Accidentally Yours (Merffy Kizzmet) novel Chapter 231

Chapter 231

Mine.

🙂))

The skull gave nothing away. The body was scripture.

She feinted drop, reversed when he bit the wrong beat on purpose. He let her have space she didn’t want, then stole it back with the step she’d seen the night he took a gun out of a stranger’s hand without bruising pride.

He didn’t pull. She didn’t either,

They crashed. Learned. Unlearned. Years compressed into a handful of breaths, violent and reverent and wrong to call anything but holy.

He hit a throw that would have ended anyone else. She rode it, twisted mid–air, landed half on a crate edge, used the rebound to spear his ribs with a shoulder. The skull rang wood. His grunt, private, rough hammered through her chest.

She caught his wrist, shoved it to boards, pinned his forearm with her knee. For one ruthless beat she dragged the marker across the skull’s throat line–black on bone–white. Petty. Perfect.

Nineteen.

He reversed fast, brutal, beautiful. They rolled. His weight hit like truth; her back kissed concrete. He shifted–careful–to keep the crate from cracking the back of her head. Of course he did. The inch of mercy cost him position.

She snaked an arm free, posted heel to calf, stole his base by a breath. He dropped to a knee. She climbed his frame like a problem she’d solved at 3 a.m., thighs cinched high on his hips. He tried to peel; she anticipated. Their breaths braided.

He sought a cross–grip on her wrists; she traded him one, took the other, fed him toward a choke track. He defended, shoulder welded under her sternum, so close the air between them forgot it was separate.

Say you don’t love this.

The radio behind them hissed a question no one answered.

He surged; she let him, then spooled it into a takedown he didn’t see because love makes you arrogant in half–inch places. They slid into crates. He planted a palm beside her head to keep the wood from kissing her skull too hard. Gentleman even in ruin infuriating, adored.

She used the saved inch to swim her forearm under his jaw plate, levered his head, and walked him backward. The hinged jaw clacked against its strap.

She locked him, forearm across collarbone, knee riding his thigh, her weight a live animal. The skull stared her down. Sweat broke cold along her back. Heat climbed everywhere else,

His free hand found her hip to lift; she denied it. He tried again; she met, ground, pressed. The whole world shrank to friction and fight and the knowledge that only two people ever made this shape together.

Mine. Always mine. Even when we’re trying to ruin each other.

He braced to bridge. She broke it with a vicious little hip pop and dragged him fully under. Her heart slammed. She could take him. She could let him take her. Same sentence either way.

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10:45 Tue, Oct 21

Chapter 231

No permission needed.

She found the hinge latch under the jaw, flicked it. The lower plate swung down on its strap, baring his mouth and jaw, the wreck she’d made of his breath.

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She bent and kissed him hard, sure, a brand more than a kiss, claim and thank–you and dare, poured into one rough press. His mouth met hers with that feral gratitude she liked too much; the sound he made was wrecked and relieved at once.

She smiled into him, lips still to his, whispering, low and private, smug as sin:

“So, how’d I do?”

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