Accidentally Yours Chapter 38

**Enzo**

Enzo groaned.

***Jesus fucking Christ.***

He reached down to tug the last barrier from his hips and barely got them off before she sank down onto him in one aching, desperate stroke.

His brain flatlined.

“Fuck,” he hissed, fingers digging into her hips.

Her head dropped back with a soft cry—raw and breathless—like she’d been holding it in for hours.

He could feel the tremble in her thighs, the tightness in her core as she gripped him like her body was trying to keep him there.

She wasn’t moving slow. She wasn’t teasing.

She was taking.

Grinding down with abandon, skin slapping softly in the quiet room, her breath catching every time he hit that deep spot inside her.

He held her steady, palms wide on her waist, letting her use him however she needed.

***Lets burn it out, baby. Let it all go.***

Because he could feel it in her body—the sorrow she wouldn’t say, the ache riding the edge of pleasure like it had nowhere else to go.

“Lola,” he rasped, trying to ground her. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”

She leaned forward, hands bracing on his chest as her pace faltered, as her breath turned to broken little gasps.

“I know,” she whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I feel it.”

And fuck if that didn’t nearly undo him.

His hands slid up to her back, holding her to him as she rocked harder, faster—like she was chasing the edge before the sadness could catch up.

She clenched around him, her whole body bowstring-tight, then shattered with a soft, almost-silent cry—face buried in his neck, hands fisting his shoulders like she was scared to let go.

He followed with a growl—hips bucking up into her, white heat bursting behind his eyes as he came with a violent, aching rush.

They collapsed together.

Breathless.

Spent.

Shaking.

She didn’t move.

Just stayed curled on top of him, face tucked into his neck, body still trembling softly like her soul hadn’t caught up with her yet.

He didn’t ask.

Didn’t press.

He just held her.

Brushed a hand up and down her back and whispered into the dark.

“Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

**Lola – 7:08AM**

She wasn’t crying when she woke up.

That would’ve been easier. Tears had direction. An exit route. But this—this was a vice around her ribs, a low, hot pressure that built without release. Like something was trying to crawl out of her chest with no mouth to scream.

Enzo was wrapped around her, all heat and muscle and quiet breath against the back of her neck. His hand was splayed across her stomach, thumb just barely brushing the curve of her hip. His leg hooked over hers like they’d been sleeping this way for years.

They hadn’t.

It had barely been a few days.

But it felt like something she’d been waiting for her whole damn life.

The dream was still heavy behind her eyes. No, not a dream.

A memory.

She was six when they started calling it a game.

“Lola, baby, come tell Daddy’s friend what you think about those stocks he mentioned.”

They’d smile and cheer when she rattled off predictions, quoting numbers and trends like it was the alphabet. And she thought that was love. Thought it meant they were proud of her.

It got worse.

They sold her guesses. Bragged about her recall. Their friends bet money on her advice. She never got it wrong—not once. She thought that made her special.

Until one night, someone offered to buy her.

A man in a suit. Kind eyes. Wealth in his voice and hunger behind it. She wasn’t supposed to hear, but she did.

“It’s not like she’s a regular child.”

She’d packed a plastic backpack that night and ran. Nine years old. No money. No plan. Just her mind and a body nobody saw as hers anymore.

The weight of it still sat in her spine.

She tried to untangle herself. One leg free. A breath. Then—

"Where do you think you're going, piccolina (baby)?" Enzo's voice was warm gravel, rough from sleep and too damn alert for how quietly she'd moved.

Before she could answer, his arm curled tighter and he rolled them, pressing her gently back down into the mattress with his weight—not caging her, just covering her. Wrapping her in something solid. Something safe.

He groaned into the crook of her neck, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Mmm. So damn comfortable.”

Her heart stuttered.

He shifted slightly, letting his thigh rest between hers, the heat of him impossible to ignore, but not demanding. Just there. The silence stretched, but it didn’t press. It held.

She breathed.

“I wasn’t leaving,” she said quietly.

“Good.” His fingers traced a lazy circle against her skin. “Because I sleep better like this.”

Her fingers threaded through the dark waves of his hair, slow and lazy. Each stroke felt like a lullaby her hands had memorized.

***He should be terrifying.***

***But right now, he’s just warm. Just steady. Just... mine.***

And for the first time in years—maybe ever—

she felt like she might be enough.

Just Lola.

She swallowed hard, nerves bubbling low in her chest. Her fingers paused, then resumed their slow sweep.

“Enzo?” she whispered, barely loud enough to stir the air.

He grunted, lips still pressed to the soft fabric of his shirt against her skin.

“Pinky promise me something?”

That got his attention. He shifted just enough to peek one eye open, brows lifting in sleepy amusement.

“You want a pinky swear?” he rasped.

