Accidentally Yours (Merffy Kizzmet) novel Chapter 221

Chapter 221

He leaned in, voice low and steady, but his eyes gave him away; wildfire barely leashed..

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that.”

Her laugh broke out bright, wet, full of relief. Eyes still on him, steady and unflinching.

“I’m serious, Enzo. I want something real. I want you as my legal person. I want the same last name stamped on every form and scribbled across our kids‘ jerseys. I want you to be the one they call when I’m detained for throwing hands at a PTA meeting.”

Her voice softened, but her gaze didn’t waver.

“You. 1. Want. You.”

He brushed his thumb along her bottom lip, reverent, his pulse a thunder he refused to let show.

“Then we stop pretending there’s anything left to wait for. We make it real, today.”

“Today?” she breathed.

He nodded once, slow and certain, his mouth curving like a vow.

“Today. You and me. Small, quiet, just us. I’ll handle the rest later. Because I’m done watching you walk around this world with a name that isn’t mine.”

Her eyes glistened.

“God, I love you.”

“I know,” he said, and kissed her.

It was the kind of kiss that promised and prayed all at once soap and steam and the taste of her, his every sense overloaded, every wall gone. When he finally pulled back, breath unsteady, he rested his forehead against hers.

“Turn around.”

She smiled against his mouth, dizzy from the heat of it.

“Why?”

His lips brushed her temple, his voice rough.

“Because I want to take care of you before I take the rest of you.”

That earned a shaky laugh.

“So romantic.”

“Always,” he murmured.

She turned. He took the handheld sprayer, checked the temperature on his wrist, and guided the water through her hair. Sude foamed. then streamed away in pale ribbons. His fingers worked slow circles at her scalp, each touch gentle, grounding.

She made a small sound, something between a bum and a sigh.

“Careful,” she murmured. “You keep this up and I’ll marry you twice.”

He smiled into her hair. Someday, she’d understand what she’d done to him. How she’d made forever sound easy.

When he finished rinsing, he wrapped a towel around her shoulders.

“Up.”

“Then you better prove it.”

He did. Slowly. Thoroughly.

Later, when the air cooled and her body softened under his hands, he reached for the nearest thing that smelled like him and slipped it over her head. The hem brushed her thighs, the collar hung low enough to see the marks he’d left.

“You staring?” she asked, voice rough velvet.

“Trying to remember the exact second I stopped pretending I could let you go.”

Something flickered across her face soft, startled. Then she smiled, the kind that hit him straight in the chest.

“Then don’t,” she whispered. “Just remember this one.”

The hours after blurred movement, warmth, the slow unraveling of everything that came before.

Now, in the hush that followed, she slept beside him, a half–smile still on her mouth.

He watched her for a long time before speaking to the dark.

“Like I could ever forget this night,” he said, voice low and certain.

Her breathing slowed; he felt her drifting deeper.

He sat there for a long time, watching her breathe, the city lights crawling over her skin like confession.

Mine. The word didn’t feel dangerous anymore; it felt inevitable.