Promise of Forever
LILIANA’S POV
Paris was made for lovers.
That’s what everyone says, but I never really understood it—until tonight.
The city glowed beneath a blanket of gold and silver. Streetlights shimmered against the cobblestones, the Eiffel Tower sparkled in the distance, and somewhere down below, music drifted up from a quiet café. It felt like the world itself was humming for us.
Ronny and I walked hand in hand through the hotel corridor, laughter still spilling from our lips. My heels dangled from his fingers, and my dress fluttered softly as we moved. The scent of his cologne lingered in the air—warm, rich, familiar.
We’d spent the entire day exploring the city—wandering through art galleries, eating too much gelato, and taking pictures of everything that made us smile. He’d insisted on carrying my bag the whole time, even though I told him I could manage. “My wife doesn’t carry anything,” he’d said with that teasing grin that always made my heart flutter.
And now, back in our hotel, every step toward our room felt heavier with anticipation.
The moment the door clicked shut behind us, the air shifted.
He turned to me slowly, that look in his eyes—the one that always made my knees weak. Before I could even breathe, his lips were on mine.
It wasn’t rushed or wild. It was deep and sure, the kind of kiss that said I love you without words. His hands framed my face as his mouth moved over mine, soft at first, then hungrier. I melted against him, my back hitting the wall behind me, and he smiled against my lips.
“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do this all day,” he murmured.
“I think I do,” I whispered, my fingers tracing the edge of his jaw. “You were staring at me the entire time.”
He grinned. “Can you blame me?”
Before I could answer, his lips found mine again—slower this time, deeper. His hands slid down, finding the zipper of my dress. He hesitated for half a second, his eyes meeting mine. That quiet moment of love and permission passed between us, and then—he pulled the zipper down.
The fabric slid from my shoulders, pooling at my feet. The air touched my skin, and so did he—his fingers brushing down my arms, his touch sending shivers through me.
I felt weightless, surrounded by warmth and him.
He kissed me again, whispering against my mouth, “You’re so beautiful.”
Every word from him felt like worship.
Before I knew it, he was lifting me into his arms, carrying me toward the bed. The soft Paris light spilled through the balcony curtains, painting his face in gold. I cupped his cheek, tracing the faint stubble there.
“Who would’ve thought this tattooed man could be so gentle?” I teased softly.
He smirked. “You make me gentle, Liliana.”
He laid me down on the bed like I was something precious. His lips brushed against my collarbone, then lower, his hands moving with the kind of care that made my heart ache. He kissed every inch of me like he was memorizing it—slow, patient, full of love.
When he pulled back to undress, I propped myself up on my elbows, watching him. He knew I liked it, and the way he smiled when he noticed made me blush. He took his time, unbuttoning his shirt one by one, his tattoos catching the light. There was something almost reverent about it—the quiet confidence, the way his eyes never left mine.
When he was bare before me, I felt my breath hitch. Not because of how he looked—though he was breathtaking—but because of what it meant. Every scar, every mark, every part of him had a story. And every story led to this moment. To me.
He climbed back onto the bed, his body hovering over mine, his touch soft but sure. His lips found mine again, and the world fell away. The sounds of the city faded, leaving only our breaths and the rhythm of our hearts.
He whispered my name like a promise, and when he entered me, it felt like everything inside me lit up.
Slow. Gentle. Every movement a declaration of love. His hand found mine, fingers interlocking as he moved, his eyes locked on mine.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured against my ear.
“Never,” I breathed.
It wasn’t just passion—it was connection. Every movement, every touch, every sigh between us was an echo of everything we’d been through to get here. The pain. The laughter. The healing. It all came down to this—two people who had found home in each other.
He kissed my shoulder, my neck, my lips again and again, whispering soft things that made my heart race.
“You’re my everything,” he said between breaths. “My heart. My forever.”
I could barely speak. I could only hold on, my fingers gripping him tighter as the waves of pleasure built higher. His voice was low, rough, full of emotion as he whispered how much he loved me, how perfect I was, how he’d never stop choosing me.
