“What are you gonna do about it, Izzy?  Throw your wine at me?”  
She does. She throws her wine in my face.  Or at least she tries to.  The flick of her wrist comes up short when I rear back and the wine splashes on the floor, leaving her standing there with a stupid empty glass and a puzzled expression.  That should have worked, her pretty eyes say.  Why is this jackass not covered in my wine backwash?  
There’s no effort required to pluck the glass out of her hand.  I toss it in the sink, where it promptly shatters.  
“Hey,” she complains.  “That was Waterford crystal, you dick.”
I chuckle and close in, aware that I’m hard and getting harder.  “That’s your whole problem, Isabella.”  
Her eyes flash.  Her lips pout. In another second she’ll be stamping her bare foot.  “What the hell are you talking about?”   
“This.”  I run a hand low, over the shape of my cock.  She can see the rigid outline through my shorts.  I know she can.  She sucks in a corner of her lower lip and jerks her head to force her eyes away.  
“You’re disgusting.”  
I chuckle. “You wish you thought so.”