Accidentally Yours (Merffy Kizzmet) novel Chapter 167

She woke in heat and gravity. A heartbeat under her ear. Stram–warm air that wasn’t steam at all. Nico lay facedown beneath her, shoulder blades hard planes under her palm. She was half–draped over him, curved to his spine like she’d grown there. Behind her: Eco- close, solid, breath slow against the back of her neck. His thigh turked to hers. Ilis boily unmistakably awake.

His fingers combed the inside of her thigh, unhurtled, like he already knew what she’d wake wanting

Нег breath caught.

He bent to her ear. “Stay still,” he whispered. The low, dangerous kind of soft only she ever heard. “Stay quiet.”

Don’t move. Don’t breathe. God, keep it together.

Nico shifted beneath her–just a small adjustment of his arm, attention rising like a tide. Awake? Close. Which made everything worse.

Better.

“Enzo,” she breathed. Barely sound.

“Tell me,” he murmured. His fingers paused near the edge of her panties, a patient question.

Yes. Please,

“Please,” she whispered. Fermission and prayer at once.

He stroked through cotton once, almost nothing, and her body lit up. She bit the inside of her cheek and saw stars.

A moment later his touch left her, and she almost protested–until his palm slid to her hip. “Not here,” he said, mouth at her jaw. “Shower, anima mia,”

“Now?” she asked, already knowing.

“Now.”

Behind her, Nico’s breath changed. Awake. Holding still like a loaded spring.

Enzo rolled away, stood, and then he was scooping her up–one arm beneath her knees, the other a careful brace at her back where tape tugged. She let herself fold into him, trusting the grip she’d learned by heart. Over his shoulder, she saw Nico push upright, scrub a hand over his face like he had to nail himself to the day.

“Come on,” Enzo said,

said, voice steel–soft. “Both of you.”

I’m going

ing to combust.

They went.

Enzo

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11:22 Thu, Oct 9

Chapter 167

Control or carnage–there was never an in–between. Today, control.

He set the bathroom lights low and the water to warm. He placed Lola on the bench, stood between her knees, and pushed his hands beneath the hem of the shirt she wore. “Look at me,” he told her. She did. The want in line eyes was clean as a blade.

He eased the shirt up, slow, thoughtful, kissing each bruise he revealed. Anger burned steady behind his ribs; he fed it to the ritual of care. He peeled her panties down, careful of tender skin, and set them aside. She lifted for him without flinching. Good girl.

Behind him, Nico hesitated only a breaths before stripping as well, movements clipped and begrudgingly efficient, Shirt, slacks, everything -gone. He stepped into the steam hate, jaw locked.

“Under,” Enzo said, taking Lola to the water and shielding her from the first rush. Warmth settled. Her lashes lowered; her mouth

softened.

“Here,” Nico said roughly, pressing a folded washcloth into Enzo’s hand. Always two steps ahead, even now.

“Hold her,” Enzo said, sticking the cloth and drawing it slowly over the slope of Lola’s shoulder. No glance needed–he heard Nico move, felt those broad hands come to Lola’s waist from behind, steadier than anyone would believe who didn’t know him.

He washed her like a weapon he’d bled with reverent, thorough. Throat, collarbones, the line of her clavicle. Over the soft rise of her breasts with careful palms, mindful of tape and edges; beneath them where shadows clung. He lifted her arms, water ribboning down, and cleansed each inch: wrist to elbow to shoulder, old ink, new marks, her, her, her.

“Hair,” he said. Nico angled the handheld so a warm sheet fell Enzo worked shampoo into her scalp, fingers slow; she melted, lips parting. “Rinse,” he murmured, and Nico did, careful to spare the stitches at her temple, palm braced gentle against her hairline.

ribs and the dip of her waist; the are of her hip, down her thighs. He knelt to “Turn,” Enzo told her. When she did, he went lower–over reach her knees and calves, the backs where muscle lived. Water threaded over his shoulders and down his spine. He didn’t notice. He worked.

Her breathing hitched when his palms slid along the inside lines of her thighs. He looked up. Trust burned there. Hunger, too.

“Good girl,” he murmured, and behind her Nico’s hands tightened a fraction.

“Back to the tile,” he said softly.

She hesitated, thinking of her ribs.

“I know,” he said. “I’ll hold you

He turned her with care and set her palms to the cool wall at chest height, then stepped in close, his chest a brace along her back. He lifted his eyes to Nica. “Here,” he said, taking Nico’s wrists and placing them at Lola’s hips–high enough to spare anything tender, low enough to give leverage. “Hold her still.”

A breath dragged rough through Nico’s throat. “Enzo-

“Do it.”

Nico did.

From there, Enzo let intention do the talking. He didn’t need to narrate what came next; he showed them. He lowered in a

a smooth.

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11:22 Thu, Oct 9

Chapter 167

controlled low, hands guiding, breath warm, mouth reverent. The space between Lala’s soft sued and is ragged one was razor–thin. Enze kept it that was on purpose.

“Watch.” he said once, voice mote command than sound. “Learn.”

He didn’t need to see to know Nice felt every trening, every breath. He could feel it through her body; could sense Nico’s restraint burning to ash under his palms as he took Lola apart with patience and care. Not violence. Not today. He wanted her to forget the word pain existed.

When het knees went unsteady, he said only. “Hold her,” and Nico did–stronger, closer, his breath breaking near her ear while Enzo coaxed more and then gentled, easing her back from the edge with a steady, relentless tenderness that made her shiver with relie!

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