Make Me Moan, Daddy-Chapter 69

REINA

The moment I turned and saw him, the world stopped moving.

The music didn’t just fade... it disappeared. The crowd around me blurred, a wave of faceless silhouettes, and the only thing that existed was him. Domenico Gravano.

My father-in-law. My secret. My sin. My gravity.

He was cutting through the crowd like a storm through fog. Every step slow, deliberate, lethal.

The lights caught the hard lines of his face, and in the swirl of color and smoke, he looked like something out of a nightmare and a fantasy all at once.

His eyes locked on me. His eyes were dark, burning, unreadable, and I felt my pulse trip over itself.

And then I saw it.

That murderous look. The same one he always had on whenever he felt the need to let the world know he doesn’t joke about what is his.

His hand was already inside his jacket, fingers curling toward the weapon I knew he always carried like a second skin.

My breath froze in my throat.

"Domen..." I started, but before I could say his name, Paul, the handsome stranger I’d been dancing with, raised both hands, palms open, stepping back like someone who had just realized he’d poked a sleeping lion.

"Whoa! I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know she was taken." His words came out rushed, half-fear, half-apology. "My mistake. I swear."

Taken. 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

The word hit me like a spark in the chest.

Domenico didn’t say a word. He just stared at Paul, stared right through him, like he was already erasing him from existence.

For a second, I thought he might still pull the trigger, right here in the middle of the crowded dancefloor, with the music pounding and people dancing two feet away, unaware they were sharing space with death.

But Paul got smart. He stepped back, then turned, disappearing into the crowd so fast it was almost like he’d never been there.

And I just stood there, frozen, heartbeat thundering in my ears.

I didn’t even realize I was smiling until I felt it.

Not a big one, just a tiny, helpless curve of my lips that I couldn’t stop.

Taken.

He thought I was taken. By Domenico.

God help me, that one word made my stomach flutter like I’d swallowed lightning. It shouldn’t have felt this good. It should’ve terrified me, because in a way... it was true. I was taken. Not by law, not by name... but by everything he was.

By every look, every touch, every whisper that had burned itself into me.

And right now, as Domenico closed the final few feet between us, I felt it all over again.

He grabbed my hand—firm, warm, possessive—and pulled me toward him. The crowd seemed to part without realizing it, the air bending around his presence. I stumbled slightly against his big, hard chest, breath catching as his fingers came up to cup my face.

"Princess," he breathed, and I almost didn’t hear it over the bass. His voice was low, sharp with concern. His thumb brushed my cheek like he was afraid I might vanish if he wasn’t careful. "Are you hurt?"

I blinked, disoriented. "What? No... I’m fine."

His brows pulled together. "You’re not fine."

"I am," I insisted, smiling even though my voice came out shaky. "It was just a dance."

He ignored that, scanning my face again like he could see under my skin. "You’re pale. You’re shaking."

"It’s just the lights," I said, laughing softly. "And maybe the margarita."

Domenico didn’t smile. His jaw flexed, the muscle ticking tight. "You shouldn’t be here," he said, voice rougher now. "After what happened today. You should be home, resting. You should be at home where I wouldn’t have to worry about anything because no one dared lay a finger on you under my roof."

Something in his tone—protective, angry, too intense—made warmth rush up my throat. I had no idea why, but hearing him talk like that, like I mattered that much, made me feel... dizzy.

It made me feel heat between my legs. All hot and bothered, and soaking wet for him.

"I’m fine," I said again, quieter this time. "Really. Don’t worry about me, daddy." I muttered, staring up at him like a slut looking at her master. Her owner.

Because fuck, Domenico Gravano owned me. And this wasn’t just my pussy speaking. I knew just whom I belonged to.

Domenico didn’t answer. His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth, his eyes still roaming over my face like he was memorizing it.

Then his gaze dropped.

And everything changed.

His eyes slid down to my dress—the short, body-hugging ever so slutty one Tessa had convinced me to wear. His jaw tightened. His breath came out slow, but laced with something darker than worry.

Fuck! The way his breath felt hot against my face, it was achingly sexy. It made my pussy pulse.

"What the hell are you wearing, Reina?" His voice dropped an octave, quiet but heavy. "You came to a place like this dressed like that?"

I blinked, caught off guard. "What’s wrong with it?"

He was panting now, so hard and heavy... and good lord, nothing had ever felt this sexy before.

"What’s wrong with..." He let out a low hiss, the kind that was half anger, half... something else. Perhaps horny? "Every man in this club is looking at you."

My breath hitched. Every man?

The idea sent a ripple of wicked pride through me. I’d dressed to feel alive tonight, to forget for a while that I was someone’s neglected wife, someone’s secret shame. But now, standing under the heat of Domenico’s stare, it felt like every inch of me had been exposed for his eyes alone.

And God, the way his gaze burned... it was possessive, feral, hungry. The kind that could strip me bare without ever touching me.

"So?" I challenged him, though the word came out softer than I meant, almost trembling. My pulse betrayed me, fluttering in my throat.

"So?" His hand slid from my cheek to the back of my neck, firm enough to make me shiver.

The warmth of his palm seared my skin, and every nerve in my body reacted like it remembered him, remembered us.

My knees nearly gave out when his fingers tightened just slightly, like a silent claim. My lips parted, aching to breathe, aching to speak, aching to beg.

"They’re looking at what’s mine. Mine, Reina! Fucking mine!"

The word punched straight through me. Mine.

God, the way he said it, like a vow, like a warning, like it was carved into stone.

It shouldn’t have thrilled me, but it did. My heart stuttered; my thighs pressed together.

Mine.

No one had ever said it like that before, not with such fury, not with such hunger, not with that devastating mix of reverence and sin.

And the worst part? I wanted it. I wanted to belong to him, to be his to protect, to touch, to destroy, to be the only thing that made that rough, dangerous voice turn soft for even a second.