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