Accidentally Yours Chapter 77

****Dom****

The mall was hell.

Bright lights. Screaming kids. Perfume clouds so thick he was pretty sure he could taste Chanel on his teeth. And somewhere in the distance, a rogue kiosk employee was aggressively demonstrating a hair straightener on a grown man.

Dom wanted to commit a felony.

“I’m gonna need hazard pay for this,” he muttered, trailing behind Lola and Nico as she practically floated through the entrance like she owned the damn place. Maxi dress swishing, boots stomping. A walking, smiling disaster waiting to happen.

Dom didn’t trust malls. Too many blind corners. Too many people. Too many goddamn lotions.

“Should’ve brought blinders,” he said under his breath.

“For her or for us?” Nico asked beside him, tone already shaken.

“Both.”

It had been five minutes and Lola was already three stores deep. She didn’t shop like a normal person—she hunted. She stalked racks like prey, eyes gleaming, tongue tucked into the corner of her smile. Every now and then she’d toss something over her shoulder for Nico or Dom to catch, muttering things like, “You’ll like this one,” or, “He’ll want a picture of this.”

And they did.

And he would.

Dom caught a glimpse of a strappy black number and nearly walked into a wall.

“You good?” Nico asked, adjusting the bags in his arms.

Dom grunted. “No.”

The chaos escalated when they hit the fourth store.

Lola beelined for the dressing rooms like a woman on a mission from God. “Don’t go far, boys,” she called sweetly over her shoulder. “I’ll need photographers.”

Dom stopped walking. “She’s kidding.”

“She’s not,” Nico replied, already resigned to his fate.

And so began the gauntlet.

Outfits started flying out like it was a damn runway show. Tight dresses, sheer sets, little white lacy things that made Dom question his entire life trajectory.

Every time Lola peeked out and called for one of them to come in and “adjust the strap,” or “help zip something,” it felt less like security detail and more like psychological warfare.

Nico went in first. Came out red-faced.

“Holy shit,” he said, dazed. “I don’t even know what I just saw.”

Dom scoffed. “Coward.”

Then it was Dom’s turn.

She was wearing red. Barely. The heels made her legs look a mile long and the teddy she chose didn’t so much cover her as suggest the idea of fabric. She was twirling, checking the back in the mirror.

“Oh, hey,” she said casually. “Can you get the tag on this? It’s itchy.”

Dom blinked. “I—yeah. Sure.”

He reached for the tag. Missed.

She looked at him in the mirror. “Dom?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re shaking.”

Dom stepped out of the room and immediately walked into a mannequin.

Nico choked on a laugh. “How bad?”

“She’s a menace.”

The second store was worse. 

Now Lola had props. She tried on a trench coat over lingerie and asked if it was mysterious enough. She posed with sunglasses. Flipped her hair. Took selfies and handed Nico her phone. “Send it to Daddy. He’s gonna lose his mind.”

Dom looked at the sky. “God, strike me down. End it.”

“Can you focus?” Nico hissed. “What if someone’s following us?”

Dom scanned the crowd. “Then they’re suffering more than we are.”

Lola reemerged, smug as ever. “Okay. Three more shops.”

Dom wanted to die.

They made it through jewelry, shoes, and some boutique so fancy he swore the saleswoman was judging his boots. Lola tried on chokers and heels, made a big show of bending over to test their stretch, and Dom started praying to deities he didn’t believe in.

At one point, a teenage boy nearby walked into a display because he couldn’t stop staring.

Dom caught his collar before he hit the ground and handed him off to his mother. “Eyes forward, kid. Or next time, it’s the glass.”

By hour two, Dom had a migraine. Nico had a nosebleed. And Lola?

Lola looked like she was thriving.

Hair wild, dress clinging, cheeks flushed with victory. She spun in a circle in the middle of the food court, holding up her haul like she just conquered a kingdom.

“We should do this every week,” she said, radiant.

Dom looked at Nico. “I vote we fake our deaths.”

Nico nodded solemnly. “Tell Enzo we were martyred in the battle of Victoria’s Secret.”

Lola tossed Dom a gummy bear. “You love me.”

“Regrettably.”

“Wanna carry my bags?”

“I want to carry your corpse.”

She winked. “Flirt.” 

****Nico****

It was the last shop.

And judging by the racks, the last stop on his life span.

