He's Already Mine!
LILIANA’S POV
The night air wraps around me like velvet, cool and steady after the suffocating heat of the ballroom. My heels click softly against the driveway stones, a rhythm too light, too giddy for the chaos that still claws through me inside. But I can’t help it. I’m smiling—actually smiling—as I walk Ronny to his car.
I know what I saw back there. The way his jaw tightened when Daniel leaned too close. The way his hand clamped around my waist like he had some claim over me. The way his voice had cut through the air, sharp and unapologetic, when he introduced himself as my boyfriend.
Boyfriend.
God, if only he knew what hearing him say that did to me.
I sneak a glance at him as we walk side by side. He’s silent, brooding, his gaze fixed straight ahead like he’s forcing himself not to look at me. But I notice the flex of his jaw, the coiled tension in his shoulders, the way his hand twitches like he’s fighting the urge to reach for me again.
He’s jealous.
He can deny it all he wants, but I know. I felt it. I saw it. And knowing that Ronny—my impossible, untouchable, frustratingly cold private investigator—was rattled by another man near me? It lights something wicked and warm in my chest.
My lips curl into a smile before I can stop them. The memory of his mouth crashing down on mine upstairs, the way he pinned me against my own bedroom door, the way his fingers had pushed inside me until I was trembling against him—it all flickers through my mind so vividly that I nearly stumble.
I’m a mess. A complete, hopeless mess.
A chuckle escapes before I can catch it, soft and breathless.
He glances at me sharply, his voice low. “What’s funny?”
“Nothing,” I say too quickly, biting my lip to keep from grinning wider.
The look he gives me is skeptical, almost suspicious, but he doesn’t push. Typical Ronny—he never says more than he has to. Always holding back. Always guarding. Except earlier. Earlier, he’d slipped. He’d admitted more than he meant to. He’d touched me like a man who couldn’t stop himself.
And I can’t stop replaying it.
We reach his car, the sleek black machine gleaming under the moonlight, and he pauses. His hand goes to his keys, his other already on the door handle, but something inside me screams not to let him leave like this. Not when my skin is still buzzing from him. Not when my chest is still too tight with the memory of his voice growling in my ear.
I fold my arms, tilting my head as I stare up at him. “Aren’t you going to kiss me good night?”
His jaw clenches instantly. I catch the quick flare in his eyes before he masks it, but oh, I saw it. That flicker of hunger, of restraint snapping for just a second.
It makes me laugh, soft and teasing. I step closer, close enough to smell the leather and smoke clinging to him. “Relax,” I whisper, looping my arms around him and pulling him into a hug. His body stiffens at first, solid and unyielding, but then he exhales slowly, the tiniest shift betraying how much he feels this too.
“My dad’s watching,” I murmur into his chest, because I know he is. My father never misses a chance to scrutinize.
Ronny’s lips brush the top of my head—barely a kiss, more a ghost of one, but it makes me shiver anyway. “Goodnight,” he whispers, his voice rough, before pulling away and sliding into his car.
I stand there like an idiot, hugging myself as I watch the taillights fade down the driveway. My smile is too wide, too bright. I don’t even care that I look like a lovesick fool. For once, I feel… giddy. Light. Alive.
But of course, it doesn’t last.
“Liliana.”
My father’s voice slices through the night, sharp and cold, and I nearly flinch.
I roll my eyes before I even turn, plastering annoyance over the warmth still curling through me. “What now?”
“We need to talk,” he says, already heading back toward the house without waiting to see if I’ll follow.
I sigh, dragging my feet but going anyway. Because he won’t stop until I do.
Inside, the lights are dimmer, quieter. He leads me straight to his office, the room that has always felt more like a throne chamber than a place of work. Dark wood. Tall shelves. A desk too big, too polished, too heavy with power.
“Sit,” he orders, pointing at the chair across from him.
I drop into it, slouching deliberately. “What is it?”
His eyes narrow. “Don’t use that tone with me.”
I cross my legs, fighting a yawn. “It’s late. I’m tired. Can we not do this right now?”
He slams his hand on the desk, making me jump. “What are you doing with that man?”
The question makes me laugh, sharp and humorless. “I thought I introduced him to you already. Ronny. My boyfriend.”
His glare hardens. “A man like that? Covered in tattoos? That’s who you bring into my house?”
“They make him even more attractive,” I shoot back without missing a beat.
His eyes flash, his jaw tightening the way Ronny’s had minutes ago. Only with my father it's control. It’s fury that I dare to defy him.
“There’s nothing wrong with his tattoos,” I continue, my voice steady. “I love him. That’s all that matters.”
“You don’t love him,” he snaps. “Ryan is the perfect man for you.”
And there it is. The name I hate more than any other.
I push to my feet, shaking my head. “I’m not ready to have that discussion, Dad. Goodnight.”
“Sit down!” he barks.
I stop in the doorway, spine rigid, and turn just enough to look at him over my shoulder. My voice comes out colder than I expect. “Maybe if you knew what was good for me, you wouldn’t have brought Clara and her daughter here six months after Mom died.”
His face pales, his mouth opening like he wants to strike back, but I don’t give him the chance. I walk out, slamming the door behind me, my heart hammering in my chest.
By the time I reach my room, the fight is already fading from my mind, drowned out by the memory of Ronny’s hands on me.
The way he’d pinned me to this very door earlier, his mouth hungry, his fingers sliding inside me until I couldn’t breathe. The way his tongue had flicked across my nipple, pulling sounds from me I didn’t know I could make.
“God,” I whisper, pressing my palm to the door like I can still feel him there.
I’m a goner. Completely.
I throw myself onto my bed, the silken sheets cool against my flushed skin, and replay it all over and over again. His mouth. His touch. The way he made me feel like I was on fire and safe all at once.
My body tingles, heat curling low in my belly, and I squeeze my eyes shut, imagining what it would feel like if he didn’t stop this time. If he really took me. If he gave me all of him instead of pulling away like he always does.
Sleep doesn’t come easily. Not with thoughts like that. Not with Ronny carved into every inch of me.
Because the truth was Ronny was already mine and he didn't know it yet.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
