Accidentally Yours (Merffy Kizzmet) novel Chapter 210

Chapter 210

Lola

The suite was still half–dark when she woke, light leaking through the curtains in thin ribbons across the sheets. The air smelled faintly of him espresso, cedar, and sin.

He was already sitting up against the headboard, hair mussed, reading something on his tablet. Always working. Always ready to shoulder the next war before breakfast.

“Morning,” she said, voice scratchy with sleep.

He looked up immediately. “You should still be sleeping.”

“Couldn’t.” She pushed the sheet aside, bare skin brushing cool air, the faint scrape of silk against her thighs. His eyes followed the movement; he didn’t even pretend otherwise.

She climbed over him, knees sinking into the mattress until she straddled his hips.

The motion drew a quiet exhale from him low, reflexive.

“Morning,” she repeated, slower this time.

He didn’t move, only looked at her. “You trying to kill me, gattina[kitten]?”

Her fingers slid down his chest, nails tracing over the ridges of muscle and the faint line of hair that disappeared beneath the sheet. “You’ve been patient long enough,” she murmured. “Honestly, I was starting to think you’d taken up sainthood.”

A sound rumbled in his chest, half laugh, half threat.

“Saints don’t think the things I’ve been thinking about you.”

Her smile turned feral. “Good. Then stop thinking.”

He did.

His hand came up, caught the back of her neck, and drew her down into him. The kiss was slow at first, more worship than hunger but it deepened fast, teeth clicking, breath tangling. Every movement felt like something being reclaimed; every sigh, a promise neither of them had language for yet.

She rolled her hips once, deliberate. His grip tightened. The soft rasp of a growl ghosted against her mouth.

God, I missed this. Missed him. Missed feeling like I still belong somewhere that isn’t broken.

“You’re playing with fire,” he warned.

“I am the fire,” she whispered, and bit his lower lip.

Because I will. God help me, I would, I would get on all fours and beg if that’s what it took.

Her lips brushed his collarbone, a ghost of a grin. “Good answer.”

He kissed her once more, softer this time, but when she whispered his name against his lips, he started moving again slow, reverent, endless.

Maybe this is what healing actually looks like: messy, hungry, beautiful.

The mirror was still fogged, steam curling like smoke after a good fire. Her body ached in that lazy, satisfied way that made her want to stretch out and never move again. The air smelled like soap, coffee, and Enzo.

He was leaning against the counter behind her, towel slung purposefully low on his hips, watching her like she was the most distracting thing that had ever happened to him and judging by the small, crooked smile on his mouth, he wasn’t sorry about it.

She caught his reflection in the mirror and smirked.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, twisting the towel through her hair. “You got yours.”

His voice was still rough from earlier. “Not nearly enough.”

. She turned, one brow lifting. “Says the man who could barely stand ten minutes ago.”

He came up behind her, hands finding her hips. “You trying to wound my pride?”