Make Me Moan, Daddy-Chapter 87

REINA

His eyes were wide, locked onto mine, and I could see the panic there too. For the first time, it wasn’t me feeling small. It was him. And maybe I should have felt relief. I should have told him to move, to let me go, to leave me alone. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

The car screeched past, barely missing us, tires squealing, leaving a cloud of dust and adrenaline in its wake.

I could feel my chest heaving, my breath uneven, my hands trembling. I wanted to shove him off me, to tell him again to stay away, but my body betrayed me. I was too close, and everything from before—the hatred, the betrayal, the fear, the anger—was wrapped up in this moment, and I couldn’t untangle it fast enough.

Andrew’s hands stayed firm on my waist, steady and strong. His forehead almost brushed mine as he said, his voice tense but quiet, "Are you okay?"

I wanted to scream. I wanted to curse. I wanted to punch him in the face again. I wanted to run away. All at the same time.

"I—" My words got stuck in my throat. I didn’t know what to say. He didn’t deserve anything from me, and yet here he was, looking at me like my life depended on it. Like I mattered. Like I could still matter to him after everything.

I could feel the anger boiling up again, mixing with the lingering hurt, the humiliation from four years ago, and the suffocating realization that he was back in my life at the worst possible time. And at the love I once had for him. Him, my first love.

And just like that, everything stopped. Everything except our closeness, the car that had nearly hit me, and the pounding of my heart in my ears. I could feel the warmth from him, the intensity in his eyes, the way his hands held me not just to protect, but as if letting go would break us both.

I didn’t know whether to hate him, push him away, or... lean into the moment.

I didn’t know.

And I couldn’t breathe.

Because nothing had prepared me for Andrew to come back into my life like this. Nothing had prepared me for him to appear after all this time, smiling at me like he hadn’t ruined me. Nothing had prepared me for him to get in my space, close enough that I could see every detail of his face, close enough that my anger and fear and pain had nowhere to go but to swirl between us.

Everything had led to this moment, and I knew—I just knew—nothing would ever feel the same again.

The car had gone, but the air between us felt heavier, charged, unbearable. My chest hurt. My mind hurt. My heart—God, my heart—felt like it was being torn in two directions at once.

I didn’t move. I couldn’t. I was pinned against the wall, and Andrew’s hands held me there, and I could feel the tension in every muscle in his body, and the way he was looking at me made my stomach twist in a way I wasn’t ready to process.

And I knew, deep down, that this was far from over. I felt like I had been charmed by him.

My hand shot out, instinctively reaching to brush the strands of hair from his face so I could see his piercing hazel eyes clearly, and the small mole above his left eyebrow. But before my fingers could touch him, Andrew seemed to notice my movement.

He leaned closer, and then, in a heartbeat, a strong hand shot out, yanking Andrew away from me. He stumbled back, crashing to the floor with a thud that rattled my bones. My heart skipped, panic flaring, and before I could even process what was happening, another pair of hands gripped my face, firm and unyielding.

A deep, rough voice rasped through the chaos, low and urgent, "Are you alright, Reina? Is he hurting you?"

The hands on my face were rough.

Not comforting. Not gentle. They held me still, like I might fall apart if he let go even for a second.

"Reina," the voice said, low and sharp. "Look at me. Are you alright? Did he hurt you?"

I blinked hard, my vision clearing in uneven waves. The first thing I saw was Andrew on the ground a few feet away, sprawled like he’d been tossed aside without effort. Then the pavement. Then the wall at my back.

And then I looked up.

Calestino.

My breath hitched painfully in my throat.

His face was hard, unreadable, eyes scanning me like he was counting injuries that weren’t there. His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscle twitching beneath his skin. One of his hands still cupped my face, thumb pressing into my cheek like he needed to feel that I was real.

"Did he hurt you?" he asked again, as if I hadn’t heard him the first time.

There was no softness in his voice. No concern dressed up as politeness. It was a demand.

I swallowed. "He only grabbed my hand."

Calestino’s nostrils flared.

Behind us, Andrew groaned and pushed himself upright. "Jesus Christ," he snapped. "What the fuck is wrong with you, man?"

Calestino didn’t look at him.

"Did he touch you anywhere else?" he asked me.

"No." I said with a frown, shaking my head gently.

Calestino’s hand dropped from my face. Slowly. Like he was forcing himself not to do something worse.

Only then did he turn.

The shift was immediate. His body squared toward Andrew, shoulders rolling back, presence expanding until it felt like the air itself tightened around us.

"You put your hands on her," Calestino said calmly.

Andrew scoffed, rubbing his elbow as he stood. "I was stopping her from walking away because I was still talking to her. That’s it."

Calestino took one step forward.

Andrew took one step back. For some reason, he seemed to be afraid of Calestino.

"That’s not your choice," Calestino said. "And you don’t grab women who don’t want you touching them."

Andrew’s jaw clenched. "Who the hell are you to talk like that?"

I answered before Calestino could. "He works for my family."

Andrew’s eyes flicked to me. I could see the confusion in his hazel eyes. "Your family?"

"My husband’s," I corrected, scoffing as I slowly raised my hand. "Married. Remember?"

That got his attention.