Accidentally Yours Chapter 85

**Enzo**

Steam still clung to his skin as he padded barefoot across the penthouse, hair damp from the shower. The platinum collar sat where he’d left it—on the nightstand, gleaming in the low lamplight. Waiting.

The elevator chimed, and then Lola was there, shoulders slumped under the weight of fourteen hours in the chair, bag slipping from her arm. Exhaustion painted her features, but the second her eyes found him, she lit up.

“Enzo.”

Christ, the way she said his name. Like a homecoming.

He pulled her into his arms, breathing her in. Soap, ink, and faint coffee clinging to her skin. She sagged against him like she’d been holding herself upright just for this moment.

“Long day?” he murmured into her hair.

Her hum vibrated against his chest. “Three big pieces. My back’s on fire. My brain’s soup. I think I might actually die.”

He kissed her temple, voice soft but steady. “Not tonight, amore. Tonight you rest.”

He sent her to the shower with a gentle swat to her hip and made his way to the kitchen. The fridge offered options, but she didn’t need anything heavy. Bread, turkey, cheese. Simple. A sandwich she could manage half-asleep. He grabbed a glass of water, too.

By the time she padded out of the steam, hair damp, Enzo had the bed turned down and the tray waiting. He guided her in, tucked her against the pillows, set the plate and glass within reach.

Her eyes softened, blurry with sleep. “You made me food.”

“Of course I did,” he said, settling at the foot of the bed. His big hands wrapped her feet, thumbs pressing circles into the sore arches. “You think I’d let my queen starve after a day like that?”

She melted, sigh spilling out, head tipping back against the headboard. “Dangerous, Enzo. You’re spoiling me.”

“Good,” he said simply, working his thumbs higher up her calves. “I missed you. Every second in LA, I wanted to be here instead. With you.”

Her smile slanted, tired but true. “Tell me again tomorrow. Right now I’m too sleepy to appreciate it properly.”

She managed half the sandwich before her eyes fluttered closed. A few bites remained, plate sliding forgotten to her lap. The other half of the sandwich rested on her chest, crumbs scattering.

Enzo’s heart clenched so hard it almost hurt. Fierce, wicked Lola—the girl who’d dragged him into the fire and laughed while he burned—fast asleep with a sandwich still in hand.

“Jesus Christ, I love you,” he whispered, brushing her hair back from her face.

Carefully, he moved the plate, set the sandwich aside, slid the water closer. He tucked the blanket around her, lingered a moment, just watching the way her lashes lay soft against her cheeks.

Then he reached for the nightstand. For the little teal box holding her new collar.

He eased it around her throat, the click of the lock barely audible. His mark. His promise. His possession.

He slid in beside her, gathering her back against his chest, nuzzling into her damp hair. Her breathing was steady, her body limp with sleep, sandwich crumbs still dusting the blanket.

His arms locked around her, his voice a low vow only the dark could hear.

“Mine.”

And with her collared and curled against him, Enzo finally let himself drift.

**Lola**

Lola woke in the dark with her bladder screaming at her. She groaned, untangling herself from the sheets, and padded barefoot to the bathroom.

It wasn’t until she washed her hands and glanced up at the mirror that she froze.

Something new glinted at her throat. Cool metal. Platinum chain, delicate but thick enough to suit her, with a small lock resting against her skin. Her breath caught.

Enzo.

He’d put it on her while she slept. Quietly. No occasion. No demand. No reason except that he wanted to.

Her chest squeezed, tears pricking before she could stop them. No one had ever done this for her. Not once in her life had anyone chosen her like this—without asking for anything in return. Not for a birthday. Not for a holiday. Just… because she existed. Because she was his

Even her ex hadn’t treated her like this—and she’d once thought she wanted to marry that idiot.

The mirror blurred as tears spilled hot. Her palm pressed flat to the glass, desperate for something steady. She had no idea what she’d been missing until now. To be taken care of. To be cherished. Not because she earned it. Not because she fought for it. But simply because she was.

Her laugh cracked on a sob. “Fuck, Enzo…”

The sight of her reflection wrecked her—eyes red, lips trembling, the lock gleaming like a brand. Too much joy, too much grief colliding at once. She couldn’t hold it. She needed him—needed his hands, his voice, his weight—to anchor her before she drowned in it.

Quiet as a shadow, she crawled back onto the bed, between his legs, pressing kisses up the trail of his skin until her mouth wrapped around him. Enzo stirred with a low groan, half-dreaming until her tongue dragged along his length and pulled him awake.

“Baby,” his voice rasped, thick with sleep, hand fisting in her hair. “What are you doing?”

She hummed around him, desperate, worshipful.