She nodded, shy but firm. “Mhm. No matter what this ends up being… promise we won’t use each other. Not for power. Not for business. Not to gain ground in some fucked-up game.”

Her voice softened further, a teasing smirk tugging at her mouth.

“Middle-of-the-night sex is still on the table though. Obviously.”

He huffed a sleepy laugh and reached up blindly, pinky extended without hesitation.

“I promise,” he murmured, linking it with hers. “No games. No leverage. Just you and me.”

Their fingers stayed twined.

Neither one of them wanted to pull away.

A knock at the door ruined everything.

It wasn’t loud, just a firm tap followed by another. Polite, respectful—but persistent.

Enzo groaned softly against her neck, breath warm. “If that’s anyone but Marco, I’m putting a bullet in the wall.”

Lola chuckled and buried her face into his hair. “Don’t tempt me. I still haven’t recovered from the last time they kicked in a door.”

Enzo kissed her collarbone, then sighed against it. “Stay here. Sleep. Steal my hoodie. Just don’t disappear on me again.”

He rolled out of bed with fluid ease, muscles shifting under the blanket before he stood—completely unapologetically naked, because of course he was. Lola propped herself up on her elbows to watch him move.

***God, that back. That everything.***

She didn’t even try to hide the grin tugging at her lips.

**Enzo**

He reached for his pants on the chair by the door, tugging them on without a word, but not before turning to wink at her. “Enjoy the view, trouble. It's reserved seating.”

“You’re so annoying,” she muttered, smiling anyway.

When he opened the door, it was Nico.

“Morning, Boss,” Nico said, not bothering to hide the amused glint in his eyes. “Sorry. I know you’re off the clock for once, but we’ve got three updates and a situation brewing with Bellandi’s crew. They’re testing fences again.”

Enzo scrubbed a hand down his face. “Let me get dressed. Give me ten.”

Nico nodded, then flicked a glance past Enzo into the room. “She good?”

Enzo didn’t even hesitate. “She’s everything.”

Nico’s mouth tugged to the side in something halfway between a smirk and a smile. “Figured.”

He left Enzo to it.

When Enzo shut the door, he stood there for a second, forehead against the wood. Reality. Duty. War. They were never far.

But the weight that usually settled into his spine felt different now.

Because in the bed behind him, there was peace.

And for the first time in years, maybe ever, he felt like he had something worth fighting for that wasn’t business, blood, or legacy.

She was at the counter, barefoot and bleary-eyed, drowning in his black zip-up crop hoodie and holding two mugs like she'd been doing this every morning for years. No fanfare. No extra effort. Just sleepy confidence and legs that went on for days.

She passed him one without looking. “Coffee. Don’t say I never give you anything.”

He accepted it with a smile and a nod, letting the quiet moment breathe between them. She leaned back against the counter, eyes scanning him with a mix of sleepy amusement and something warmer, deeper.

“I’ve gotta head out. Meetings. Checks. Some clean-up. I’ll have Nico hovering close. Someone at the door. You’ll be covered.”

She just sipped her coffee and raised a brow. “Awww. You worried about little ole me?”

He gave her a look.

She grinned. “You know it takes an access card to even get to this floor, right? And your cameras are monitored around the clock.”

He sighed. “I know.”

“Then relax, il mio destino (my destined).” She reached up and smoothed the collar of his jacket, tugging him a bit closer. “Go do your mafia errands or whatever it is you people do.”

Before he could reply, her fingers slipped into his jacket pocket and pulled out a black pen.

“What are you—”

She grabbed his wrist and, with careful strokes, drew a tiny smiley face inside a small heart just below his cuff.

“Just a little reminder,” she said softly. “That someone’s thinking about you while you're out being all broody and powerful.”

His voice dipped. “You’re trouble.”

“You keep saying that like it's not the reason you’re obsessed.”

He leaned down and kissed her—slow, like he didn’t want to leave at all.

When he started to pull away, she caught his hand.

“Don’t forget to come back to your fiancée.”

He paused, turning just enough to look at her over his shoulder. Hair mussed, lips still pink from kissing him, a sleepy menace in one of his shirts.

His smile softened. “I wouldn’t dare.”

She stepped closer—barefoot, bold—and slid her hand inside his jacket, fishing out the pen she just knew would be there.

“Hold still.”

He raised a brow but let her pull his sleeve down, on the inside of wrist under his thumb, he watched her draw a tiny heart with a capital L on the inside. 

“That’s permanent now,” she said with mock seriousness. “You’re branded.”

He bent his head and pressed a kiss to the heart like it was sacred.

“Good. If you need anything just text me or ask Nico since he'll be here."

Then, coffee in hand, he turned and walked out the door—

smiling like a man who knew exactly who he belonged to.