When release came, it was pure and beautiful—like the world itself went quiet for us. My breath caught, my body trembling as he moved with me, until finally, he followed, his soft groan filling the room.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. Just the sound of our hearts, the rise and fall of our breathing, the warmth of skin against skin. He kissed my shoulder again, lingering there, his lips soft and reverent.
“I can’t believe my life turned out this good,” he whispered, his voice husky, full of wonder. “If someone told me years ago I’d be here, I wouldn’t have believed you.”
I smiled sleepily, brushing my fingers through his hair. “Me too.”
He lifted his head, his eyes full of affection. “You know what’s crazy?”
“What?”
“That we’re really married. Like—officially. You’re my wife.”
I laughed softly. “You sound shocked.”
“I kind of am,” he admitted. “I keep thinking I’m going to wake up back in my bedroom, dreaming this up.”
“Well, you’re not dreaming,” I said, tracing his jaw. “You’re stuck with me, Ronny.”
He grinned. “Best kind of stuck.”
We lay there in the soft Paris light, tangled together, our laughter mixing with the faint hum of the city outside. Everything felt timeless. Peaceful. Right.
After a while, he shifted so he was on his side, facing me. His fingers brushed my cheek, his thumb tracing lazy circles on my skin.
“You know,” he said, “someday, when we’re old and gray, you’ll still be this beautiful.”
I smiled. “And you’ll still be this stubborn.”
He laughed quietly. “We’ll be that couple that still kisses in public and embarrasses our grandkids.”
“Oh, definitely,” I said. “You’ll probably still have your tattoos, though.”
He smirked. “And you’ll still love them.”
“I do,” I whispered, pressing my lips to one on his chest. “I love everything about you.”
He exhaled softly, his hand resting over mine. “You make me feel like I finally did something right.”
I looked at him, my throat tightening. “You did. You loved me. That’s the rightest thing anyone’s ever done.”
He smiled, leaning in to kiss me again—slow and sweet. “God, I love you.”
“I love you more.”
He groaned playfully. “That’s impossible.”
“It’s not,” I teased. “You’ll see.”
We stayed like that—kissing, laughing, whispering about everything and nothing. About Paris, about our future, about silly things like whose turn it would be to make coffee in the morning. The world outside didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was here, now, us.
Eventually, the night grew quiet again. The moonlight slipped through the curtains, casting silver across the sheets. Ronny pulled me closer until my head rested against his chest, his heartbeat steady under my ear.
He played with a strand of my hair. “Do you ever think about how far we’ve come?”
“All the time,” I said softly. “Sometimes it feels like we lived a thousand lives before this one.”
He hummed. “Every one of them led me to you.”
My eyes burned with emotion. “You always know what to say.”
He chuckled. “It’s the truth.”
Silence settled around us again—comfortable, full of warmth. His hand drifted to my stomach, rubbing gentle circles there, his thumb tracing small patterns.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Just…” He smiled. “Holding the most important part of my world.”
My breath caught. There was something so tender in that gesture, something that made my heart ache in the best way.
“I love you,” I said again.
He kissed the top of my head. “I love you too. More than I’ll ever be able to say.”
The city outside kept glowing. Paris—the city of love—felt like it was watching over us, blessing the start of our forever.
And as I drifted off in his arms, I realized something simple but powerful.
Happiness isn’t loud. It’s not fireworks or fairytales. It’s quiet moments like this—his breath against my skin, his arms around me, the steady beat of a heart that belongs to you.
Ronny shifted a little, murmuring, “Hey, Liliana?”
“Mm?” I hummed sleepily.
“When we’re old and wrinkled, promise you’ll still let me hold you like this.”
I smiled against his chest. “Only if you promise to still kiss me like you do now.”
He laughed softly. “Deal.”
I looked up at him one last time that night. His hair was a mess, his eyes heavy with sleep, but he still looked like everything I ever wanted.
“My husband,” I whispered, tasting the word on my lips.
He smiled. “Say that again.”
“My husband.”
He closed his eyes, grinning. “Best sound in the world.”
I kissed him one last time before the night swallowed us whole.
Paris sparkled beyond the window, the city breathing in rhythm with us. And in that quiet, golden room, wrapped in love, I knew the truth that would carry me for the rest of my life—
This wasn’t just the end of our story.
It was the beginning of forever.
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