Tell Me To Stop
LILIANA’S POV
My heart pounded like it was trying to crack my ribs apart. I couldn’t stop thinking about my father, about my mother’s accident, about the gnawing question that had sunk its claws into me and refused to let go. Could he have…? No. I didn’t want to believe it. But the doubt was there now, festering like an infection.
I felt the sting of tears at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them back furiously. I wouldn’t cry here. Not in front of him. Not when I needed to be steel.
That was when I felt it—his hand.
Slow, steady, deliberate, sliding over mine. His palm was warm, his fingers long, rough, calloused in a way that spoke of a man who’d fought battles he never spoke of. He didn’t just take my hand. He enveloped it, grounding me, anchoring me to him like he knew I was two seconds away from unraveling.
“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Ronny said, his voice a low promise that sent shivers through me. His thumb brushed the back of my hand, slow, soothing, almost reverent. “We’ll find your mother’s killer. And she’ll get the justice she deserves.”
Something inside me cracked then, something I’d been holding together with stubborn pride and lipstick and silk. I nodded, once, short and sharp, because if I opened my mouth, I didn’t know what would come out.
The atmosphere stretched taut around us, thick, tense, full of words neither of us dared to say. His hand on mine was steady, unwavering, but mine trembled. I hated that he could feel it.
I needed to break the moment before I drowned in it. So I did the only thing I could think of.
“So,” I said, my lips curling into something that didn’t quite pass for a smile. “You’re engaged, huh?”
The words were meant to sound like a tease, but the bitterness bled through, and I hated myself for it.
His brows pulled together. “Engaged?” His voice was low, puzzled. “Engaged in what?”
I laughed—sharp, brittle, a shield against the ache clawing at me. “Don’t play dumb. Your fiancée came to my boutique today. Made a scene. Told me to stay away from you. Called me names. It was very… dramatic.”
Silence.
He didn’t move. Didn’t defend himself. Didn’t even blink. His jaw ticked, but his eyes stayed locked on me, unreadable, cold.
That silence was my answer.
My pride roared at me to get out before I humiliated myself further. I slipped my hand free from his, stood, and smoothed the fabric of my blouse with slow, deliberate precision. “Well,” I said coolly, forcing steel into my voice, “I guess I should leave you to it. Clearly, I’ve overstayed my welcome.”
I turned toward the door. One step, two—
And then his hand caught my wrist.
The force of it spun me back, and I gasped, stumbling—only to find myself falling into him.
Suddenly, I was straddling his lap, my knees braced against the couch cushions, his hands clamped hard on my hips. My breath caught, my entire body jolted by the shock of being pressed against him. I could feel him—solid, unyielding, heat radiating through the thin barrier of our clothes.
His eyes burned into me, darker than I’d ever seen them, feral and raw. His voice came out hoarse, threaded with something dangerous. “I don’t have any fiancée. Whatever she said was a lie.”
“Ronny—” I tried, but my throat was dry.
“I’m not into any woman.” His hands tightened on my waist, like he was holding me in place, like letting go would kill him. He didn’t finish the sentence, but I felt it. The words were written in the heat of his gaze, unspoken but undeniable.
Except you.
The air between us pulsed with it, thick, suffocating. My body screamed at me to get up, to leave, to save myself before this went too far. But my muscles betrayed me. I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to.
And then his mouth was on mine.
It wasn’t gentle. It was a collision, rough and desperate. His lips crashed against mine, stealing my breath, bruising, devouring. His hand shot up to the back of my neck, dragging me closer, deepening the kiss until I was drowning in him. The other gripped my waist so hard I knew I’d have bruises in the morning.
I gasped, and he groaned into my mouth, a guttural sound that vibrated down my spine. “You make me break my own rules,” he growled before seizing my lips again, harder, hungrier.
The words shot through me like lightning, igniting every nerve ending. My hands clawed into his hair, yanking, pulling, needing him closer. My body pressed tighter against his, my hips grinding down without permission from my brain. The friction made me gasp again, and he groaned, his hips surging up to meet mine in a rhythm that made me dizzy.
His teeth tugged at my bottom lip before biting, sharp enough to sting. The pain made me moan, and the sound drove him wild. His hand slid lower, cupping my ass, dragging me harder against him. I could feel how much he wanted me, thick and hard beneath me, and it made my pulse race even faster.
“Liliana…” he breathed against my lips, voice raw, wrecked. “Stop me now, or I won’t be able to stop.”
Every warning bell in my head screamed at me to pull away. To run. To save myself from the chaos this man brought into my life.
But my body didn’t care. My body wanted him—his mouth, his hands, the heat rolling off him like fire.
My lips brushed his, my voice a whisper, breathless and certain. “I don’t want you to stop.”
The second the words left my mouth, his restraint snapped.
He kissed me like a starving man, like I was oxygen and he’d been holding his breath for years. His tongue slid against mine, deep and demanding, while his hands roamed—gripping, squeezing, mapping me out like he wanted to memorize every inch.
I grinded down harder, and his groan tore through the air, rough and broken. His head fell back against the couch for a second, his eyes shutting like he was in pain. “Fuck,” he hissed, his grip tightening on my hips as he guided me, grinding me against him in a rhythm that made my vision blur. “You’re gonna kill me.”
I gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, feeling the ripple of muscle beneath my fingertips. My body was on fire, the friction unbearable, delicious, addictive.
His lips found my throat, hot and wet, kissing, biting, sucking down the column of my neck. I threw my head back, a shaky moan spilling out before I could bite it back. His teeth grazed my pulse point, and the sensation nearly unraveled me.
“You taste like trouble,” he growled against my skin, his breath scorching. “And I can’t stay away.”
My hips rolled against him harder, and his answering groan made my toes curl. The air was thick, suffocating with heat and need. My body ached, my mind spiraling out of control, the only clear thought screaming that I wanted more.
His mouth found mine again, messy and hungry, tongues clashing, teeth scraping. I was lost, utterly consumed. His hands slid under my blouse, palms hot against my bare skin, and I shuddered at the contact.
“Say the word,” he rasped, dragging his lips across my jaw, back to my mouth, biting hard enough to draw a gasp. His voice was ragged, desperate. “Say stop, and I’ll stop. But if you don’t—”
“I told you,” I whispered against his lips, my voice shaking with want. “I don’t want you to stop.”
And then his mouth was on mine again, harder, hungrier, sealing the promise I didn’t even know I was making.
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