"Be later," I demanded, holding on when he went to slip away.
To that, he let out a low, sexy little chuckle, wrapping me up for another minute more before pressing a kiss to my temple.
"The sooner I get going, the sooner I can be back," he reasoned.
"Fiiine," I relented, releasing him, but staying right where I was so I could watch him as he slid out of the bed, as he walked naked into the bathroom.
The shower clicked on, water splashing against the tile floor. But before I could even consider if it was far too demanding to go in there with him, it already cut off, leaving me marveling at how men could just slather some soap on and be done while we had to shave sixty-percent of our bodies and triple condition our hair, not to mention the extra exfoliating and lotioning and face serum-ing.
"What's the matter?" I asked when he came out in a charcoal gray towel slung low on his hips. Even fully satisfied just a few moments before, I could feel the need rising just watching him move around his room to his closet.
"You stole my shaving time," he accused, shooting me a wicked little smile over his shoulder.
"That's okay. I like you scruffy," I told him, sitting up on his bed. And maybe I deliberately didn't pull the sheet up with me, letting it pool at my waist.
"You're killing me," he told me, gaze dipping for a second before he took a deep breath, turning his attention back to his closet.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure," he said, pulling out a white dress shirt, slipping it on, but leaving it open.
"Why do you wear suits all the time? Even in the summer?"
"I guess that goes back to my grandfather. He came over to this country with no money to his name. Had to work his way up. He said when he finally got a job that had him wearing a suit, everyone started treating him with more respect. Not just at work, but around town, in his community. He taught that to my father. My father taught it to us. Though Matteo tends to dress however he wants. And I guess the fresh shave goes with that too," he told me, pulling up his black boxer briefs, looking like a damn underwear model right there in front of me. "But if you like the scruff, I guess that can stay," he conceded as he pulled on his pants and socks, did his belt. I watched, finding myself fascinated with every motion. He left his shirt open as he walked out of the bedroom.
I sat there alone, wondering what he was doing for a moment before he returned, a coffee mug in each hand, bringing mine to me, sitting down beside me for a moment. "I don't have any flavoring, but I will pick some up." he told me as I took a sip, finding the right mix of cream and sugar. "I found another reason to skip the shave," he told me, eyes heated.
"Oh, yeah?" I asked, head dipping to the side a bit, watching as he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the side of my neck.
"Don't mind having my mark on you," he told me, making my belly flip-flop.
"Well, then, you should see my inner thighs," I told him, feeling the delicate burn anytime my legs shifted.
A low growl escaped him at that. "Don't tempt me," he demanded, climbing off the bed. "I won't be long," he assured me, taking big gulps of his black coffee as he moved across the room, setting it down on his dresser as he moved into his closet. "But if you think of anything else you want me to pick up, let me know. You have my number. I will change your name in it for now. But be careful of saying anything too obvious in case someone is looking over my shoulder."
"I won't bother you at work," I told him, shaking my head.
"No, if you need me, get in touch. I don't mind."
"Okay," I agreed, a little disappointed as he slipped in his cufflinks, knowing the dressing ritual was done, knowing he was about to leave.
"There's not a whole lot in the fridge, but the freezer is packed. I will bring home essentials with me later."
"Luca," I called as he made his way to the doorway. "Thank you."
"I told you you don't need to thank me," he said, shaking his head.
"Still. Thank you. You didn't have to believe me. And I would have had no way to do... anything if you hadn't reached out after I ran."
"Speaking of," he said, moving out of the room, coming back with my wallet. "I snagged this. I couldn't get anything else without it seeming suspicious, but I wanted to get this to you. I don't want you to think you have to stay here with me because you have no other choice."
"I didn't think that," I assured him, shaking my head. "I want to be here," I added, wanting to get that look of vulnerability out of his eyes.
"Good," he told me, reaching out to stroke his finger down my jaw. "Because I want you here too," he told me before moving out to the doorway again. "I'll be early," he promised.
And then he was gone.
And I was alone in his penthouse apartment with leftover lasagna and one of his white dress shirts.