REINA
Donico took 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 sowhere 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 —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 ti the hostess led us to the booth I was already flushed, thighs slick, clit throbbing with every heartbeat.
Donico slid in beside 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, ant only for .
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 .
"Good." Donico breathed out, he kissed my temple—soft, lingering. "I want you to feel them all night. Every ti you shift, every ti you breathe too deep, every ti you try to act normal while you’re dripping for ."
I clenched around the balls involuntarily. The inner weights thudded softly. My breath hitched.
The server returned with the wine. Donico 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 aning 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 like that—like I was sothing rare and irreplaceable. Not Paolo. Not anyone.
He leaned in and kissed —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 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 co 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 . 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 sothing softer underneath. Sothing that made my heart stutter.
"I want to stay here," I whispered. "With you. Like this."
His expression lted. He cupped my cheek, thumb stroking my skin.
"Then that’s what we’ll do." He gently tapped the tip of my nose, offering his best smile ever. "We will stay and finish our dinner while those balls get you ready for ."
Every ti 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 ca from." He winked. That fucking seductive bastard winked at .
He fed another scallop. Then a sip of wine from his own glass, holding it to my lips like I was sothing precious. Every gesture felt deliberate, intimate—like he was savoring 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 —on the dress, on the way Donico’s arm was draped behind , on the way my lips parted when I took another sip. He wasn’t subtle.
Donico 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."
Donico’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!"
Donico’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."
"Donico..." 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 . "Then let’s give him sothing to watch."
He pulled back slightly, picked up his fork, and fed another bite. This ti 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.
Donico leaned in again, lips to my ear.
"Spread your legs a little wider," he whispered. "Just enough for 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," Donico 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 ."
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 later. I want to feel you co 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.
Donico never rushed. He fed , sipped wine, told quiet stories—about the first ti he saw , about the night he realized he couldn’t stop wanting , about how he’d dread of nights like this. His voice was soft, almost reverent. His hand never left my thigh—sotis stroking, sotis just resting, always reminding he was there.
Dessert ca—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 out of here and fuck .
"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 lted on my tongue. The balls rolled again—deep, insistent. My clit throbbed.
He watched swallow, then leaned in and kissed —slow, deep, tasting chocolate and wine and .
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 .
"I love you too," I whispered, my voice ca out shakily.
He smiled—small, real, heartbreaking.
"Then co ho with tonight, just this night." he said. "Stay for the night only. Let take care of you."
I nodded, throat too tight to speak. It’s just for one night, I would co back to my apartnt and stay there until Paolo returns.
He paid the bill. Helped up. The balls shifted hard as I stood. I gasped softly, gripping his arm.
He steadied , kissed my temple.
"Hold it until we get ho, princess."
The man at the bar watched us leave—eyes dark, hungry. For so reason he seed angry, or maybe he was just horny?
Donico didn’t look back. He just held my hand tighter. And led out into the night.
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