Make Me Moan, Daddy-Chapter 28

REINA

Something stirred me awake.

It wasn’t a sound, not really, more like a feeling. A shift in the air. A weight pressed against me from behind, slow and deliberate, like the rhythm of breathing turned into touch.

For a moment, I didn’t move. My mind floated somewhere between sleep and waking, warm and hazy, until the awareness sharpened. Domenico’s erection, solid and heavy, pressing against my back.

His arm was still wrapped around my waist the way it had been when I fell asleep. But now his hand had wandered. Resting lower. Almost too low.

And there was something else. A steady, subtle movement against the curve of my hips.

I went still, pulse stuttering.

He was half asleep, maybe dreaming, maybe not, but his body was betraying him. That slow friction, the faint hitch of his breath against my neck, told me exactly what kind of dream he was having.

For a few seconds, I tried to convince myself it didn’t mean anything. That he didn’t know what he was doing. But then I heard him whisper.

"Reina..."

Just my name. Soft, rough, half a groan, like it had been dragged from his chest.

I swallowed hard, my heart tripping over itself.

Every part of me screamed to move away, to get out of bed, to stop this before it became something else. But I couldn’t. My body didn’t listen.

My thoughts scattered like smoke, replaced by heat and memory, the sound of his voice when he’d told me to come home, the way he’d looked at me earlier, like I was both a sin and a salvation.

"Domenico..." I whispered, unsure if I was trying to wake him or warn him.

He didn’t answer, but his body did. His hand flexed on my waist, pulling me closer, his breath warm against my ear.

God, I should’ve pushed him away.

Instead, I stayed perfectly still, pretending to go back to sleep, my mind burning with thoughts I didn’t want to have.

My mind taking me back to that dream, where... "Reina..."

He murmured my name and something else again. I couldn’t catch the words, but his tone made my stomach twist. Raw. Awake.

Awake to what this little gesture was doing to my body.

And just like that, the anger I’d been holding onto all night dissolved into something else. Something worse. Want.

I hated that I wanted him. Hated that even after everything, one touch from him could undo me like this.

I tried to distract myself, to think of anything else. But then his thumb brushed against the inside of my waist, lazy and unintentional, and it felt too intimate. Too real.

"Stop it," I breathed, barely audible.

He stilled. For a heartbeat, I thought he’d fallen back asleep. Then I felt him exhale against my neck, low, quiet, deliberate.

"You said you wouldn’t touch me, that we’d only sleep." I pointed out, my chest heaving, my pussy pulsing.

"I’m sorry," he murmured. His voice was hoarse, the kind that came from not sleeping enough, or from fighting too many things at once.

I turned slightly, just enough to see his face in the dim light spilling from the window. His eyes were open now, dark and unreadable, fixed on mine.

"You weren’t asleep," I whispered.

"No."

The honesty in that one word hit harder than any lie could’ve.

"Then why—"

He cut me off, his voice low. "Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Can’t stop wanting to do more with you."

The silence that followed was heavy enough to feel. I didn’t move. Neither did he.

My throat went dry. I could still feel the bulge in his boxers. God, he was only wearing boxers. Was that how he go to sleep every night? Or was it because I was lying next to him?

The thought only did something dirty to me, and I was sure I must already soaked my panties. "You said you wouldn’t touch me."

"I didn’t," he said quietly. "Not the way you think."

I let out a shaky breath. "You call this not touching?"

His lips curved slightly, not in amusement, more like resignation. "You’re right. I shouldn’t have. But when I close my eyes..." His jaw tightened. "You’re the only thing I see."

The confession wasn’t supposed to sound like that. It wasn’t supposed to make my chest ache.

I wanted to be angry. To call him manipulative, controlling, insane. But instead, all I felt was the dangerous pull that had been there since the first time he said my name.

"Domenico," I said softly, hating how my voice shook. "We should just go to sleep, please."

He nodded once. "I know."

"Then stop touching me, you’re still touching me."

He didn’t move. His hand still rested at my waist, warm, steady, like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go. He cock subconsciously rubbing against my hip and I was so sure if he wasn’t wearing his boxers briefs and I wasn’t wearing panties he would... Would what? Want to slide it in?

"I’ve tried," he said finally, his tone rough. "Every damn seconds, I tell myself I’ll stop wanting you. And then you breathe like this. You shift in my arms like this. And it’s over."

His words crawled under my skin, leaving heat in their wake.

I closed my eyes, trying to block him out, but all I could feel was him, the scent of his cologne fading into my hair, the steady thrum of his pulse against my back. The feeling of his angry erection pressing into my side.

"You don’t get to blame me for your lack of control," I said quietly.

"I’m not blaming you," he replied, almost immediately. "I’m warning you."

"Warning me?"

"That if you turn around right now, I won’t be able to stop myself."

The air left my lungs in one sharp breath.

He meant it. I could hear it in his voice, that dangerous line between promise and threat.

I should’ve rolled away. I should’ve gotten up and walked out. But I didn’t. Instead, I lay there frozen in the dark, my heart racing so loud it drowned out everything else.

For a long time, neither of us spoke.

Finally, I whispered, "What do you want from me, Domenico?"