His chest heaved as his gaze cleared, finding her tears still wet. “Fuck. You’ve been crying.”

She pulled back just long enough to whisper, broken and raw, “It’s too much. You. This. All of it. I don’t know what to do with it.”

Her tears still wet on her cheeks, she crawled higher, straddling him, thighs trembling as she sank down onto him inch by slow inch. Enzo’s head fell back into the pillows with a groan so deep it rattled through her bones.

“Christ, kitten…” His hands gripped her hips, trying to steady her, but she set the pace—slow, molten, her chest pressed to his, her breath warm and shaky against his throat. Every roll of her body was desperate, aching, as though she was trying to fuse herself into him, erase the space between their skin and souls.

He let her. Let her take what she needed. His chest rose and fell sharp, the chain at her throat catching faint moonlight as she moved above him.

“You’re mine,” he rasped, voice jagged, half-moan, half-promise. “My perfect girl. My sweet, fucking perfect girl.”

Her lips brushed his jaw, her nails tracing his shoulders. “Yours. Always yours.”

Enzo’s jaw flexed, his thumb brushing away one of her stray tears as he watched her break open on top of him. “Look at you,” he muttered, awe and hunger braided in his tone. “My diavoletta, riding me like she was made for it. You think you know what that does to me?”

She shook her head, breath hitching. “Tell me.”

“You ruin me,” he growled, his hand sliding up her spine to fist in her hair. “Every time. You ruin me and I fucking beg for it.”

For a moment, it was tender. A mess of tears and gasps and slow grinding, the kind of lovemaking that burned hot and steady, like a candle fighting back the dark.

But Enzo was Enzo. And when her rhythm stuttered, when her breath caught sharp and needy, he flipped the current without hesitation—his hands gripping her ass, his hips snapping up with force.

Her cry cracked against his mouth as he kissed her, devoured her, fucked her from below with brutal precision.

“Yes,” she gasped, her head falling back, chain glinting against her throat. “Yes, Enzo—oh my god—”

He sat up, caging her against his chest, one hand braced at the small of her back, the other curling hard around her throat, finger looping through her new necklace, forcing her gaze to his. “Look at me.” 

She obeyed, eyes wide, wet, wrecked, as his thrusts grew sharper, harder. He anchored her, grounded her in the only way he knew how—by breaking her apart until all she could cling to was him.

“Take it,” he growled, forehead pressed to hers, sweat dripping down his temple. “Look at me, amore. You break on me, you stay with me.”

Her scream tore loose, nails raking down his shoulders as her body shattered around him, pulsing, gripping, dragging him over the edge with her. He spilled into her with a groan that shook the bed, his hand on her throat keeping her tethered until she collapsed against his chest, boneless.

His breathing was rough, uneven, but his arms came around her instantly, locking her tight to him.

Her tears dampened his skin, her body trembling against his, but for the first time that night her sob turned into a laugh. Choked, messy, alive.

And Enzo held her through all of it.

Minutes passed before the world started to steady. Their limbs tangled, sweat cooling, his heartbeat a heavy drum against her ear. She traced lazy circles on his chest, grounding herself on the rise and fall. 

Enzo’s voice finally broke the quiet, low and careful. “You want to talk about it?”

She shook her head against him, hair sticking to his skin. “Not yet. Just… hold me.”

He did. No questions. No pressure.

Her fingers wandered, brushing the chain at her throat. Solid. Cool. The small lock resting over her collarbone like it had always been there. She swallowed, whispering, “The necklace…”

Enzo shifted, rolling them until she was caged beneath him, his weight braced on one arm as the other lifted to toy with the lock. His mouth curved — dark and tender, equal parts pride and possession.

“Not a necklace, gattina. A collar.”

Her breath caught, throat tight.

“You tossed it at me like a joke,” he went on, his thumb pressing once to the lock, deliberate. “But I couldn’t shake it. My kitten, collared. My hand on the only key. It wasn’t a game to me after that.”

Tears welled fresh in her eyes, softer this time. “Enzo…”

“Platinum,” he murmured, voice velvet and iron. “Unbreakable. One lock. One key. Mine. Not to cage you. Not to trap you. To remind you that even when you’re clawing at me, pushing me, testing every line—you’re anchored. With me.”

His forehead pressed to hers, his tone a vow in the dark. “Because the second you teased me with it, I knew. And I wanted it. Wanted you.”

She broke then — not with sobs this time, but with a laugh tangled in tears, pulling him down to kiss her. Slow, grateful, reverent.

Enzo kissed her back, steady, sealing it like a promise.

And that’s how the night ended: two souls wound tight together, her collar gleaming faintly in the dark, his arms locked around her as sleep finally came.