Make Me Moan, Daddy-Chapter 100

DOMENICO

I knelt between her spread thighs on the soft rug, hooked my arms under her knees, and pushed them back slowly until she was folded nearly in half again, completely open and exposed.

Her pussy glistened bright red and puffy, swollen from everything I’d done to her, leaking thick streams of my cum in slow, filthy rivulets down toward her ass. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

I dragged the head of my cock through the mess once, coating myself again, then slid back inside in one smooth, deep thrust that buried me to the root. She cried out sharp and broken, hands clutching the rug on either side of her head, knuckles white, back already arching.

"Fuck! Domenico!" She gasped, voice raw and filthy. "You’re so deep!"

"Deep enough to feel me tomorrow?" I rasped, pulling back slow and slamming in again. "Every time you move, you’ll remember who wrecked this cunt."

She moaned loud, legs trembling in my grip. "Yes... God, yes."

I started fucking her missionary—slow and deliberate at first, leaning down to kiss her deep and filthy, swallowing every desperate moan and gasp that spilled from her throat. Our tongues slid together, wet and messy, tasting sweat and sex.

Then I picked up speed—faster, harder, hips slamming forward with wet, rhythmic force that made her whole body jolt. Her legs wrapped tight around my waist on instinct, heels digging hard into my lower back, pulling me deeper like she couldn’t stand even a millimeter of space.

"Greedy little thing," I growled against her mouth. "Even after all that, you still want more. You still need this cock stretching you open."

"I do," she whimpered, nails scraping down my arms. "I need it. Don’t stop."

I shifted my grip, pushed her knees wider apart, forcing her open even more. The new angle let the head of my cock drag roughly against her front wall with every long, punishing stroke. She screamed raw, back bowing clean off the rug, fingers scrabbling for anything to hold onto.

"Right there?" I taunted, grinding deep on the next thrust. "That the spot that makes you fall apart? Tell me."

"There... fuck... right fucking there, please..." She sobbed.

Sweat dripped steadily from my chest onto her tits, sliding down between them in shiny trails. She reached up suddenly, yanked me down hard against her, nails digging fresh, burning lines into my shoulder blades and back.

I pounded into her relentlessly, the rug scraping my knees raw, but I didn’t feel pain—only her. Tight, hot, perfect, clenching around me like she never wanted me to leave.

"Feel how wet you are?" I muttered against her neck, biting the skin hard enough to mark her. "Hear it? That’s us. That’s me leaking out of you every time I pull back, and you still sucking me right back in."

She sobbed my name, hips rolling up to meet every thrust, thighs quivering uncontrollably. "I’m close again, Domenico, I can’t go any further. I can’t..."

"You can," I snarled, voice dark. "You’re going to come one more time with me buried inside you. I want to feel you break while I fill you up again."

I reached between us, thumb finding her clit—swollen, slick, sensitive—and rubbed fast, tight circles without mercy. Pinching so hard her whole body jerked against mine.

Her entire body locked up.

"Come on," I urged, low and rough. "Let go. Show me how much you love being fucked raw."

We came together this final time—her pussy clenching hard and sudden around me like a fist, dragging my orgasm out of me. I groaned her name into her open mouth, cock pulsing deep as I spilled one last thick, heavy load inside her, hips jerking with every spurt.

The pleasure hit so hard my vision blurred at the edges. She milked me through it, walls fluttering in long waves, taking everything I had left.

By the end, we were utterly spent—bodies limp, slick with sweat and each other, trembling from head to toe, hearts hammering in sync.

I stayed inside her a little longer, softening slowly, unwilling to pull out yet. When I finally did, a rush of us followed, pooling beneath her on the rug. She whimpered softly at the loss.

I scooped her up carefully into my arms because neither of us could have walked if our lives depended on it. She clung to me weakly, head resting heavy on my shoulder, soft breaths warm and shaky against my neck.

"Got you," I murmured, kissing her damp temple. "Not letting go. Ever!"

I carried her upstairs slowly—legs burning, arms aching, heart pounding—but I wouldn’t have set her down for anything. In the bathroom, I set her gently on the wide marble counter. Her legs dangled limply, thighs still trembling faintly. She watched me through heavy-lidded eyes, completely trusting.

I turned on the shower, waited for the steam to fill the space, hot and thick, clouding the mirrors. Then I stepped under the spray first, letting the water run over my aching muscles, rinsing the sweat away.

I reached for her, pulled her in carefully, and pressed her back gently against the cool tile. She sighed deep, leaning fully into me, letting me hold all her weight.

Hot water poured over us both in heavy streams. I grabbed the soap and started washing her slowly—long, soothing circles over her shoulders, down her arms, across her collarbones, then lower, over her breasts. Her nipples were still hard; she shivered when my thumbs brushed them.

"Still sensitive?" I asked quietly, voice soft now.

"Everything is," she whispered. "You ruined me, Domenico."

I must have been a sadist because that confession made me super proud and happy. I loved to ruined her in the best way possible.

"Good." I muttered, biting down hard on the inside of my cheeks.

I moved lower still—soaping her stomach, her hips, then between her legs with the utmost care. She was swollen, raw, tender. My fingers slid gently through her folds, cleaning away the thick mess we’d made, but she still whimpered softly and gripped my shoulders tight.

"Easy," I murmured, rinsing her thoroughly, hands gentle. "I’ve got you."

When she was clean, I knelt slowly under the spray. Spread her thighs wider and licked her once more—slow, soft strokes of my tongue over her clit, dipping carefully inside to taste the last traces of us both.

She trembled hard, hands fisting in my wet hair, hips rocking weakly against my mouth until she came one last time—small, shuddering, quiet, more aftershock than climax.

I stood, washed myself quickly under the water, then shut it off. Wrapped her in the biggest, softest towel I could find, dried her slowly—hair, skin, every inch—kissing random spots as I went: her shoulder, her wrist, the inside of her knee.

Then I carried her to bed.

The sheets were cool and crisp against her overheated skin. She sighed in relief as I laid her down. I climbed in behind her, pulled her flush against my chest, one arm heavy and possessive around her waist, palm splayed over her stomach.

She curled into me immediately, burrowing close, leg sliding between mine, hand resting over my heart. Asleep in minutes—deep, trusting, completely spent.

I stayed awake longer, stroking her damp hair gently, listening to her soft, even breathing against my skin.

I was fucked in every possible sense of the word.

And I didn’t want it any other way.