Alpha Daddy

The Morning After

Sasha

Morning came with a crushing wave of mortification.

Last night…I screamed his name. Multiple times. Loud enough that anyone in the east wing could have heard me.

My step father’s name.

Fuck.

“God, what was I thinking?” I sat up, dragging a hand through my hair.

This was so f****d.

I dragged myself out of bed, my thighs still aching, my p***y still sensitive from how hard I'd come last night. The sheets were ruined—soaked through with my juices—well, they’d dried up now. I'd have to change them before the staff came through.

I threw on sleep shorts and an oversized shirt, forgetting a bra because I couldn't bring myself to care. I just needed coffee. Needed to clear my head. Needed to figure out how to face him after—

After that.

The kitchen was quiet when I entered, morning light streaming through the windows. I thought I was alone.

Only…

I was wrong.

Jaxon stood at the counter, his back to me, shoulders rigid with tension. He was gripping a coffee mug so hard I was surprised it didn't shatter.

He didn't turn around.

Didn't acknowledge me at all.

The silence was suffocating.

He never did that. He always said good morning to me. We had breakfast together most of the days, whether sunny or rainy, or one of grieving for the things we have lost.

I moved toward the coffee pot, trying to act normal, trying to pretend last night hadn't happened. But as I walked past him—close enough that our bodies nearly touched—he sucked in a sharp breath.

Held it.

Like my presence was something he couldn't handle.

The tension radiating off him was visible. Dangerous. His entire body was wound tight, every muscle coiled like he was barely holding himself back from something.

My pulse quickened.

"Jaxon?" I asked carefully, stopping a few feet away. "What's wrong?"

He didn't answer immediately. His knuckles went white around the mug.

"You should go back upstairs," he said, his voice strained.

"What? Why?"

"Just—" He exhaled sharply. "Go, Sasha."

Fear and confusion twisted in my gut.

He’d never talked to me like this. This was…strange.

"Did I do something wrong? Are you angry with me?"

"No." The word came out rough. Almost pained.

"Then what—"

And then he cut me off with the words that I hadn’t expected even in my wildest dreams.

"I heard you last night."

The world stopped. It just did.

My blood went cold, then immediately hot. My stomach dropped to my feet.

"W-what?" I stammered, the word barely audible.

He turned then.

Slowly.

And the look in his eyes—f**k—it stole the air from my lungs.

Dark. Hungry. Barely controlled.

I could see the monster beneath his eyes trying to crawl a way out. It was so evident that it left my skin covered in goosebumps.

"I heard you," he repeated, his voice dropping to something gravelly and dangerous. "Last night. In your room. When you were….” He stopped himself before he could finish.

Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god—

"I—I don't—" I tried to speak, however not another word left my mouth.

His eyes met mine and something passed between us. Hot, filthy, forbidden.

"Don't lie to me." He took a step forward and I took one back.

He took another. "I heard every sound you made, Sasha. Every moan. Every gasp. Every single one of them.

My back hit the counter. I hadn't even realized I was retreating.

He kept stepping closer.

"I heard my name falling from your lips when you…” He sucked in a breath, eyes darkening, “Came.”

Heat flooded through me—humiliation and temptation tangled together so tightly I couldn't separate them.

This was probably the most amount of words I and Jaxon had ever exchanged. And it happened to be about….me m**********g thinking of him.

I wanted the earth to swallow me whole.

“Jaxon, I-I—“ I stammered, unable to speak.

He stopped directly in front of me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his body. His hands braced on either side of me, against the wall behind me, my palms flat against the counter, caging me in completely.

Trapping me.

“W-what—” My voice shook. “What do you want me to say?”

His eyes dropped to my mouth. Lingered there.

“Nothing," he said softly. "I don't want you to say a goddamn thing."

Then his hand moved.

Slid up my arm, across my shoulder, until his fingers wrapped around my jaw. His grip was firm—possessive—tilting my face up to meet his gaze.

“I just want you to know,” he murmured, his thumb brushing across my bottom lip, “that I heard you moaning my name.”

My mind spiraled into dangerous territory.

