Make Me Moan, Daddy-Chapter 108

REINA

The drive to my apartment was quiet in the best way. Domenico’s hand rested on my thigh—not possessive, not demanding, just warm and steady.

His thumb moved in slow, absent circles over the fabric of my shorts, like he was soothing both of us. The city lights slid across the windshield in soft gold streaks, and for once I let myself lean into the seat, let myself pretend this was normal.

That we were just a couple coming home after a long day. No guilt. No ring burning on my finger. No secrets waiting to swallow us both.

When we pulled into the short driveway of my apartment building, the one I’d quietly turned into my sanctuary, Domenico cut the engine and let the silence settle between us.

He stared at the front door for a long moment, thumb still tracing lazy patterns on my leg.

"When are you coming back home?" he asked quietly.

The question landed soft, but it carried weight. Home meant the big Gravano house. The place with Paolo’s things, the staff’s watchful eyes, the rooms where every corner remembered what we’d done.

I swallowed. "It’s safer if I stay here for a little while."

He turned his head, eyes searching mine in the dim dashboard glow.

"The workers already suspect something," I continued, lowering my voice. "They see the way I look at you when you walk into a room. And how I ran out of your building that day, wearing almost nothing. If I move back in now—sleeping under the same roof, eating at the same table—they’ll have more to whisper about. More proof. More reasons to know we’ve been..." I trailed off, cheeks warming, biting down hard on my lower lip. "Having sex. It won’t be good. For Paolo. For your relationship with him. For any of us."

Domenico exhaled slowly through his nose. No argument. No frustration. Just a single, understanding nod. Then he managed a small smile.

"I get it," he said simply.

He got out first, came around to my side, and opened the door for me like we were on some old date from another lifetime. When I stepped out, he took my hand—fingers threading through mine—and walked me up the short path to the front door. The evening air was cool against my skin, but his palm was warm, steady. 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝘦𝓌𝑒𝑏𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝘭.𝒸𝘰𝑚

At the threshold he stopped. Turned me gently to face him.

His thumbs brushed my cheeks, tilting my face up. Then he leaned down and kissed the tip of my nose—soft, lingering, the tiniest press of lips that felt more intimate than anything we’d done in the car earlier. My heart squeezed.

"Rest," he murmured against my skin. "I’ll come pick you up later. I want to take you to dinner."

A small, surprised smile curved my lips.

"Dinner?" I echoed, almost shy.

He kissed my mouth then—slow, sweet, unhurried. No rush. No demand. Just the gentle slide of his lips over mine, like he was savoring every second. When he pulled back just enough to speak, his forehead rested against mine.

"Wear something sexy for me," he said, voice dropping to that low, velvet rumble that always made my stomach flutter. "I’m not sure it’ll be just dinner." He paused, lips curving into a small, wicked smile. "If you know what I mean."

Of course, I did understand.

Heat rushed to my face. I laughed, soft, breathless laugh and slapped his chest lightly with the back of my hand.

"You’re a flirt." I said with a grin.

He caught my hand before I could pull away, brought it to his lips, and kissed my knuckles one by one—slow, reverent. The gesture was so tender it made my throat tight.

"I don’t want to leave," he admitted quietly. His eyes were dark, unguarded in a way he rarely let me see. "I want to stay. Carry you inside. Put you to bed. Wake up with you tomorrow morning again. Make you coffee. Watch you in the light."

My chest ached.

"I know," I whispered. Fuck, that almost sounded amazing.

He kissed me again—deeper this time, but still slow, still careful. His hands slid to my waist, pulling me flush against him until I could feel the steady beat of his heart against mine, the warmth of his body seeping through my clothes.

When he finally stepped back, it looked like it physically hurt him.

"Get some rest, princess," he said. "I’ll text you when I’m on my way back. I need to attend to something real quick, it won’t take long."

I nodded, words stuck somewhere behind the lump in my throat.

He waited until I was inside, door locked, lights on. Through the peephole I watched him stand there a moment longer—hands in his pockets, shoulders tense—before he finally turned and walked back to the car.

The engine started. Headlights swept across the driveway. Then he was gone.

I leaned against the door, eyes closed, breathing him in. His cologne lingered on my skin, on my clothes. I pressed my thighs together and felt the faint, sweet ache he’d left behind earlier.

Upstairs, I showered slowly. Let the hot water pound against my back while I replayed every touch, every word, every look he’d given me tonight. When I stepped out, I wrapped myself in my softest robe and stood in front of my closet.

Something sexy.

"I might have something that fit that criteria." I smirked to myself, staring down at my hard nipples. "Fuck! He’s just too sexy for his own good."

I pulled out the deep burgundy dress I’d bought on a whim months ago—silky, low-cut, clinging in all the right places. The kind of dress Paolo would have called "too much."

I slipped it on, the fabric cool and smooth against my skin. It hugged my curves, dipped low between my breasts, ended mid-thigh. I left my hair loose, waves falling over my shoulders, and added simple gold hoops.

I looked... like his.

I spritzed my favorite perfume on my wrists and neck—the one that made him bury his face in my hair and groan.

Then my phone buzzed on the nightstand.

"Don’t tell me he’s already back?" I barked out a laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

I picked it up, heart already racing with anticipation.

But then, it wasn’t Domenico.

It was my husband calling and not his father.

The screen lit up with his name and that old wedding photo of us smiling, young, pretending everything was perfect. Staring right back at me.

My heart skipped a beat.

I stared at the ringing phone like it might explode.

I still feel guilty every time I see my husband’s call.