Make Me Moan, Daddy-Chapter 24

REINA

The silence stretched, thick and charged. I could hear him breathing through the line—low, uneven, and rough—the kind of sound that did things to me I didn’t want to admit.

For a heartbeat, neither of us spoke. It was as though the entire world narrowed to that one moment, to the pulse in my throat and the weight of his voice hanging in my ear.

"Reina," he said at last, quieter this time, his voice dragging over my name like velvet over a bruise. "You have no idea what you do to me."

I closed my eyes, pressing the phone closer. Every word from him felt heavy, deliberate, designed to pull something raw out of me. I hated how easily he could do that, how quickly my walls crumbled whenever he spoke.

My mind told me to hang up. My body didn’t move.

I could picture him: shirt half-buttoned, sleeves rolled up, that sharp edge of control just barely keeping him together with his thick, long, fat cock in hand. Stroking his cock slowly, teasing himself for me. Just for me.

The image alone made my breath stumble.

I still wanted to touch myself some more. We both hadn’t cum yet, and I knew he also wanted more.

"Daddy," I swallowed nervously, wetting my lips as I continued to rub my thighs together. "Tell me what to do, please."

His voice came low, deep enough to vibrate through me. "Touch yourself for me."

It wasn’t a question. It was a sentence, one my body had already begun to serve before my mind caught up. I could hear the command in every syllable, that quiet steel that made him who he was.

When I hesitated, just to mess with him, his tone sharpened. "Don’t make me repeat myself."

My breath stuttered. My fingers trembled as they slid down, slow, unsure, but needing.

"I... I’m doing it, daddy."

"That’s it," he murmured, almost to himself. "Stroke it. Slow. Let me see how good you are when you’re doing it for me."

The words crawled beneath my skin, hot and dangerous. Each one landed like a touch.

"Show me how badly you want me," he said next, quieter this time, but it carried a weight that left no room for disobedience.

I heard a slick, steady motion—soft but unmistakable—before his breath caught. No doubt, he was touching himself too.

I bit my lip, my voice barely there. He grunted enough for his next words to hit me like a pulse. "Don’t whisper it. I want to hear you."

When I still didn’t speak, because I couldn’t bring myself to say anything, with how hot I was feeling between my legs.

Domenico’s voice darkened with amusement. "You think I can’t tell?" He chuckled lowly. "Your body’s already begging. But I want the words, dolcezza. I want to hear you say them."

My knees went weak.

"Open your legs," he said, his voice dropping even lower. "Wider."

I did, too quickly, too willingly. I imagined his eyes dragged down, slow and deliberate, taking me in like I was his favorite sin. I shut my eyes, so the image could be a little too real.

"Spread for me," he said again, quieter this time, like he was savoring the sight.

The room went silent except for my breathing, our breathing. Mine shallow, his steady and controlled.

"Ride your fingers," he ordered next, the words almost a growl. "Show me how much you’ve missed this."

I could barely breathe. His voice was everywhere, in my head, my chest, between every heartbeat.

Then, softer, but somehow even more dangerous: "Taste yourself."

I froze, my gaze snapping open. I didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Just stayed still, that terrible patience that made me even more needy.

"Do exactly what I say," he murmured, his tone gentling but his eyes unyielding. "Don’t think. Just feel."

I was trembling by the time he spoke again. Sliding my other hand between my legs, I traced the heat still pulsing there, swiping it over my pussy juice and brought it to my lips, tasting the proof of how much he’d undone me.

"Aargh!" I moaned, wrapping my lips around my fingers, licking it clean.

Domenico growled, and I knew for sure he was about to cum undone. "Tell me you’re min."

And he said it like he already knew I was, like he’d claimed every inch of me long before I even realized it myself.

"You own me." I said instead, twisting his words.

"Call me Daddy." He barked, I could hear his breath quickened.

"Ahhh Daddy!" I cried out, my fingers picking race as I rubbed my clit even harder.

"Tell me what you want, baby." He asked, like he would give me anything. Everything.

"I want to cum." I swallowed, slipping two fingers into my pussy, legs trembling.

"Then cum. Cum with daddy."

I moaned louder now, my hips rising to meet my own touch. I rubbed harder, faster, fingers slick and needy.

