Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
That’s all history was—a series of conquests.
It was small, nothing compared to the Colosseum in Rome, but she seemed to enjoy it. Pulled out a high-end camera from her bag and snapped a couple photos, not of people or specific subjects, but angled shots, flowers, sometimes a broken piece of stone.
When we finished there, I took her to La Focaccia, a sandwich shop that was as popular with the locals as the tourists. With premium Italian meats like mortadella and capicola, along with pistachio pesto and burrata, it was always a stop on my list when I was in town.
“Those are big-ass sandwiches.” She watched a customer walk away with the square piece of bread covered in waxed paper. For someone of her size, the sandwich would take up two of her hands.
“Want to split one?”
“I mean . . . if you don’t mind.”
“Sure. What do you want?”
“Uh . . .” She stared at the menu through the crowd of people. “You’re the expert here.”
I smirked then moved through the cluster of customers waiting for their sandwiches, hearing the high-energy American music over their speakers.
“Constantine!” Umberto stopped making his sandwich to raise his gloved hands in the air.
Raphael and Angelo both released shouts of excited surprise. “About time you show that ugly face around here,” Raphael said.
Umberto ripped off his gloves, then came over to fist-bump me across the counter. “This your first stop?”
“You know you guys are the best,” I said over the music.
All three of them made another shout to the music, the two in the back still working and dancing at the same time. La Focaccia was always a fun time, the guys in a good mood and entertaining the tourists.
“The usual?” Umberto asked.
“Yep.”
He quickly glanced behind me to where Aurelia stood behind my shoulder. “And your friend?” He waggled his eyebrows.
I smirked. “We’re going to share.”
“Ooh . . .” He turned back to the boys. “They’re gonna share a sandwich. Isn’t that cute?”
I pulled out my wallet to grab my credit card.
“No, no, no.” He waved the card away. “You know better than that, Constantine.”
“Come on, you never let me pay.”
“Your family never charges us when we stop by Rosticceria Da Cristina.”
“But I don’t work there or own it.”
He continued to wave the card away like it was bewitched with a curse. “Con, your money is no good here. Stop it.”
I sighed before I returned the card to my wallet. A couple minutes later, I took the sandwich, and Aurelia and I walked away from the crowd. There was an empty park bench farther down the curve of the road, so I took a seat and held out the sandwich so she could have the first bite.
“What have we got here?” she asked, taking the sandwich with both hands.
“Pistachio mortadella, stracciatella, pistachio pesto . . .”
She eyed the sandwich and tried to figure out her plan of attack before she went for the corner and took a small bite, missing pretty much all the good stuff.
“You can do better than that.”
She took another bite, getting the meat and the cheese, and covered her mouth as she chewed. She nodded as she experienced the flavors.
I held the sandwich with a single hand and took a massive bite out of it.
When she finally finished her bite, she lowered her hand. “Damn, that’s good.”
We shared the sandwich back and forth, each taking a bite until there was nothing left but crumbs on the waxed paper.
“So you really know everyone around here.” She sat with her legs crossed, the slit in her long dress exposing her beautiful tanned skin, the definition in her thighs and calves apparent.
“Yep.” For better or worse.
“That’s cute.” She studied the street again, looking like a subject that belonged in front of the lens of her camera. “Anything else on our list?”
“You haven’t experienced Taormina until you’ve had a cannoli.”
“I actually had one when we first got here.”
We as in her and Alex? Or we as in her and someone else? “But have you been to La Pignolata?”
“No, never heard of it.”
“Then you haven’t had a cannoli. Come on.” I left the bench and tossed the waxed paper and napkins in the garbage.
“Wow, this is one hell of a tour. I’ll have to leave you a nice tip.” When we returned to the street, she gently came into my side, giving me a playful bump as she smiled.
I didn’t bump her back, not when the slightest touch from my size could make her trip and fall. Instead, I moved my hand to her ass and squeezed it before I gave it a playful smack. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
I sat across from her outside the small café, watching her eat a massive cannoli with cream spilling out on either side of the opening. And of course, all I could think about was sticking my dick in her mouth.