Did he like it?

Did it do something to him?

The fantasy played out vividly in my head, like a scene I couldn't stop watching. I was not listening anymore. In my hand something else played.

"Jaxon, I—I didn't mean—" I'd stammer, my eyes wide.

"Didn't mean what?" he'd interrupt, his thumb tracing my jaw. "Didn't mean to touch yourself thinking about me? Didn't mean to finger that tight little p***y while screaming my name?"

I whimpered at his words…and a growl rumbled in his chest, his hand around my jaw tightening.

"Or did you mean it?" he'd continue, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a growl. "Did you mean every second of it, little wolf? Did you come thinking about me pinning you down? About my hands on your body? About my c**k inside you?"

"I—" My breath would hitch. "I'm sorry—"

"Don't." His grip on my jaw would tighten. "Don't you dare apologize."

"You want to know what I did while I listened to you?" he'd murmur against my ear. "I stood in my room with my c**k in my hand, stroking myself to the sound of you moaning my name."

I gasped, my body trembling.

Never in a million years had I expected Jaxon to let out these words.

Say such filthy…things to do.

He was my step father. The kind of man, who always maintained distance. Spoke less. Looked at me even less.

And here he was…

Saying these things to me.

"I imagined kicking down your door," he'd continue, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "Imagined climbing into your bed and replacing your fingers with mine. Imagined making you come on my tongue, my fingers, my c**k—over and over until you couldn't remember your own name."

His hand would slide from my jaw down to my throat. Not squeezing—just holding. Feeling my pulse hammer against his palm.

"You feel so good," he'd mutter. "So soft. So fragile. I could break you so easily."

"Next time you touch yourself," he'd say, his voice rough with command, "you keep your voice down. Understand?"

"I—I'll keep quiet."

"Good girl—"

“Sasha?”

“SASHA?”

The sharp edge in his voice cut through my fantasy like a knife.

I blinked, snapping back to reality.

Fuck.

I’d zoned out…

Slipped into a dangerous territory.

Jaxon was staring at me, his jaw tight, his eyes dark with something I couldn't name. His hand was still gripping my jaw, his thumb still pressed against my bottom lip—but he looked tense. Controlled.

Nothing like the fantasy playing in my head.

He didn’t say those filthy words in reality. Those were my imaginations….

Fuck.

"You're not listening," Jaxon said quietly, his voice strained.

"I—" Heat flooded my face. Had I zoned out? How long had I been standing here, lost in that filthy daydream while he—

Oh god.

"I asked you a question," he continued, his grip tightening fractionally. "Are you going to answer me, or do I need to repeat myself?"

My pulse raced. "What—what did you say?"

His eyes narrowed slightly, searching my face. "I said—" His voice dropped lower, rougher. "—that you need to be more careful. The walls in this house are thin."

That was it?

That was all he'd said?

No confession. No admission that he'd touched himself. No filthy promises whispered in my ear.

Just a warning.

Disappointment crashed through me so hard it nearly made my knees buckle.

His grip on my jaw tightened. "Next time—" His voice turned commanding, edged with dark promise. "—you keep your voice down. Understand?"

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

he pressed, his thumb brushing across my lip again—deliberate, testing.

"Yes," I whispered.

"Yes, what?"

The command in his tone made my p***y clench.

"Yes, Alpha."

Something flashed in his eyes—dark, hungry, dangerous. His nostrils flared slightly, and I knew he could smell my arousal. Knew he could tell exactly what those two words did to me.

His jaw clenched. His hand trembled against my skin—just barely, but I felt it.

Then he released me.

Stepped back.

Put distance between us like it cost him everything.

"Good," he said, his voice rough. "Now go."

I stood there, frozen, my body still burning from his touch, my mind still reeling from the fantasy that had felt so real.

"Sasha." His voice turned sharp. Warning. "Go."

The command in his voice broke the spell. I fled, my heart racing, my body on fire, his words echoing in my head.

Next time.

He'd said next time.

Which meant he wanted there to be a next time.

Which meant this—whatever this was—wasn't over.

It was just beginning.