Page 37 of His Little Angel
He stays inside, kissing my neck, my heart, whispering that he’s never letting go again.
We’ll see about that.
Chapter Sixteen
Mila
Life is messy. One day you realize you’ve let something—or someone—slip into your life far deeper than you meant to.
Like now.
It’s early morning, and Enzo has his arm clamped around my waist, his chest glued to my back, his breath dragging across my neck as he sleeps.
Every inhale feels like a claim.
Mine
Mine.
Mine.
And I hate that it works on me. I hate that my body softens into him like it has any right to.
But under all that?
A decision is sitting there, waiting for me to stop pretending it doesn’t exist. Either I choose Enzo Morelli—this violent, obsessive, beautiful disaster—or I cut him out before he does it first.
I still want him. But I also know his pattern: the second something scares him, he runs. Pushes. Hurts before he can be hurt.
So I’ll push first. If he leaves running, good riddance. If he stays… he’s worthy.
I twist enough to see his face. It’s relaxed in a way I’ve never seen before—completely unaware I’m about to ruin his morning.
I slap him with the back of my hand lightly at first, but he doesn’t stir. I slap him harder this time. A deep, annoyed groan rumbles out of him as his eyes crack open, icy blue and confused.
“What are you doing?” he mutters.
God, that morning voice. My irritation wavers for a second.
I lift my chin. “Coffee.”
He stares, slow-blinking like his brain isn’t fully online yet. “What?”
“You heard me.”
Payback is a bitch. He walked into the office plenty of times barking “coffee” instead of good morning. It’s my turn now.
His brows pinch together, one eye still refusing to open. “You… want coffee?”
I give him a single nod, blank-faced.
He sits up without a word. Then stands. Completely naked. And walks to my kitchen with that perfect ass flexing with every step.
My mouth falls open.
Maybe this test is about to take me somewhere I’m not ready for.
Enzo returns with two mugs, handing me one.