Making Her Feel Good
LILIANA’S POV
His breath was warm against my lips, his hand still cupping my cheek as if I was something fragile, something that might break if he pressed too hard.
“Liliana…” His voice was low, husky, almost a warning. My name sounded like gravel tumbling through his chest. “You’re not fully recovered to take my cock…” His thumb brushed across my swollen cheekbone, tender, deliberate, as though reminding me of my bruises. Then his lips curled the faintest bit, a shadow of heat sparking in his eyes. “But I know just how to make you feel good.”
The words sank into me like fire poured straight into my veins.
Before I could breathe, before I could even think, he pulled me closer, dragging me onto his lap with one fluid motion. A startled gasp left me as my body collided with the solid heat of his chest. His arms locked around me, grounding me, caging me in his strength while his gaze burned straight through me.
Then his mouth crashed against mine.
The kiss was nothing like the soft, trembling one I had given him moments ago. This one was fire and hunger, a storm breaking loose. His lips devoured mine, rough yet deliberate, and I moaned into his mouth as his tongue swept past my lips, tangling with mine in a desperate rhythm.
I melted against him, my hands fisting in his shirt as though I needed to anchor myself or I’d fall apart completely. Every movement, every brush of his lips against mine made my body hum, made me ache in places I didn’t even know could ache.
My hips shifted on instinct, grinding down against the hard length straining beneath his jeans. A sharp growl rumbled in his chest. His hands tightened on my waist, holding me still.
“Liliana,” he muttered against my mouth, his voice rough with restraint. “Stop being naughty.”
The reprimand only made heat flood through me, hotter, darker. A whimper slipped out of me, betraying the way my body betrayed me every time he touched me.
He shook his head, his breath uneven as he pulled back just enough to look at me. The storm in his eyes was almost unbearable to meet. “You drive me insane,” he whispered, almost like it wasn’t meant for me to hear.
Then, without warning, he reached for the hem of his shirt—the shirt I was wearing—and tugged it over my head in one swift motion. Cool air brushed against my bare skin, making my nipples tighten instantly.
His gaze dropped to my breasts, and for the first time, I saw Ronny completely undone. His jaw clenched, his chest heaved, and then his head dipped.
His mouth latched onto my nipple, hot and wet, his tongue flicking in slow, deliberate strokes that made me cry out. My back arched, pushing into his mouth, my fingers tangling in his dark hair as if I could somehow keep him there forever.
“Oh—Ronny,” I gasped, the sound breaking apart as his teeth scraped lightly over the sensitive peak before he sucked harder, pulling another desperate moan from me.
Every pull of his mouth, every lash of his tongue sent sparks shooting down between my thighs until I couldn’t stop grinding against him, seeking friction, seeking more.
He released my breast with a wet pop only to take the other into his mouth, giving it the same torment, the same worship, until my moans filled the room like a melody I couldn’t control. My fingers tugged at his hair, desperate, frantic, needing him closer, deeper, everywhere.
Just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, he shifted, lowering me back onto the bed. His hands were steady, sure, guiding me down like I was something precious even while his hunger blazed.
He hovered above me, kissing a trail down my neck, nipping at my collarbone, leaving fire in every place his lips touched. Then lower—over the swell of my breasts, sucking, biting, kissing until I was writhing beneath him, my skin slick with heat, my chest heaving with desperate breaths.
And then his hand slid down.
I jolted when his fingers brushed against the thin barrier of my panties, the friction making me whimper. He pressed harder, rubbing against my clit in slow, teasing circles that made my hips buck helplessly against his hand.
“Ronny—” His name tore from my throat in a broken moan, half-plea, half-desperation.
He groaned against my breast, sucking harder as his fingers pushed my panties aside. His calloused fingertips slid over my slick folds, parting me with maddening slowness until he found the swollen bundle of nerves that had me trembling.
I bit down on my lip, but the sound escaped anyway—a needy, breathless moan that filled the air.
“You’re so wet for me,” he murmured against my skin, his voice vibrating through me as he flicked his tongue over my nipple again. “So fucking sweet.”
And then his fingers pushed inside.
A sharp cry ripped from my throat, my hands flying to grip his shoulders. The stretch was sudden, shocking, but the heat of it—the way his fingers curled just right—made pleasure bloom instantly in my core.
He pumped his fingers inside me, slow at first, deliberate, each movement precise as though he wanted me to feel every inch of him. His thumb rubbed my clit in time with his thrusts, and I couldn’t stop the way my body arched, the way my hips rocked against his hand, chasing more.
“Ronny—oh God—Ronny,” I moaned, his name spilling from my lips over and over, a prayer, a surrender.
He kissed me again, swallowing every desperate sound as his tongue tangled with mine. The rhythm of his fingers quickened, pushing deeper, faster, curling until sparks exploded behind my eyes.
The pressure built so fast it terrified me, a wave gathering strength, unstoppable.
“Come for me,” he growled against my mouth, his voice rough, commanding.
And I did.
My body convulsed, trembling beneath him as the orgasm crashed over me in violent waves. I cried out against his lips, my hips bucking wildly as pleasure ripped through me, leaving me raw, undone, gasping.
His fingers never faltered, drawing out every last shudder, every aftershock, until I collapsed back against the bed, boneless and panting.
When I finally dared to open my eyes, he was staring down at me, his gaze dark and unreadable. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled his fingers from inside me.
And then—without breaking eye contact—he brought them to his lips and sucked them clean.
The sight stole the breath from my lungs. Heat flared in my cheeks, in my chest, everywhere, at the sheer rawness of it, the hunger in his eyes as he tasted me.
“You thought I was done?” His voice was low, dangerous, almost a growl.
I blinked at him, my body still trembling, my mind hazy from the high. But then he shifted, sliding down the bed until he was on his knees between my legs.
My breath caught as he parted my thighs, spreading me wide, his eyes locked on the slick mess between them.
The hunger in his gaze was undeniable, scorching, consuming.
Then he looked up at me, his voice ro
ugh, a question that sent a fresh wave of heat flooding through me.
“Are you ready?”
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