Make Me Moan, Daddy-Chapter 91

DOMENICO

By the time we pulled into her driveway, I could feel the tension in my chest tightening, coiling like a spring ready to snap. Knowing this was the part where she would be telling me to leave.

But I didn’t want to leave her. Ever!

Four days without her had been hell. Cold beds, empty rooms, quiet walls—they’d reminded me constantly that she wasn’t here. And now, just seeing her, even across the car, made the ache worse.

Reina reached for her bag as if to leave immediately, her fingers brushing the leather strap with a little too much force. I caught her movement with a smile.

"You’re walking too fast for your heels, princess." I said lightly, glancing at her shoes. "I can carry you if you want."

Her eyes shot to mine, narrowing. "I don’t need to be carried. Especially not by you."

"Of course not," I said, mock bowing toward her. "But you look like someone who deserves a little VIP treatment."

She huffed, looking away, but I caught the twitch at the corner of her mouth. She wasn’t going to give me a smile. Not yet. But she had almost.

I leaned a little closer. "Your bag looks heavy," I added, even though it was ridiculous because it was just a small bag. "I’d hate for it to hurt your delicate arms."

"Delicate? Really?" she asked, incredulous, but she didn’t reach for it.

"Delicate," I confirmed. "And I can’t risk my princess being injured on her driveway."

Her lips pressed into a line. Her cheeks warmed faintly. I knew she was resisting. But that little blush... that was mine.

I opened the car door, stepped out, and held my hand toward her. "Come on, let me help."

She hesitated. Her eyes flicked to my hand, then back to her bag, then to my face. Her jaw set.

"I said I don’t need your help," she said, but her hand wavered in mid-air.

I didn’t move my hand. I just waited. Patient. Careful. Persistent.

Finally, with a resigned little groan, she dropped her bag into my hand. I caught it with ease, holding it steady, keeping her fingers just barely touching mine. It was just a gentle graze of her fingers against mine, yet I could feel an electric spark shot through my skin at the touch.

Her heels clicked against the concrete as she walked beside me, a little off-balance. I matched my steps with hers, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off her body. My chest tightened. I wanted to pull her into my arms, to let her feel she belonged there.

I leaned down slightly, close enough that my voice was just for her to hear. Only hers. "How’s the princess of this driveway today?"

She snorted quietly, rolling her eyes. "I’m fine. Happy now?"

I grinned. "Not yet."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Not yet?"

"No," I said seriously, but my lips quirked with amusement. "You need a proper welcome home. Something only I can provide."

Her steps faltered just a fraction, just enough to make me grin wider. "I can manage," she muttered.

I chuckled, letting my gaze linger on her. "Maybe," I said, low, teasing. "But managing doesn’t make the princess happy. Does it?"

Her lips twitched, betraying her effort to resist, and that little crack in her armor... that made my heart hammer in my chest.

I glanced down at her bag again, noticing her posture stiffen. "You know," I murmured, "I can carry that too. Wouldn’t want my princess to strain herself before I even get a chance to feed her properly."

Her eyes flicked to mine. She opened her mouth, probably to argue, then closed it. The blush on her cheeks deepened.

I didn’t say anything else. I just smiled, victorious, enjoying the quiet fight, the tiny sparks of defiance and warmth mingling in her.

And then, with the perfect timing I had known I’d have since the moment I got into the car, I leaned closer and whispered, "You must be hungry. Please let me cook you something delicious. Allow me, baby."

Her lips pressed together. I saw her resisting. Fighting it. Wanting to say no. But then, a small, undeniable rumble came from her stomach. A single, soft sound that confirmed what I already knew she was truly hungry.

I leaned back, victorious. "There it is," I said quietly.

Without hesitation, I scooped her off her feet, throwing her across my shoulder like she weighed nothing. My arm burned, my grip strong and sure. A deep grunt escaped me—not from effort, but from the satisfaction of having her in my control again.

She shifted slightly, trying to resist, but I knew her weight. I knew her movements. I had memorized them the way a predator memorizes its territory.

God, I had missed her. Every single part of her. Every defiance, every sigh, every motion that made her alive, made her mine.

As I carried her inside, I felt the familiar rush of dominance and adoration swirl together. I wanted to hold her. To keep her. To never let her forget that I existed. That I was hers. That she had no choice but to feel the same, even if she resisted with every sharp word, every cold glance.

And she did resist, just a little. Enough to make me grin. Enough to make my heart hammer in my chest. I wanted that fire from her. I wanted it because it meant she was alive, because it meant she belonged somewhere, and somewhere—right now—was on my shoulder, in my arms, in my possession.

Every step I took into the apartment was deliberate. Every movement a reminder that she wasn’t alone. That she didn’t have to be. That I wouldn’t allow anything, anyone, to touch her without my notice.

Her body was soft and warm against mine, her hair brushing against my neck, and for the first time in four days, I felt complete. Dangerous, giddy, happy, hopelessly in love—every emotion that made me who I was condensed into this one moment.

When Reina didn’t resist me carrying her, it protesting against me cooking for her, I knew I had won. Even if not completely. Even if it was just for this moment.

And in that victory, in that simple moment of having her, I knew nothing else in the world mattered. Not the threats. Not the danger. Not the people who might be watching, plotting, waiting. None of it.

She was here. I was here. And for right now, that was enough.