds that echo in the silence of the room. I’m panting. Sweating. swelling my hand like a girl possessed. My legs are trembling and my stomach is tightening, and I know I’m close. I know I’m about to come. “Please, Daddy,” I whisper, and the second I say it, the or'gаsm crashes through me like a fcking wave. “Fuuuuuck… oh my God… yes, Daddy… oh my fkn God, yes—yes—yes, right there, please—” My cave clenches around my fingers so hard it makes my whole stomach lock up. Slick gushes out of me, hot and thick, coating my hand and dripping down the backs of my thighs. My cl1t throbs. My head tilts back. My eyes roll up so far I think I might pass out from how fkn good it feels. I keep moaning. I can’t stop. I’m grinding into my palm like I’m fkn possessed. My whole body is shaking, my chest is heaving, and I don’t even care if anyone hears me. I want him to hear me. I want Connor to hear the way I scream his name when I come. I want him to know how hard I cvm just from thinking about him. I want him to know that this is his fault. My moan turns guttural. My voice breaks. It’s not even words anymore. “Ahh—f'k-—yes, yes, yes—so deep—oh my God—it hurts—feels so good—I can’t stop—I want it—I want your /cok—I need it—Daddy—please—f'k- me—” I reach down and rub my cllt with my other hand, fast and tight, while my fingers pump in and out of my soaked cunt. I’m close. “Please—please, knot me—breed me—I want it—I want your knot inside me, Daddy—” I’m not even thinking anymore. I’m just begging. And then it happens. The or'gаsm rips through me with so much force that I scream. Actually scream. Breathed into the pillow and screamed. “DADDY—OH f'k-—YES—YES, PLEASE—OH GOD, I’M COMING—” My legs snap shut around my hand as my body convulses. I cry into the pillow. My fingers curl. My cunt clenches so tight it aches. My toes point. My lips tremble. Slick floods my hand and I don’t stop. I keep rubbing. I keep moaning. I ride it out like my soul is on fire and only his name can put it out. And then. Knock knock knock. “Lily?” My blood turns to ice. I freeze. My body jrk like I’ve been electrocuted. My hand flies away from my center so fast I nearly slap myself. My legs clamp shut. My breath gets stuck in my throat. My entire body is still trembling, still clenching, still soaked and pulsing, but now I’m panicked. I’m wide-eyed. I’m soaked in cvm and caught red-fkn-handed with my best friend standing on the other side of the door. “Lily, are you in there?” It’s Bella. I stare at the ceiling like it might open up and swallow me. My cunt is still twitching. My nuts are hard. I can smell myself in the air. The whole room smells like sx. “Drinks are starting,” she says. “Rose said to tell everyone to come to the lounge.” I slap my hand over my mouth, trying not to gasp. I don’t move. I don’t breathe. I just sit there on the bed, dripping and twitching and barely alive while the or'gаsm still echoes through my thighs and my best friend knocks on the door asking why I’m taking so long. “Lily?” Oh my God. Oh my God. Bella. That’s Bella. That’s her voice. Outside my door. My best friend. Standing there. Knocking. While I am literally lying here with my dress around my waist, my panties soaked and halfway down my thighs, and my fingers dripping with cvm. “Lily, are you in there?” Yes. I’m in here. I’m in here fkn dying. I’m in here soaking the sheets and twitching from the aftershocks of the nastiest or'gаsm I’ve ever had in my life. I’m in here gasping for breath with my legs still shaking and the word Daddy still wet on my lips like a sin I don’t know how to erase. “Drinks are starting. Rose said to tell everyone to come to the lounge.” Drinks. Right. Great. Yeah, let me just uncurl myself from this bed like a freshly fckd mess and walk into a yacht full of people with the scent of or'gаsm clinging to my skin and Connor’s name still echoing in my skull like a moan I can’t shut up. My whole body goes rigid. My face is on fire. I reach for the pillow and press it over my face like it might smother the humiliation surging through my bloodstream. My core is still throbbing. My panties are soaked. There’s a wet patch on the sheets under me and my hand is shiny with slick. I scramble up like a gremlin caught in the light. My dress is bunched up. My panties are twisted. My fingers are covered in cvm. I wipe them frantically on the inside of my thigh, then gasp and regret it because my skin is too sensitive and I nearly moan again like an idiot. “Yeah” I shout, voice way too loud and cracked. “I’m fine! I’m coming!” No. Bad choice of words. Very bad. “I mean, I’ll be there! I was just… changing!” My voice breaks on the last syllable and I clap a hand over my mouth like that will somehow erase the fact that I probably sound like I just got railed by a ghost. My thighs are shaking. My hair is a mess. My whole body feels like I just got bred and left to soak. I shove my panties back up, wince at how wet they are, then pull my dress down and try to straighten it even though it’s clinging to my skin like it’s aware of everything I just did. I fan my face with both hands. “Okay, okay,” I whisper to myself like a girl on the verge of an emotional breakdown. “You just fingered yourself dumb and moaned Daddy loud enough for Poseidon to hear. No big deal. Just walk out there. Smile. Pretend your cllt isn’t throbbing. Pretend your thighs aren’t still wet. Pretend you didn’t come so hard you screamed into the sheets like a skank in heat.” I wipe the inside of my thighs with a towel. It’s warm. Damp. Smells like me now. I shudder. I’m never going to be the same again. I take one last breath, glance at the wall that separates me from him, and whisper under my breath like a slvt who has already accepted her fate. “Let’s just hope I can walk straight.” I pull the door open, and for one shining second, I think I’ve made it. And then I slam face-first into something. Hard. I gasp. I stumble. My hand flies to the doorframe to steady myself. My nuts brush against cotton, and every cell in my body goes hot. I look up. And it’s him. It’s fcking Connor. His hand is already on my arm to steady me, big and warm and rough, and my whole body reacts before I can stop it. My center clenches. My throat dries. My brain starts short-circuiting like someone poured water into my soul. His eyes meet mine. I knew definitely I was fckd. f'k-.