Accidentally Yours Chapter 27

**Enzo**

It was past one in the morning when the limo finally pulled up to the penthouse.

Everyone was drunk, full of glitter, sweat, and too many almost-moments. Gino was halfway asleep against the door, Dom was mumbling about hash browns like they were a religious experience, and Marco had already started complaining about heartburn.

Lola, still barefoot from dancing, tugged open the front door and turned with a lazy grin.

“I’m making grilled cheese. You’re all welcome to live another day.”

They mumbled approval like she’d just offered them gold.

He followed her into the kitchen and watched her move—loose, radiant, like the night had carved something wild into her. She still had on that knotted tee and the cutoffs that had been riding too high all damn night. The glitter had faded, but the sway of her hips had not.

Bread. Butter. American cheese. A pan already hissing on the stove.

Simple. Messy. Perfect.

She passed them out one by one—sizzling, greasy, too much butter, too much cheese—and he’d never seen his men so quiet.

She fed a mafia crew grilled cheese at 1 a.m. in a crop top and eyeliner smudged to hell and back.

And they all looked at her like she was divine.

And maybe she was.

Eventually, they peeled off. One by one. Bellies full. Spirits fried.

Until it was just the two of them.

Lola was standing in front of the sink, licking cheese off her finger. Casual. Innocent. Dangerous.

Enzo leaned against the doorway and just watched her.

Waited.

Let the silence stretch.

She glanced at him. “You want the last one?”

He shook his head. “No.”

He took a slow step forward. “I want you.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. But he could see her heartbeat in the hollow of her throat.

“Enzo…”

“You’ve been driving me fucking crazy all day,” he said, stepping in close—so close their bodies didn’t touch, but felt like they were. “The outfits. The dance. The mouth on you.”

“You didn’t seem to mind.”

He leaned in, voice dark velvet. “I minded so much I nearly dragged you into the champagne closet and made you scream my name over the bassline.”

Her breath hitched.

“But I waited,” he murmured. “Because I didn’t want a show. I wanted you. No distractions. No games.”

She tilted her head, lip caught between her teeth. “No games?”

He nodded, jaw tight. “None.”

She smiled. Slow. Wicked.

“Well then,” she whispered, eyes gleaming—

“Maybe just one more.”

Then she shoved him.

Not hard—but enough.

Enough to start running barefoot out of the kitchen, laughing like sin, hair flying, that cropped little tee rising up with every step.

For a full second, he just stood there. Blinking.

Then it hit him.

***She's running. From me.***

And he’d never chased a woman in his life. Never needed to. Never wanted to.

But now?

Now he was fucking hungry.

***Oh little Kitten, I'm not going to chase you but I'm going to hunt you.***

He bolted after her. Fast. Precise. Predator.

She squealed and disappeared down the hall, nearly wiping out around the corner.

“Keep running, Gattino(kitten),” he growled, voice echoing after her. “I’m going to catch you.”

She laughed—***god, that laugh***—and shouted back, “You better!”

She hit the main living area and vaulted over the back of the couch like some kind of tiny parkour gremlin. He followed, sharp and fast, muscles tight with adrenaline and need.

She dodged. He pursued.

She taunted. He closed in.

It wasn’t fair—her legs were shorter, she was barefoot, giggling like a fucking stormcloud in lingerie.

But she was fast.

And he was faster.

He caught her halfway into the master bedroom—one arm around her waist, spinning her into the wall so fast it knocked the breath from both of them.

Her back hit hard.

She laughed. Grinned up at him like she hadn’t just thrown gasoline on the fire and dared him to strike a match.

He did.

His left hand wrapped around her throat—not tight, just there. Possessive. Anchoring. A silent stay.

His right arm hooked beneath her thigh, lifting her so her legs wrapped tight around his waist. Her body molded to his like it belonged there.

“Am I getting punished for running?” she whispered.

***Fuck. Straight to the dick.***

She wanted that.

And he… he didn’t even recognize the version of himself staring back in her eyes.

***I’ve never done foreplay like this before but it unleashed something in me.***

Not like this.

Not with this edge. This hunger. This need to dominate.

To mark her. To own her.

But she made him feel feral.

He slid his thumb along her jaw, just under the hinge. Felt her pulse race.

“You like that?” he murmured, voice rough.

Her lips curled. “I like you like this.”

That wrecked him.

He kissed her—deep and dirty, tongue tangling with hers like he could pull the breath out of her lungs and keep it.

