Liliana's Plan
LILIANA’S POV
The boutique was quiet when I finally left. The kind of quiet that lets your mind spin, lets your body hum with anticipation.
I had done what I needed to do for the day—checked in with Erika, set things in motion for Ronny’s birthday plans—but now my thoughts were consumed with something else entirely. Him.
Ronny.
I wanted to make it up to him.
He’d been furious when I left the house. I’d seen it in his eyes, in the way his jaw clenched, in the roughness of his voice when he called me stubborn. And God help me, I had loved it. That intensity. That raw, almost feral way he cared for me. But underneath it all, I knew I had hurt him by going against his wishes.
And I hated that.
So I decided I wouldn’t just come home empty-handed.
The moment I passed the lingerie boutique down the street, the idea was born, wicked and thrilling. I pushed through the doors, my pulse already racing.
Rows upon rows of silk, lace, ribbons, and temptation surrounded me. I let my fingers trail over delicate straps and barely-there fabrics, my mind replaying Ronny’s face when he first laid eyes on me in whatever I chose.
He deserved a surprise.
He deserved a memory burned so deep he’d never be able to shake it.
Finally, I found it. The most scandalous piece I could get my hands on—a black lace teddy with cutouts in all the right places, sheer panels that left nothing to the imagination, and little straps that looked like they’d been designed solely to drive him insane. Paired with stockings and garters, it was sinful. It was bold. It was perfect.
I didn’t even hesitate.
By the time I pulled up to the house, my nerves were buzzing. The sky had begun to dim, a soft glow spilling over the roof as I slipped out of the car. My heels clicked lightly against the stone pathway.
The house was quiet.
“Ronny?” I called as I stepped inside,
I headed into the bedroom, setting my bag down.
“Ronny."
Silence.
My chest tightened. “Ronny, are you home?”
Still nothing.
For a split second, worry pricked at me—until the faint sound of running water reached my ears.
The bathroom.
A small smile tugged at my lips.
I kicked off my heels, peeled out of my clothes, then I padded barefoot toward the bathroom.
The sound of the shower grew louder. Steam curled from beneath the door, carrying the clean, sharp scent of his soap.
I eased the door open and slipped inside.
The sight of him hit me like a punch.
Ronny stood beneath the spray, water cascading over his inked body, dripping down every hard line, every carved muscle. His head was tilted back slightly as he worked his hands through his wet hair, soap sliding over his shoulders.
My throat went dry.
“Ronny,” I whispered, my voice soft, almost shy.
He turned his head at the sound, his eyes landing on me. For a second, they darkened, heat flaring. But then, just as quickly, he looked away, resuming his task of washing his hair like I wasn’t even there.
The sting of it pricked at me.
He was mad.
Really mad.
I pouted, stepping closer. “Hey,” I said, my tone teasing, but my chest was tight. “Are you mad at me?”
No answer.
He just kept scrubbing at his hair, his jaw tight, his lips pressed in that stubborn line.
I crossed my arms over my chest, my bottom lip jutting out like a child denied candy. “Ronny,” I tried again, softer this time, coaxing. “I’m sorry.”
Nothing.
God, for a tattooed, dangerous man who could snap someone’s neck without blinking, he was acting like the cutest, sulkiest baby in the world.
I couldn’t help but smile.
Sighing dramatically, I stepped into the shower, the steam wrapping around me, the heat soaking into my skin.
I reached out, pressing my hand against his slick arm. “Ronny,” I said, tilting my head up at him, pouting harder now. “I’m sorry. But I had to go to work. See? I’m fine.”
Still, he ignored me.
I bit my lip, then leaned in closer, my voice dropping. “Babe…”
That made him freeze.
Slowly, he turned his head, his eyes locking onto mine with something like disbelief.
I’d never called him that before.
His gaze softened, just for a moment, like the word had slipped beneath his armor, like it had cracked something open inside him.
“Babe, I’m sorry,” I whispered again, my voice trembling just enough to make it real.
I rose onto my toes, brushing my lips against his, tentative, testing.
And just like that, the wall crumbled.
A growl tore from his chest as his hands shot out, gripping my hips and hauling me against him. His mouth crashed down on mine, hungry, claiming, furious and desperate all at once.
I gasped into him, my arms wrapping around his neck as he pinned me against the wet tile wall. The cold shock of it against my back only made me shiver harder, only made the heat between us blaze higher.
His body pressed into mine, his cock hard, thick, sliding against my stomach, against my hip.
“Ronny—” I moaned against his lips as he kissed me deeper, his tongue sliding into my mouth, stealing every breath.
My legs trembled, but he caught them, lifting me effortlessly. I wrapped them around his waist, clinging to him, my fingers digging into the wet muscles of his back as his hardness pressed right where I needed him.
“Please,” I whispered, tilting my head back as he trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses along my throat.
He groaned, his hips rolling against me, grinding his cock against my entrance, teasing, tormenting.
Every nerve in my body screamed with desperation.
I wanted him inside me.
Now.
But he was being difficult. Deliberate. Drawing it out, rubbing me, stroking me, making me ache so badly I thought I might lose my mind.
“Ronny, please,” I begged, my voice breaking on a moan as I tightened my legs around him.
He growled low, his teeth grazing my shoulder.
Wild, desperate kisses filled the shower, water cascading over us, our breaths mixing, our bodies sliding together. I felt like I was burning alive, consumed by him.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
Reaching between us with trembling fingers, I guided him, wrapped my hand around the thick length of him, and pressed him where I was aching most.
And then, before he could stop me, I pushed him inside me.
A sharp cry tore from my lips as he filled me, stretching me, hitting deep.
He cursed, his body tensing, his hands slamming against the wall beside my head. “Fuck, Liliana—”
I held him tighter, locking my ankles behind his back, refusing to let him pull away.
His eyes burned into mine, wild, torn between restraint and raw need.
“You fucking drive me crazy,” he whispered, his voice ragged, breaking apart with desire.
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