Accidentally Yours (Merffy Kizzmet) novel Chapter 92

Chapter 92

“I’m seriously okay,” she said–bruise count annoying, tangled hair her sworn enemy-“I’m here and I missed you.”

He didn’t rush past it. His thumb skimmed the faint bloom on her cheekbone, paused above the seatbelt mark at her collarbone, ghosted the tiny split at her lip. “How are you–really? Not physically. You.”

She exhaled. “The blank parts feel… wrong. I’m mad. Furious really. But I’m here. And you’re here.” A tiny lift of her mouth. “That fixes more than I care to

admit.”

He nodded once–logged, not dismissed–then pressed a cold bottle into her hand. “Four sips.” He dimmed the lights, set a towel on the warmer, slid her hair tie out like a quiet promise, rinsed the flight off his skin in a fast soldier’s scrub–and gently placed her under the hot waterfall.

“Stay with me,” she murmured. “Even if you’re done.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Enzo grabbed the fresh wash rag and ever so slowly began to wash the last days trauma. It felt so nice having his hands all over her she didn’t want it to stop when he gently pulled away.

He didn’t. He went to his knees.

Her breath tripped.

Oh.

Pray, then.

I won’t stop you.

He kissed her wrist where her pulse lived. Her palm. Each knuckle like a rosary. He mapped the shadowed places–collarbone, shoulder, throat–mouth reverent, hands sure, cataloguing every inch he could have lost and didn’t. When she threaded her fingers into his hair and tipped, he understood and answered like devotion–slow, relentless, the kind of patience that becomes pressure. Heat narrowed the world. When her knees wobbled, he locked an arm around her thighs and held her through the climb he built on purpose.

She broke–sweet and sharp–on his name and the steam, lights going nova behind her eyes.

Yes. Yes. Oh, god, yes.

Mine. Alive. More.

“Bed,” she breathed, breathless and smug. “Now.”

“Eyes on me,” she said.

“Always,”

She folded forward to steal his mouth–wet and open, tongue dragging across his bottom lip like a threat–then leaned back with a slow grind that made his whole body jolt beneath her. His hands flew to her hips, trying to anchor himself, but she set the pace like she owned him.

And she did.

Nails scraped down his chest–no grace, no gentleness, just raw, hungry claiming. Her thighs flexed around his ribs, sweat slicking her skin as she rode him

harder, deeper, like she was trying to bury him inside her and keep him there.

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