Wild One

Twenty-Four

Manon

We lay in his bed, his head on my shoulder, my hand in his hair. I love combing through those thick dark strands.

"Niccolo?"

"Hm?"

I swallow. "Why don't you ever speak Italian?"

His body goes rigid against mine, before relaxing into silence for a few more minutes until his phone rings.

"Vitale," He answers curtly.

Whoever it is, makes him sit up.

"What? You son of a b***h!"

He gets off the bed, trying to hurriedly get dressed. I help him, handing him his tie, his shoes.

He frowns at me, but continued dressing and cursing whoever was on the phone.

"Come osi!"

(How dare you!)

I smirk. Obviously, whoever on the end compelled him to speak Italian. Fascinating.

"I'll be back," he rushes outz covering his phone.

I quirk a brow, puckering my lips, tapping them. He stands still for an indecisive moment, then rolls his eyes, kissing me quickly before slamming the door behind him.

I've got you now, pretty boy.