Every hanger Lola touched was dripping in sequins, lace, leather—pure stripper-ware. Which could only mean one thing: she and Enzo were into freaky shit the rest of them hadn’t even scratched the surface of. Nico swallowed, pulse already kicking.

***Christ. This is gonna kill me.***

Then she plucked a sundress from the chaos. Soft. Floral. A lie if he’d ever seen one. She held it against her body, tilted her head, and crooked a finger at him.

“Help me,” she said, smirk cutting glass.

And that was it. Game over.

Inside the dressing room, Lola kicked her boots aside and, without warning, peeled her maxi dress off like it had never mattered. Just dropped it. One second dressed, the next standing in nothing but bra and panties, all skin and smirk.

Nico’s jaw locked, throat working hard. “Lo…” He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Do you have to do that right in front of me?”

She flicked him a look in the mirror, playful. “What, you’d rather I turned around so you could stare at my ass while I did it?”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

Her grin widened. “Mm. Thought so.”

She didn’t stop there. She reached into the pile again, pulled out something black and wicked—a leather… dress? If you could even call it that. Straps, rips, cutouts, barely any material holding it together. She slipped it on like it was second skin, tugging at the back with a frown.

“Hey,” she said sweetly, twisting to glance at him. “Can you fix this for me? It’s all twisted.”

Nico swallowed hard, stepping forward. His fingers brushed the bare line of her back as he straightened the strap, soft touches on smoother skin. The heat of her body burned against his knuckles, every graze sending a pulse of fire through him.

She didn’t move, didn’t look away—just watched him in the mirror, eyes glittering with amusement.

***Fuck. This wasn’t helping. At all.***

And then as if she didn’t just shake the foundation she quickly stepped out of the dress and stepped into the sundress and turned, holding the zipper down her back open. “Help please.”

Nico stepped closer, caught the zipper. He tugged it up slow, maybe too slow, because her scent hit him—warm vanilla smoke with a bright citrus edge, like sin baked under sunlight. He leaned in without thinking, dragging it in deep.

“Are you sniffing me?” she teased, eyes catching his in the mirror.

“Yeah,” he said, flat and certain. Owning it, getting closer to her neck and taking in the summer and sunshine again. His gaze didn’t waver. “Sweet. Citrus. Like summer I don’t want to end.”

Her lips curved, sharp and satisfied. “Good answer.”

Zipper done, she spun and sat herself on the bench like a queen taking her throne, sundress half-settled. She shoved the wedge sandals at him. “Shoes. You’re on lace duty.”

He crouched, wrapped her ankle in one hand, started winding the strap up her calf. Skin hot under his fingers, pulse hammering against his thumb. He tied it a little tighter than necessary.

She hissed, smile sharpening. “Careful. Tie me up like that and you’ll give me ideas.”

That was when his control snapped.

His hand twitched, shot up before he could stop it. Fingers caught the delicate line of her throat—just a brush, no pressure, but contact all the same.

And she froze. Not scared. Not startled. Her eyes locked onto his like he’d just crossed a line she’d been daring him to cross.

The world shrank. No noise. No air. Just her pulse fluttering beneath his fingertips and the heat ripping through his chest.

A second. Two. Enough for the charge to sink into his bones. Enough for him to see it hit hers too.

Then he yanked his hand back like he’d grabbed fire. “Shit. Fuck.” His voice was hoarse. “Lola I'm so fucking sorry.”

But Lola laughed—low, husky, turned on. She leaned in, grin wicked. “Don’t be. I think I just found your breaking point.”

Nico’s pulse thundered. He tightened the last knot on her sandal like it was the only thing keeping his hands busy, jaw clenched. “You keep pushing like this, Lo,” he rasped, “and you’re gonna find out I don’t break the way you think.”

Her eyes glittered, pleased, dangerous. “Don’t tempt me with a good time.”

For a beat, it was just them. Her leg braced on his thigh. His pulse in his ears. The raw want in the air so thick he could taste it.

Finally, he rose. She smoothed the sundress down, twirled once—sweet, soft, a fucking lie.

“So?” she asked, voice sugar-sweet, eyes gleaming. “Pretty enough to wear home?”

Nico barked out a jagged laugh. “Pretty enough to start a war.”

Her smile curved, poison wrapped in honey. “And you’d fight it for me?”

His grin was wolfish, unshaken. “No, Lo. I’d start it.”