She clawed at his shirt. Pressed her chest to his. Moaned into his mouth like she’d been waiting for him to snap.

Her breath hitched as his teeth grazed her throat.

She was still pinned to the wall—legs wrapped around him, his hand around her neck, and nothing but fire between them.

“Keep running from me, Lola,” he growled.

“See what it gets you.”

She smiled through a shaky breath. “Guess I’ll have to find out.”

That was all he needed.

He peeled her off the wall and tossed her onto the bed like she weighed nothing. She bounced once, laughing—but it cut off when he stalked toward her.

Jacket off. Shirt gone. Belt ripped from his slacks with one sharp pull. His eyes never left her.

“You gonna be good for me now?” he asked, voice low, dangerous.

Lola, grinning like sin, pulled off her shirt in one smooth motion.

No bra. Just bare skin, tattoos, and temptation.

“You gonna stop talking and fuck me already?”

He was on her in a heartbeat.

His mouth crashed into hers—his weight pushing her down, pinning her like prey. One hand tangled in her hair, the other skimming down her stomach, into her shorts.

“No panties?” he rasped.

“You ruined those hours ago.”

***Jesus.***

He dragged the shorts down her thighs, slow just to make her squirm. She kicked them off, legs spreading with zero shame.

Enzo knelt back to look at her. Just look.

Hair wild. Mouth swollen. Inked skin flushed and waiting.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he muttered, dragging his hands up the insides of her thighs. “And you don’t even know what you do to me.”

She propped herself up on her elbows. “Then show me.”

He grinned. “I plan to.”

He bent down and buried his mouth between her legs.

She gasped—sharp and high—and grabbed the sheets like they might save her. They wouldn’t.

Enzo devoured her. Consumed her.

Tongue slow at first, savoring every sound she made. Then faster. Rougher. Tongue circling her clit while his fingers slid inside her—curling just right.

She was already dripping. Already falling apart.

He held her hips down when she tried to lift. Made her take it.

“Enzo—” she gasped. “*Fuck—*I—”

He didn’t stop.

He licked and sucked and fingered her through the tight, shaking mess of her first orgasm, and when she came again a minute later—legs shaking, voice cracking—he was still there.

When she whimpered from overstimulation, he finally pulled back—face wet, lips swollen.

Then he stood. Undid his pants.

Lola’s eyes went wide.

***Good.***

“You gonna run now?” he asked, stroking himself once.

She swallowed hard, chest still heaving.

“Not,” she whispered. “right now. Maybe later.”

He climbed over her. Pressed his tip right where she was throbbing for it.

“You sure?”

He ran his tip up and down. Moving her sweet nectar everywhere while continuing her overstimulation.

She grabbed his face. “Enzo. Fuck me.”

He slammed into her. One solid trust that sent them straight to heaven.

She cried out—raw and breathless—and he dropped his forehead to hers, panting against her mouth as he filled her deep.

***Tight. Wet. So fucking hot.***

“Shit, Lola—”

He pulled back and thrust again. Harder. Deeper.

Her back arched. Her nails clawed down his back.

He grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. His other arm wrapped under her thigh, hiking it up as he drove into her—faster, harder, punishing in the best way.

Every sound she made was for him.

Every gasp, every curse, every desperate please.

“Mine,” he growled into her ear. “You’re mine, Lola.”

She moaned—high, needy, wrecked.

“Yours. All yours.”

He kissed her. Possessive. Brutal. Tender.

“Say it again.”

She did. Over and over. Until her voice broke and her body started to tremble beneath him.

When she came again—loud, legs shaking, body clenching around him like she needed him there—he followed.

Hard.

Deep.

A rough, guttural sound ripped from his throat as he came inside her, grinding against her like he never wanted to leave.

He didn’t move at first. Just stayed inside her, head bowed, chest heaving.

***That was the best sex I've ever had. Holy. Fuck.***

Lola’s breath was shaky beneath him, her hands still tangled in his hair, her body twitching from aftershocks.

His grip on her thigh stayed tight, probably too tight.

Like letting go might undo it all.

No words.

Just heat. Sweat. Steam curling off two people who had crossed a line and had no fucking interest in turning back.

He finally lifted his head. Met her eyes.

And she looked just like he felt—wrecked, wide-eyed, and completely undone.

Enzo smirked, slow and dark.

“Next time,” he said, voice rough, “you run—I’m tying you to the bed.”

She didn’t even blink.

“Next time,” she whispered back, “I'll let you catch me much faster.”