Make Me Moan, Daddy Chapter 8

REINA’POV

I was terrified.

The fear did not co as a quick slice. It ca like water filling my lungs, slow and heavy, while another kind of heat flooded lower.

I kept thinking about what Paolo would do if he ever found out what I had been doing with his father. It would not only stop at divorce. He would tear my life apart and make watch.

He would make my aunt return every single thing he had ever given , because he could, because I cheated on him with his father.

The car. The house. The tuition fee for my cousins. All of it. He knew exactly where I was soft. He knew my aunt had raised when no one else wanted to. He knew my cousins depended on their single mother. He knew I would do anything to keep them safe.

I told myself to get out of the pool. I told myself to be smart and to be loyal and to leave this hunger behind. But desire had a voice, and it was not kind. It said my na in a deep rasp and dragged back to the warm edge of the water, where Donico waited like a sin I had already chosen.

"Stop," I whispered, palms flat against slick tile as he eased my thighs apart even more. The night air slled like chlorine and jasmine, and my pulse beat in my throat. "We should not do this."

"We are already doing it," he said in that quiet way of his. He looked up at from the water with eyes that never asked for anything. They simply took. "Tell to stop if you do not want . Say the word."

I should have said it. I should have climbed out and walked back to my room and pressed my face into my husband’s pillow until I forgot the shape of his father’s mouth.

Instead I stayed. Instead I lifted my hips and the warm water slid between us and Donico lowered his head like a man finally given permission to pray.

The first stroke of his tongue stole my breath. My fingers broke the surface of the water to find his hair, thick and wet and folded with age and power.

He anchored my knees over his shoulders as if he had done this to a thousand tis, as if my body had been made for that exact fit. He tasted like he had the right.

He ate like a starving man, slow at first, then focused, then cruel in that way that turns begging into the beginning of pleasure.

"Daddy," I whispered, my head tipping back. "Please."

"Please what, bella."

"Please, I cannot. The footsteps... If Paolo finds out."

His mouth curved against my clit. "We will not let him."

He sank two fingers into , steady and thick, and the water around my hips trembled. I tried to keep my breath quiet. I tried to press my lips together and think about my aunt, about my cousins asleep in a small apartnt that would never feel safe again if Paolo turned his back. I tried to think about anything except the way Donico curled his fingers and then flattened his tongue and then dragged down onto his face like he owned .

"Tell what you want," he said, voice muffled against my skin.

"I want to be good," I said, and heard the lie.

"Be honest."

I swallowed hard. "I want you to make forget."

"Good girl."

He did not stop when I begged. He did not stop when my thighs shook. He did not stop when my nails scratched tile hard enough to squeal. He lifted with the pressure of his hands and set against the marble lip where shallow steps t deeper blue, and the night felt private and bright all at once.

The house lamps cast long beams through the palms. The surface of the pool glittered. I closed my eyes and tried to be silent while his mouth wrote my na in a language older than sha.

I ca too quickly. For the third ti tonight.

Third ti—more than my husband had ever made cum since I t him. Two more tis than Paolo had ever managed.

That was what fear did. It wired my nerves to fire at the smallest touch. The first orgasm rolled through like a rogue wave, sudden and an. I smothered a cry against the inside of my wrist.

My legs tightened around his neck. He held wider. He drank down. He stayed with until the pulsing slowed and I trembled again, emptied and then imdiately hungry.

"Please," I whispered. "We should stop. It is too much. I am going to make a noise."

He kissed the inside of my thigh where it t my hip. "Then do not." He looked up at with water beading his lashes. "Or do. I will still keep you."

I wanted to tell him he could not keep anything. I wanted to tell him he was stealing from his own blood. I wanted to tell him that every ti he touched I thought of the day my aunt found on her front step with a small suitcase and a hidden ache, and how she took inside and made room for like it cost nothing.

I wanted to tell him that I owed my aunt everything, that I owed her my life, and that I had no right to risk the roof over her head because I liked the taste of danger.

I did not say any of it.

Instead, I nodded, and he smiled as if I had confessed what we both already knew.

That was when it happened. A vibration of sound that did not belong to the night. A voice I knew better than my own.

"Reina?"

The world narrowed to a pinpoint. I went cold and hot at the sa ti. I turned my head toward the patio, every muscle locking. Paolo’s silhouette filled the there, hair disheveled, pajama pants hanging low on his hips, eyes squinted from sleep. He stepped forward and the pool lights caught the slope of his cheek. He was only a few feet away. My husband was right there.

"Donico," I breathed, not even daring to whisper. My mouth barely moved. "Stop. Please stop. He’s coming. My husband... your son is coming."

He did not lift his head. He only stroked his tongue along with obscene patience and squeezed my hips, a warning and a promise. "Answer him," he said, voice so soft I felt it more than heard it. "Now."

I was shaking. I forced air into my lungs and made my voice light. "I am here, honey."

Paolo’s gaze slid over the surface of the water toward . "You are awake too," he said, as if we were strangers eting in a dark hallway.

I tried to arrange my face into casual and bored. I knew I must have looked shattered. My lips were swollen. My body humd like a plucked wire. I turned my back just enough to shield what I could.

I perched on the step, thighs open to the man below , shoulders squared to the man I had married. I thought I would split in two.

"Could not sleep," I said. I almost laughed at the truth of it. "The water helps."

His eyes dipped, not quite curious, not quite suspicious. It was the look he used on n who owed him money. He took another step. My heart climbed into my mouth. He stood so close I could see the small scar near his left eyebrow.

I wondered if the movent of the water around my hips looked normal. I prayed that the small shivers running through read as cold.

"I was looking for my father," Paolo said. "I have sothing to tell him."

The words hit like a slap. Donico’s mouth moved in one slow circle that stole the bones from my knees. The irony was so black it glittered.

Your father is here. Your father is under the water with his head between my legs. Your father is tasting while you talk about him. I kept my face still.

"Maybe father is asleep," I said. Biting the inside of my cheeks. "Or maybe you should check his office. He... He might be there."

"Maybe." Paolo tipped his head as if listening to the night. He was close enough that the faint scent of his soap reached . Close enough that if he reached out he could have touched my shoulder, and then there would have been nothing left to hide behind. "Are you alright?"

Donico dragged two fingers into , angled them, and pressed his tongue just where I could not bear it. I swallowed a sound and clenched my jaw. "Yes," I managed. "Just a little cold."

"You should not stay long," he said. "You will catch a chill."

"I will co in soon."

He looked at for one beat more. The mont stretched until the surface of the pool might have been glass. I felt Donico’s breath against . I felt Paolo’s eyes on my face.

The world held still by the edge of a knife.

"Alright," Paolo said at last. He turned and walked towards his father’s building, feet quiet on the tile, door whispering shut behind him.

I did not breathe for three whole heartbeats. When I did, it ca out cracked.

"Daddy," I said, my voice breaking with relief and shock. "Please. Stop. I cannot take it. I thought he saw. I thought he saw you."

He answered by sucking into his mouth and hooking his fingers just so. The sound that left was strangled. He did not let pull away. He did not give space to think. He gave only the rhythm of his mouth and the hard truth of his hands.