“I need to know what the fuck you meant when you said you touched yourself in the sea thinking about me,” he growls. His hot whiskey breath grazes my nose, and my knees threaten to buckle underneath me. I can barely breathe, let alone reply. In response to my silence, he winds his hand through the roots of my hair and yanks my head back. A moan escapes me before I can stop it. He hisses something dark in Italian. “Fuck, you’re annoying.”
