I Love You
LILIANA’S POV
The room was quiet when we finally made it back to bed.
The kind of quiet that doesn’t feel heavy or awkward, but comforting—like the silence itself was wrapping around us, warm and protective. The storm of the shower still lingered on my skin, in my bones, in the way my muscles trembled when I shifted, but now there was only peace.
Ronny lay beside me, his arm draped over my waist, our legs tangled together. His chest rose and fell steadily, his warmth seeping into me with every breath. The sheets clung to our damp bodies, but neither of us moved to push them away. It felt too good—too safe—being in his arms like this.
I tilted my head, my cheek brushing against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Strong. Constant. It was my favorite sound in the world, though I’d never told him that.
“Ronny?” I whispered, the softness of my voice breaking the stillness.
“Mm?” His lips pressed against my hair, his hum low and lazy, like he was half-asleep already.
“Tell me something.”
His hand shifted, fingers grazing the small of my back, absentminded but deliberate, as if reminding me I belonged here, pressed against him. “What?”
“What’s your favorite thing in the world?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he kissed my bare shoulder, slow and unhurried, his lips warm against my damp skin. I shivered.
“I thought I already told you,” he murmured against me. “It's you."
I rolled my eyes, though he couldn’t see it. “Stop. Be serious.”
“I am serious.” His voice was low, rough, like gravel sliding through the dark.
I shifted so I could look at him, narrowing my eyes. “Ronny… I’m not a thing.”
His lips curved, just slightly. Then he leaned down, his mouth brushing my temple, his whisper sinking into me like truth itself.
“You’re my favorite anything.”
God.
My chest ached in the best way possible. My heart swelled, so full I didn’t know how it fit inside me anymore. How did he always do that? How did he always know exactly the right words, even when he barely said them?
I couldn’t stop the smile spreading across my face. I turned my head, pressing a kiss to his jaw, soft and grateful, before resting back against him.
My fingers began tracing over his chest, following the lines of his muscles, the curves of ink etched into his skin. My gaze followed, admiring the tattoos I’d memorized long ago.
“Have I ever told you,” I started, my voice quieter now, almost shy, “how much I love your tattoos?”
His brow arched slightly, and he glanced down at me. “Now you have.”
I let my fingers drift over the black ink curling across his arm, the symbols, the words, the pieces of him carved in permanence. “I like everything about you. Everything. But whenever I see your tattoos… God, Ronny, they’re my weakness.”
His smirk appeared then, slow and deliberate, like he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on me. That smug, sinful little curve of his lips that made me want to kiss it right off his face.
“Your weakness, huh?” His voice dropped, teasing, dark velvet against my skin.
I tried to look unaffected, shrugging casually, though the smile tugging at my lips betrayed me. “Don’t let it get to your head.”
“Too late,” he said, tilting his head, his eyes glinting with mischief.
I swatted lightly at his chest, but my fingers lingered there, tracing the lines of ink again.
Then he shifted, his hand brushing down my arm until his fingers hooked gently under my chin, tilting my face up to his. His eyes caught mine, steady and unwavering.
“You want me to tell you what I love most about you?” His voice was quieter now, almost reverent.
My breath caught.
I nodded eagerly, my pulse thundering in my ears. “Yes.”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned down, pressing the softest kiss to the tip of my nose. Then to my shoulder. Then to my lips, slow and lingering, like he wanted to make a point.
Finally, he pulled back just enough to whisper, “Everything. Every fucking thing.”
The words shattered me, melted me, rebuilt me all at once. I felt the sting of tears in my eyes, not from sadness but from the overwhelming flood of emotions I could barely contain.
I wanted to tell him how much that meant. I wanted to tell him how no one—not a single person—had ever made me feel the way he did. But the words tangled in my throat, stuck somewhere between my heart and my lips.
So I just looked at him. And he looked back.
For a long moment, we didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just breathed the same air, shared the same silence, stared into each other’s eyes like we could drown there and never need saving.
Then, without warning, his fingers darted to my side, tickling me.
I shrieked, twisting in his arms, laughter spilling out of me before I could stop it. “Ronny—stop! Oh my God—”
But he didn’t stop. His grin widened, boyish and unrestrained, his hands relentless as he tickled me, making me writhe and laugh until tears spilled down my cheeks.
“Ronny!” I gasped between laughs, trying to push at his chest, kicking weakly under the sheets. “I’m serious! Stop!”
He was laughing too—really laughing. Not the smirk, not the dark chuckle, not the sharp bark he sometimes let out when he was mocking something. But a real laugh, open and free, bubbling up from somewhere deep inside him.
It was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.
And it warmed me all over to know that I caused it. That I made him laugh like that. That I was the reason he looked so carefree, even just for a moment.
I stopped fighting and instead threw my arms around him, pulling him close, hugging him tightly, burying my face in his neck. My laughter faded into soft breaths, my chest rising and falling against his.
“I love you, Ronny,” I whispered, the words slipping out before I could think. My arms tightened around him. “I love you.”
The silence after was deafening.
For a second, I thought maybe he hadn’t heard me. But then he tilted his head down, capturing my mouth in a kiss.
It was deep. Fierce. Consuming.
A kiss that spoke of possession, of devotion, of things too big for words.
And it said everything I needed to hear.
But still…
When he pulled back, when his lips left mine, when the silence stretched again, I couldn’t stop the thought that lingered.
Why wouldn’t he say it back?
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