It Won't Happen Again
RONNY’S POV
Fuck.
My fingers are still shaking.
I drag them through my hair, hard, tugging at the roots as though the sting will snap me out of whatever the hell just happened. But it doesn’t. I can still feel her. The slick heat of her body clenching around me. The tremor in her thighs. The way her lips parted against mine when she screamed my name like it belonged to her.
Jesus Christ. What the hell did I just do?
I’ve broken rules before—small ones, bends and stretches when the job required it. But never this. Never her. I never get involved with clients. That’s the first rule. The golden one. The one I swore to myself I’d never fucking break. And yet, a second ago, I had my mouth on places I had no business being, my fingers buried inside her like I owned her.
I pace once, twice, the length of the room. The air still tastes like her—sweet, intoxicating, dangerous. I can’t breathe. My body is tight, my cock still aching painfully against my zipper, screaming for more when my mind is begging me to stop.
“Ronny?”
Her voice slices through my thoughts, soft but steady.
I freeze. God help me, I don’t want to look at her. I know what I’ll see—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, her skin still marked from my mouth. Proof. Proof of just how far I went. Proof of how far I still want to go.
I force myself to turn anyway. And there she is.
Liliana.
Hair mussed, lips swollen, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. Her strapless dress still skewed, her breasts half-bared from where I dragged the fabric down. Her nipples are flushed, peaked, a sight so fucking sinful it makes my stomach knot with equal parts hunger and shame.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, her eyes searching my face.
Everything.
“Everything’s wrong,” I snap, harsher than I mean to. My voice is raw, broken. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Her brows knit, and instead of the anger or disgust I expect, she looks… confused.
“I liked it,” she whispers.
My chest tightens painfully. Goddamn her. She has no idea what those words do to me.
I force myself to look away, but not before my gaze betrays me, dragging back down to her chest. Her nipples are still on display, still begging for my mouth, and the sight nearly destroys me. I whip around so fast my neck cracks, muttering, “Fuck.”
“Cover up,” I grind out, my voice strangled.
There’s a beat of silence, then a sharp little laugh. “Really?”
I hear the rustle of fabric as she pulls the strap back into place, the faint sound of her fingers adjusting her hair. I can picture it perfectly without even turning—the tilt of her chin, that teasing little spark in her eyes. She’s mocking me, and I deserve it.
“You didn’t have a problem when you were kissing me,” she says, her tone edged with challenge. “Or when you were doing all of that to me.”
My jaw tightens until my teeth ache. “I crossed the line,” I say finally, each word scraped raw. “It won’t happen again.”
I hear her suck in a breath, sharp, like she wasn’t expecting that.
Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. I can feel her eyes on me, weighing, questioning. But I don’t turn. If I do, I’ll fall apart all over again.
Finally, I force the words out, each one a nail in my own coffin. “I’m supposed to be dealing with your mother’s case, not shoving my tongue down your throat.” My voice cracks, but I push on. “I don’t get involved with clients.”
Her voice is softer this time, almost hesitant. “And if I wasn’t your client?”
The question slices through me like a blade. I know the answer instantly—my body screams it, my blood sings it. If she wasn’t my client, I’d take her right here, right now, against this goddamn door, until neither of us remembered our names.
But I can’t say that. I won’t.
So I say nothing.
Her silence in return is worse than any accusation. She’s staring at me, I know it. Waiting. Hoping. And I’m failing her.
“We should go back,” I mutter finally, turning just enough to catch the edge of her reflection in the mirror across the room. Her lips are still swollen. Her eyes are still burning. And my body is still betraying me.
“Go back?” she repeats, incredulous.
“To the party.” My voice is flat. Cold. A mask I barely manage to hold. “Pretend this never happened.”
The words taste like poison.
Because the truth is, even after we cross that door, even after we step back into the glittering noise of hall, I’ll never be able to erase this from my mind.
Her taste. Her heat. Her voice whispering my name like it was the only one she’d ever say again.
No. This won’t ever leave me. It’ll haunt me, every second, every breath. And that terrifies me more than anything.
She doesn’t move.
The silence behind me stretches, so heavy it feels like it might crush me. I almost hope she screams at me. Calls me an asshole. Something. Anything to break this unbearable weight.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, she speaks in a voice so low I almost miss it. “Pretend, huh?”
The word hits me like a slap. Pretend. As though that’s possible. As though we could erase what we just did.
But I don’t answer. Because if I do—if I admit the truth—I’ll lose whatever thin shred of control I have left.
So I keep my back to her. My fists clench at my sides. My heart slams against my ribs like it’s trying to break free.
Finally, I hear her move. The soft click of her heels against the floor. Closer. Closer. Until I can feel the heat of her body at my back, too close, too dangerous.
“You can lie to yourself, Ronny,” she whispers, her breath hot against my shoulder. “But don’t lie to me. We both know this isn’t the end.”
Her words sink deep, twisting, clawing at the edges of my resolve.
God help me—she’s right.
And that’s exactly why I need to end this now.
Before she ruins me.
Before I ruin her.
I push away from her, from the door, from everything, forcing myself toward the exit. My legs feel like lead, every step a battle, every breath a war.
My hand finds the doorknob. Cold. Solid. A lifeline.
I glance back, just once.
She’s standing there, watching me. Her arms crossed, her dress finally fixed, but her eyes… Christ, those eyes. They strip me bare, drag every thought I’ve buried straight into the light.
This girl is going to be the death of me.
And yet, even as I step through the door, I know one thing for certain.
I can tell myself it won’t happen again. I can swear it, promise it, scream it until my throat bleeds.
But I’ll be lying.
Because no matter how hard I try, I’ll never forget the way Liliana feels in my arms.
And I already know—I’ll never stop wanting more.
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