I swallow. “Oh.”
“I didn’t come to your wedding to kill him, no.” He pauses for a beat. “But the second I laid eyes on you, I wanted to.”
“Why?”
“Because he was a greedy bastard who didn’t deserve someone as beautiful as you.”
My chest tightens at his words, and I press my lips together.
Who is this guy? He makes me absolutely furious one minute before soothing my anger with his words the next. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to fully understand this man and the way I react to him.
That reminds me of what Ash told me earlier, which adds another layer to who this man is. Since honesty seems to be what we’re giving each other at the moment, I take advantage of it. “Ash said something about you guys being a team?”
“Ash is terrible at keeping his mouth shut.”
I shift around under the covers, freezing when I touch his warm skin by accident. For some strange reason, I don’t move back though, and just stay where I’m at. “What kind of team are you?”
“A clean-up team.”
“Clean-up?”
“Yes.”
“Matteeeeeeeo.”
“You’re relentless.”
“You’re insufferable.”
He bumps his leg against my foot. “Do you talk like this to everyone, or just me?”
That question gives me pause. Am I talking differently to him than how I usually do?
I just called him insufferable; I keep asking him direct questions, probing him to spill more details. I talk to him without thinking, without filtering, like I’m just me. The same way I talk to Ally, like I’d talk to friends.
“Is that what we are? Friends?” The rumble of his voice drags me out of my thoughts.
Shit. Did I just say that last part out loud?
I lick my lips. “I don’t know. Are we?”
“Every time I see you, I want to lick you from head to toe until you scream my name, before fucking you so hard you can’t ever look at another man without thinking of me deep inside you. So, you tell me, passerotta. Is that something friends do?”
Heat rises in my cheeks at his crude words, but that’s not the only place heating up. “So dirty.”
“And you love every single word of it, don’t you?”
I never would have imagined that dirty talk could turn me on, but he’s right, it does. So very much. Because of that one sentence alone I want to rub my thighs together to find some relief. I didn’t even know it was possible to feel like this.
Willing some of my brain cells to stop malfunctioning, I focus back on the conversation we had before we got off track. Which seems to be something that happens quite often with us.
I clear my throat. “Mmm, so . . . you’re part of a clean-up crew?”
He clicks his tongue, and I have the inexplicable urge to put my hand on his chest, or anywhere really, to soothe his frustration. Somehow, I’ve come to like touching him, being with him.
If my father knew.
The things I’ve done.