"You don't have to know," he says, his voice lower than usual. He always seemed so... prickly when the conversation turned this way, when you'd ask about his job, or his family. The man knew everything about you; your name, age, occupation, and down to the little details you hadn't even told him, yet he would never answer the half of your questions.

He pulled you closer to him on the sofa as your mouth opened undoubtedly to press him again. He promptly pressed his lips against yours, effectively shushing you, at least for the moment. Bringing you to that little family gathering had been a mistake, he decided. You felt it too. Everyone seemed on edge, as if trying to cover something.

He grunted in thought. "It frustrates me," he says, tongue flicking against his painted lips as he pulled away. "Your constant asking. We've got a good thing going here, yes? I wouldn't want to frighten you, bambina."

Before you could respond, he lifted your hand, gently kissing the inside of your wrist to hush you. That had been his solution since you and he had become a thing; sating you with physical affection rather than answering anything. He could feel your annoyance in the way your muscles tightened, but it was hard for you to be mad at him when his lips were making you feel this lovely.

He guided your hand down to his belt. You smacked it away, and he grinned as you settled against his side, too distracted by his perverted humor and his embrace for the moment. He knew you'd have something else to say in a few hours; maybe tomorrow if he got lucky, but for now, he was happy to have his little sweetheart content on his side.