Make Me Moan, Daddy-Chapter 82

DOMENICO

My lungs locked. My eyes stung. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even blink.

I kept telling myself she didn’t mean it.

"She didn’t mean what she said," I told myself. Repeating the words in my head over and over again like a fucking mantra. "She couldn’t... she wouldn’t know how much it would hurt me."

It’s just words. Just meaningless words.

"I’m not... not just that," I repeated, over and over. "It doesn’t mean what it sounded like. I know she didn’t mean it."

But it still hurts. Damn it, it still hurts.

When I stepped toward her, she stepped back like I was something she needed to escape from. Her hands shook around the phone she held like a weapon, her chest rising and falling too fast.

"Don’t come any closer," she whispered. Her voice was small... Broken.

That... that pierced something in me I didn’t even know was vulnerable. Because she wasn’t just angry. She was terrified.

Of me.

My stomach twisted. I hated that look in her eyes, hated knowing I had put it there. But I reached for her waist anyway—not to hurt her, just to stop her from running long enough for her to hear me. I backed her gently onto the couch, holding her still as she fell backwards, landing on the arm of the couch.

"Say it again," I growled. But God, I didn’t mean for my voice to be that loud, that scary. "But say the truth, don’t just say whatever comes to your mind. Tell me exactly how you feel about it, please."

Her lips trembled. She swallowed. Her fear cracked into something else, something I knew too damn well... want. It seemed like an invitation and I foolishly went for it anyway.

I kissed her.

I shouldn’t have. Fuck, I knew I shouldn’t have.

But she kissed me back, just as desperate as I was. Her fingers dug into my shoulders. Her body arched toward mine. She kissed me like she needed me.

Until she slapped me.

Again.

The sound snapped through the air and through me. Everything inside me went still—cold, steady, knowing.

And then she said it.

"You were just... useful. That’s it. I used you. Like a toy. Like a human dildo." she cried out, her whole body trembling against mine.

A fuck toy. A human dildo?

The words hit harder than any weapon. It hurts so fucking much knowing the first time she had said it wasn’t just a mistake. It hurts to know that was all I was to her.

Not because it bruised my pride—no, I could take that. It was the lie. The way she reduced something that had ripped both of us open.

I moved before I could think. I hauled her off the couch and pinned her to the nearest wall.

Not violently. But firmly. Desperately.

Her eyes went wide, breath catching as my body caged hers. My forehead pressed to hers, my voice low, uneven.

"Don’t lie to me," I whispered. "Don’t pretend this was nothing. You felt me. You wanted me. You..."

"Let me go." Her voice cracked.

"Reina." My thumb brushed her jaw. "Look at me. I’m not your mistake. I love you. You know that I do. God, how can you even look at me like this, like I meant the whole world to you, and still lie to me that you don’t want me?"

"Stop."

"It wasn’t just sex, baby. We both know it’s not. You don’t kiss like that unless—"

"Stop."

She pushed at my chest, harder this time. Still nothing. I wasn’t trying to restrain her—I just wanted her to understand—but to her, intent didn’t matter.

Her breathing turned sharp, shallow. Her fingers trembled against me. She wasn’t looking at me like a man anymore.

She was looking at me like a monster.

And then she screamed. A real scream—raw, terrified, loud enough to echo through the apartment.

"HELP!" She yelled, turning her head sideways, tears rolling down her eyes as her whole body went absurdly still against mine. "Somebody help! He’s going to hurt me!"

Everything inside me froze. My hands dropped instantly, as if her voice had cut the tendons. She tore away from me like the wall had opened and offered her an escape.

She ran.

Barefoot. In my shirt. Tears streaking down her face. She bolted out the door before I could even breathe.

Instinct kicked me forward—I would have chased her, dragged her back, begged her, held her, anything—but the moment I reached the doorway, I saw the staff outside.

They were already staring. At her running toward her husband’s building.

At me standing half-dressed in the doorway like I’d been the one tearing apart.

I stopped cold.

I couldn’t chase her like that. Couldn’t let them see that version of me—shaken, frantic, exposed. Couldn’t run down the path after my son’s wife with desperation written all over me.

So I closed the door. And everything hit at once.

The sofa took the first blow. My foot connected with it so hard the leg splintered. My fist slammed into the wall next, pain shooting up my arm, grounding me in the worst possible way.

Because the truth wasn’t avoidable anymore. I had tried to make her understand my love...

...and instead, I made her afraid of it.

Afraid of me.

I staggered to the counter and hurled the ring across the room. It hit the wall, skidded across the floor, and landed face‑down like it was ashamed to look at me.

My chest ached. My breathing felt like glass scraping through my ribs. I sank onto the stool, elbows on my knees, head in my hands.

I replayed it all—the look in her eyes, the scream, the tremble in her voice. I hadn’t meant to frighten her. I had just wanted her to stop pushing me away. I had wanted her to see what I felt for her, to see that this wasn’t something she could reduce to lust or convenience.

But wanting didn’t matter.

The outcome was the same: she ran from me as if I were capable of destroying her.

And maybe I was.

After a moment, I pushed myself up and walked toward the ring. My body felt heavy, weighed down by everything I had never allowed myself to feel. I picked up the gold band slowly, turning it in my shaking hand.

I had bought it with certainty. A stupid kind of hope. Loving Reina wasn’t the mistake. Thinking she’d accept it... Thinking she’d accept me easily was. I was the mistake.

"I’m the mistake?" The words rolled down my tongue, and I felt my head spinning. "That’s foolish. How can I be a mistake? How can what I felt for her be a mistake?"

I turned the ring in my hand, gritting my teeth. I had imagined what it’d feel like for her to wear my ring, I had almost... Almost picture what it would feel like to walk down the aisle with her. So how can any of my feelings be a mistake?

"She lied." I smirked, swallowing down thickly. Every time I imagined us spending the rest of our life together, Reina was always happy with me. So how could any of that be a mistake? "She fucking lied."

She could run to Paolo’s building, hide behind walls and tears and excuses. She could try to pretend nothing happened. She could tell herself she didn’t want me.

But she couldn’t unfeel me.

She couldn’t erase the way she kissed me like her life depended on it. The way her body melted, opened, responded to mine. The way she looked at me before fear overtook everything else.

She could lie to herself all she wanted.

I wouldn’t lie to myself.

I wasn’t Paolo. I wasn’t the man who caged her like a pet but still ignored her. And I wasn’t a man who gave up simply because she was scared.

I stared at the ring the same way I used to stare at a gun before pulling the trigger—steady, certain, knowing nothing would be the same after I made a choice.

If she wouldn’t choose me willingly... then I would force her to choose me.

Even if she hated me first. Even if I had to claw my way back to her trust. Even if I crossed every line she thought she could draw between us.

Because I was already in too deep to reverse any of this. There was no version of the way I thought about our future where I let her go.

Not breathing. Not living. Not walking around with my son’s name still tied to hers.

Reina was mine.

Shaking, furious, terrified—mine. All mine.

And I would make sure she realized it. One way or another.