Make Me Moan, Daddy-Chapter 110

REINA

Domenico took me to a quiet restaurant. It was full, but it felt closed off from the city.

The lights were low, and people kept their voices down. I could hear the soft clink of glasses somewhere in the far end of the restaurant.

He’d reserved a corner booth in the back, half-hidden by a tall potted fern and a low partition, private enough that we could speak freely and no one would hear.

He held my hand the entire walk from the valet to our table, thumb stroking the inside of my wrist like he was counting my pulse.

Every few steps the silver balls shifted inside me—heavy, cool at first, now warm from my body heat—and the inner weights rolled with a soft, rolling thump against my walls.

I bit my lip to keep from moaning right there in the foyer. By the time the hostess led us to the booth I was already flushed, thighs slick, clit throbbing with every heartbeat.

Domenico slid in beside me instead of across—close enough that his thigh pressed to mine under the table, hard and warm through his suit pants.

He draped one arm along the back of the booth behind my shoulders, fingers playing idly with the ends of my hair.

"You’re quiet," he murmured once the server left with our wine order. His voice was low, intimate, meant only for me.

I swallowed. "I’m... distracted."

His lips curved. "By what, princess?"

I pressed my thighs together. The balls rolled again—slow, heavy pressure against my G-spot. A tiny whimper slipped out before I could stop it.

Fuck! This is almost too much.

He leaned closer, lips brushing my ear. "By these?" His free hand slid under the table, resting high on my thigh, pinky brushing the edge of the slit where the dress parted.

He didn’t move higher—just let his palm sit there, warm and possessive. "Feel them rolling inside you?"

"Yes," I breathed. I fucking gasped when I felt the balls moving impossibly higher inside of me.

"Good." Domenico breathed out, he kissed my temple—soft, lingering. "I want you to feel them all night. Every time you shift, every time you breathe too deep, every time you try to act normal while you’re dripping for me."

I clenched around the balls involuntarily. The inner weights thudded softly. My breath hitched.

The server returned with the wine. Domenico tasted it, nodded, and waited until the glasses were filled and we were alone again before he spoke.

"To us," he said quietly, raising his glass.

I clinked mine against his. "To us."

He took a slow sip, eyes never leaving mine. Then he set the glass down, reached across the table, and brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture was so gentle it made my chest ache.

"You look beautiful tonight," he said, voice soft. "Not just sexy. Beautiful. Like you’re glowing from the inside out."

Heat crept up my neck. Because I couldn’t help but understand the double meaning of what he just said.

Clearing my throat, I said with a shy smile, "It’s the dress."

"It’s you." He traced the line of my jaw with his thumb. "Always you."

I felt my eyes sting. No one had ever looked at me like that—like I was something rare and irreplaceable. Not Paolo. Not anyone.

He leaned in and kissed me—slow, deep, unhurried. Right there in the booth. Not obscene, just... tender. When he pulled back his forehead rested against mine.

"I could sit here and kiss you all night," he whispered.

I laughed softly, shaky. "We’d get kicked out."

"Worth it." He grinned, sticking his tongue out and licked the side of my face.

I cleared my throat, pushing his face gently away from mine when I saw the server coming towards our table. "Hey, behave."

The first course arrived—seared scallops, buttery sauce, microgreens. He cut one in half, speared it on his fork, and held it to my lips.

"Open."

I did. He fed me slowly, watching my mouth close around the fork, eyes darkening when I licked a drop of sauce from my bottom lip.

"Good girl," he murmured.

I clenched again. The balls shifted. A fresh wave of wetness soaked my thong. I pressed my thighs together harder, trying to ease the ache. It only made it worse.

He noticed. Of course he did.

"Struggling already?" he asked, voice velvet.

"A little," I admitted.

He smiled—slow, wicked, sweet all at once. "You can come whenever you want tonight. Just say the word and I’ll take you to the bathroom and make it happen. Or..." He leaned closer, lips brushing my ear. "You can sit here and edge yourself for me. Let the balls do the work. Let them fuck you slow while I watch you try to keep a straight face."

I whimpered softly.

"Which one do you want, princess?"

I looked at him—really looked. His eyes were dark, hungry, but there was something softer underneath. Something that made my heart stutter.

"I want to stay here," I whispered. "With you. Like this."

His expression melted. He cupped my cheek, thumb stroking my skin.

"Then that’s what we’ll do." He gently tapped the tip of my nose, offering me his best smile ever. "We will stay and finish our dinner while those balls get you ready for me."

Every time he talked like that, my pussy throbbed so fucking hard it was starting to get unbearable.

"Um," I swallowed down nothing, biting down on the inside of my cheek. "You talking dirty like that isn’t helping my situation."

"There’s more where they came from." He winked. That fucking seductive bastard winked at me.