My orgasm slammed into me so hard I arched off the bed, my mouth open in a silent cry, my toes curling. My thighs shook, my entire body clenching as the forbidden pleasure tore through me.

"Fuck... Daddy..." I whimpered breathlessly.

The aftershocks left me weak and wet and shivering.

It was the hardest I’d ever come in my life.

And it was because of him. Domenico Gravano had made me cum yet again, without even having to try too hard.

"You’re shaking, aren’t you?" he murmured.

I froze. "How do you—"

"Because I know you," he interrupted softly, as though he were standing right behind me. "I can hear it in your breathing. The way it catches. The way you try to hide it from me."

He wasn’t wrong. My pulse was a riot beneath my skin, my breath uneven and shallow. He always knew how to read me, as if my body spoke a language only he understood.

"Why do you let me do this to you, baby?" he asked. "Why do you let me inside your head like this?"

Because I didn’t know how to stop. Because even when I hated him, I wanted him more.

I didn’t answer.

He let out a slow exhale, and I could almost feel it against my neck. "Say something," he whispered.

"I don’t know," I said quietly. "Maybe I’m just... broken."

A low chuckle, rough and breathless, hummed through the receiver. "You’re not broken, princess. You’re just mine."

Those words hit harder than they should have. Mine. The sound of it wrapped around my ribs, suffocating and addictive all at once.

"I hate you," I whispered, though even I didn’t believe it.

"I know." His tone was darkly amused. "And that’s what makes it so perfect."

The silence that followed wasn’t empty; it was alive. The static between us carried something unspoken, a pull neither of us could cut.

I tried to steady my breathing, to anchor myself in the room, the soft hum of the nightstand lamp, the faint breeze through the open window, the taste of whiskey still clinging to my lips. But all I could feel was him.

His voice slid through the quiet again, low enough to sound dangerous. "Do you still think you can stay away from me, Reina?"

I didn’t reply. My throat was too tight.

"I’ve tried to stay away too," he continued. "But every time I close my eyes, I see you. Every time I breathe, I smell you. Every time I touch anything, I want it to be you."

I shuddered. "Stop..."

"You don’t want me to stop."

God, he was right. And that terrified me.

"I shouldn’t have sent that picture," I said finally, my voice a whisper. "I don’t know what came over me."

"Yes, you do." His tone softened, almost tender. "You missed me."

My eyes burned. I didn’t want to cry, not again.

"You keep pretending you’re done," he said. "But you never are. You want to hate me, but you need me to make you feel alive."

"That’s not true," I said, though the words trembled.

"Then hang up."

The challenge in his voice was quiet but sharp. My finger hovered over the screen. I couldn’t do it.

"See?" he murmured. "You can’t."

I hated him for being right.

For a long moment, all I could hear was the low hum of his breathing. I wanted to tell him to go to hell, but I was already halfway there.

"You drive me crazy, you know that?" he said after a while. "You make me lose control in ways no one ever has. And I think... that’s what I love about you."

My breath caught. He’d said it before, in different ways, but it always felt new, like a wound reopening.

He can’t say the word ’love’ like that. At least, not to me.

"Domenico..." I whispered.

"I’m not letting you go this time." His voice dropped, rough and final. "You’ve been avoiding too long, and I’m done chasing ghosts."

Something in his tone shifted, less temptation now, more decision. My heart stuttered.

"What do you mean?"

A pause. Then, slowly, "I’m coming to pick you up."

My breath hitched. "What?"

"You heard me," he said, calm and absolute. "You’ve played pretend long enough. I’m done hearing your voice from far away. I’m done letting you tease me and then run away. You did that last night, same thing this morning. I’m done watching you try to convince yourself that you can live without me."

"Domenico, don’t—"

"Put your clothes back on if you have to," he cut in, the steel in his tone unmistakable. "I’ll be there soon."

Before I could respond, the line went dead, just the empty hum of the dial tone and my pulse thundering in my ears.

I lowered the phone slowly, staring at it as though it had just burned me.

He was coming.

And no matter how much I told myself I should be afraid... a part of me was already waiting.

Waiting for him to take me back home.

I’m hopeless. I know.