My Best Friend's Dad is My Alpha

Chapter 12

Chapter 12 – Emilia’s Wet Dream

I turned onto my side, pressing my cheek against the cool pillow, and let my thoughts drift.

The image of Killian—broad‑shouldered, his dark hair falling just enough to shadow those piercing blue eyes—flickered behind my eyelids.

I could still feel the memory of his hand brushing the small of my back when we’d said goodbye after he wrapped his coat around me,

the way his thumb had lingered a fraction too long, sending a spark straight to my core.

My breath hitched, and I slipped a hand beneath the waistband of my shorts,

fingers finding the slick heat already gathering between my legs.

“Just a little touch.“I told myself,to take the edge off.

My thumb circled my c**t, slow and deliberate, and a soft moan escaped my lips before I could swallow it.

The sensation was electric, a tight knot forming deep in my belly.

I imagined his mouth on mine,

his tongue demanding,

tasting of mint and something wild—like the pine forests that surrounded his estate.

My hips began to rock, seeking more pressure, and I let my fantasy take over.

In the dream,

I was standing in his massive library, the scent of aged leather and sandalwood thick in the air.

Moonlight streamed through the floor‑to‑ceiling windows, painting silver bars across the polished oak floor.

Killian stood before me, his black silk shirt straining over his chest, the muscles of his arms flexed as he crossed them over his torso.

He looked at me with that same intense gaze, but now there was a raw, animal hunger in it that made my pulse race.

“Happy birthday, Emilia,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, like gravel under a boot.

He stepped forward, closing the distance until his chest brushed mine.

The heat of his body seeped through my thin top, and I could feel the hard ridge of his c**k pressing against my thigh through his trousers.

I gasped, my hands flying to his shoulders, fingers digging into the firm muscle.

“Killian…” I whispered, the sound barely audible over the thundering in my ears.

He didn’t answer with words.

Instead, he captured my mouth in a kiss that was pure possession—

his lips hard,

demanding,

his tongue plunging deep to explore every crevice.

I moaned into his kiss,

my nails scraping lightly down his back as he pressed me harder against the wall.

His hands roamed,

one sliding up to cup my breast through the cotton,

his thumb rubbing circles over my n****e until it peaked and hardened beneath his touch.

The other hand slipped lower, finding the waistband of my shorts and tugging them down in one smooth motion, leaving me bare from the waist down.

Cool air brushed my exposed skin, and I shivered, not from cold but from the sheer intensity of his stare.

He lowered his head, trailing kisses down my neck, his teeth grazing my pulse point, then moving further to latch onto my breast.

He sucked hard, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak, and I arched into him, a gasp tearing from my throat.

My hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as he lavished attention on my chest, his teeth occasionally nipping just enough to send a jolt of pleasure straight to my core.

When he finally lifted his head, his lips were swollen, his eyes dark with desire.

He knelt before me, spreading my thighs wide with his hands, and I felt the heat of his breath against my inner thighs.

Without warning, he leaned in and dragged his tongue slowly up the length of my slit, from the base to the aching nub of my c**t.

I cried out, my back arching off the floor as his tongue swirled, flicked, and sucked, each movement sending shockwaves through my body.

“f**k,” he growled,

the sound vibrating against my skin.

“You taste like heaven, Emilia.” He continued his assault, his tongue delving deeper, teasing my entrance before pulling back to suck my c**t hard.

I was a writhing mess, my hips bucking against his face, my fingers clutching at his shoulders as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter.

He pulled back, his lips glistening with my juices, and stood, shedding his shirt in one fluid motion.

His torso was a map of defined muscle, a faint trail of hair leading down to the waistband of his trousers.

He unbuckled his belt with a practiced flick, letting his pants and boxers fall to pool around his ankles.

His c**k sprang free—thick, veined, already glistening with precum—and I stared, my mouth watering, my p***y clenching in anticipation.

He guided my hand to his length, and I wrapped my fingers around him, feeling the heat and the throbbing pulse beneath my palm. I began to stroke, slow at first, then faster, feeling his hips jerk in response.

He groaned, a low, guttural sound that made my core clench even harder.

“Lie back,” he commanded, his voice a rough whisper.

I obeyed, settling onto the plush rug, my legs spread wide. He positioned himself between my thighs, the tip of his c**k pressing against my entrance.

I could feel the heat radiating off him, the promise of being filled.

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching me deliciously. A gasp tore from my throat as he filled me completely, his hips flush against mine.

He paused, letting me adjust, his forehead resting against mine, his breath hot and ragged.

Then he began to move—long, deep thrusts that pulled almost all the way out before driving back in, each stroke hitting that spot deep inside that made my vision sparkle.

“f**k… you’re so tight,” he rasped, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to leave bruises.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, meeting his thrusts with eager rolls of my pelvis.

The sound of our bodies slapping together filled the quiet library—wet, primal, utterly obscene.

He leaned down, capturing my mouth again, his tongue dueling with mine as he f****d me with relentless vigor.

I could feel the pressure building, a tight coil in my lower belly that threatened to snap.

My nails dug into his shoulders, my back arched, and I cried out into his mouth as the first wave of o****m hit me—a shuddering, explosive release that made my inner walls clamp down on his c**k, milking him for every drop.

He didn’t slow down.

He kept pounding through my c****x, his own release building with each brutal thrust.

With a final, guttural roar, he slammed deep and held himself there, his c**k throbbing as he filled me with hot, thick spurts of c*m.

I felt each pulse, the warm liquid flooding my p***y, mixing with my own juices, and I moaned, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it all.

We lay there, tangled, our chests heaving, sweat slicking our skin.

His forehead rested against my shoulder, his lips brushing my skin in soft, lingering kisses. I could feel his heart hammering against my chest, matching the frantic rhythm of my own.

The dream began to fade, the library dissolving into the soft darkness of my bedroom.

I felt the lingering echo of his touch, the phantom pressure of his c**k still buried deep inside me, the wetness between my legs slick and real.

My breath came in ragged gasps, my body trembling as the aftershocks of pleasure rippled through me.

My eyes fluttered open to the pale glow of dawn seeping through the curtains. The clock read 06:12. I lay still for a moment, heart pounding, the remnants of the dream still humming in my veins.

My pajama shorts were damp, the fabric clinging to my skin where my arousal had soaked through. I lifted a hand, fingers sliding between my thighs, feeling the slickness—my own wetness, mixed with the imagined remnants of his c*m.

A soft laugh escaped me, half disbelief, half awe.

“God,” I whispered to the empty room,

“what a way to start my first week of being eighteen.”

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my feet touching the cool wooden floor. The house was still quiet, the only sound the distant chirping of birds outside.

I padded to the bathroom, catching my reflection in the mirror—hair mussed, lips slightly swollen from the dream’s fierce kisses, eyes bright with a mix of lingering arousal and something else: a fierce, undeniable awareness that something inside me had shifted.

I turned on the shower, letting the warm water cascade over my skin, washing away the evidence of my nocturnal fantasy.

As the water sluiced over my breasts, down my stomach, and between my legs,

I let my mind wander back to Killian’s touch, his mouth, the way he had claimed me in the dream.

A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth, despite the lingering ache of emptiness.

When I stepped out, wrapped in a fluffy towel, I caught sight of the small silver locket resting on my vanity—a gift from my mother, tucked away for years.

I opened it, revealing a tiny photograph of her, smiling, her eyes warm and kind.

A sudden, inexplicable chill ran down my spine, as if someone had whispered a warning in my ear.