He fed me another scallop. Then a sip of wine from his own glass, holding it to my lips like I was something precious. Every gesture felt deliberate, intimate—like he was savoring me more than the food.

Across the room, a man at the bar kept glancing over. Mid-thirties, suit, alone, nursing a whiskey in his hand. His eyes lingered on me—on the dress, on the way Domenico’s arm was draped behind me, on the way my lips parted when I took another sip. He wasn’t subtle.

Domenico noticed too.

He didn’t tense. Didn’t glare. He just smiled—slow, dangerous—and leaned in closer.

"He’s staring," he murmured against my ear.

"I know."

Domenico’s hand slid higher under the table, fingers tracing the edge of the slit, brushing the damp lace.

"Let him look," he whispered. "Let him see how flushed you are. How your lips are swollen from my kisses. Let him imagine what’s under this dress... what’s inside you right now."

I clenched hard. The balls rolled. A soft moan escaped before I could stop it.

"Oh, fuck, Daddy!"

Domenico’s fingers pressed—just enough to nudge the retrieval cord against my clit.

"He’s wondering why your thighs are pressed so tight," he continued, voice low and filthy. "Why your breathing seems shallow from over there. Why your nipples are hard against the silk. He thinks it’s the wine. Or the lighting. He has no idea I’ve got you stuffed full of silver balls, rolling inside you, fucking you slow while I sit here feeding you scallops like a perfect gentleman."

"Domenico..." My voice cracked.

He kissed my neck—soft, open-mouthed. "You like him watching?"

I hesitated. Then nodded, tiny.

I didn’t understand why I felt like I had to be honest with him. Even when the truth was embarrassing. I didn’t mind.

"Good girl." His fingers circled the cord, tugging lightly—just enough to make the balls shift deeper inside of me. "Then let’s give him something to watch."

He pulled back slightly, picked up his fork, and fed me another bite. This time he let his thumb brush my lower lip after, wiping away an imaginary crumb.

The man at the bar shifted in his seat, eyes locked on us.

Domenico leaned in again, lips to my ear.

"Spread your legs a little wider," he whispered. "Just enough for me to feel how wet you are. And for our dear audience to feel tortured just by watching."

I did—slowly, thighs parting under the table. His hand slid higher, fingers slipping beneath the lace, brushing my swollen clit.

"Fuck," he breathed. "Soaked. Dripping down your thighs."

He circled once—slow, firm. I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

"Imagine him knowing," Domenico murmured. "Imagine him realizing you’re sitting here with three heavy silver balls rolling inside your pussy, fucking you while I play with your clit under the table. Imagine him hard under the bar, wishing he could trade places with me."

I whimpered, hips rocking subtly against his hand. "Don’t stop."

"You’re close," he said softly. "Aren’t you, amore mio?"

"Yes."

"Not yet." He withdrew his fingers, brought them to his lips, and licked them clean—slow, deliberate, eyes on mine. "Save it for me later. I want to feel you come around my cock while these are still inside you."

The main course arrived shortly—filet, asparagus, truffle sauce. He cut a piece, held it to my lips.

"Eat," he said gently.

I did. Every bite felt obscene. Every swallow made the balls shift. Every glance from the man at the bar made my skin burn hotter.

Domenico never rushed. He fed me, sipped wine, told me quiet stories—about the first time he saw me, about the night he realized he couldn’t stop wanting me, about how he’d dreamed of nights like this. His voice was soft, almost reverent. His hand never left my thigh—sometimes stroking, sometimes just resting, always reminding me he was there.

Dessert came—chocolate torte, raspberry coulis. He scooped a bite, held it to my mouth.

But I was so done with them, I wanted him to take me out of here and fuck me.

"Last one," he murmured, as if he could see it on my face how badly I wanted dinner to be over.

I took it. The chocolate melted on my tongue. The balls rolled again—deep, insistent. My clit throbbed.

He watched me swallow, then leaned in and kissed me—slow, deep, tasting chocolate and wine and me.

When he pulled back, his eyes were soft.

"I love you," he said quietly. "Not just your body. Not just this. All of you."

Tears stung my eyes. Fuck, he’s torturing me.

"I love you too," I whispered, my voice came out shakily.

He smiled—small, real, heartbreaking.

"Then come home with me tonight, just this night." he said. "Stay for the night only. Let me take care of you."

I nodded, throat too tight to speak. It’s just for one night, I would come back to my apartment and stay there until Paolo returns.

He paid the bill. Helped me up. The balls shifted hard as I stood. I gasped softly, gripping his arm.

He steadied me, kissed my temple.

"Hold it until we get home, princess."

The man at the bar watched us leave—eyes dark, hungry. For some reason he seemed angry, or maybe he was just horny?

Domenico didn’t look back. He just held my hand tighter. And led me out into the night.