Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 110103 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110103 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Santino and I strolled past small groups sitting on the grass with the Eiffel Tower rising above their heads. Almost all of them were tourists or exchange students. Most Parisians avoided the area around their city’s landmark.
I hadn’t yet grown tired of taking a stroll down here, but even I often sought the more secluded places of the city.
I had my phone in my hand, seeking inspiration in everything. I rarely took photos of the sights themselves. I’d done that the first time I’d seen them, but now I was looking for the particular in the ordinary.
Movement on the ground near a bush caught my attention. I immediately started taking photos. One of the cities, several pigeons were picking at a fry when a rat poked its head out and attacked, wrangling the piece of food from the befuddled bird and rushed back into its bush. I lowered my finger from my phone screen but remained vigilant in case another oddity happened.
It took me a moment to realize Santino was watching me. “Other people take videos of the Eiffel Tower, you of a rat fighting a pigeon over a piece of baguette,” Santino muttered, but despite his grumpy expression, I could tell he was amused.
“One thing gets you to the most watched TikTok videos, the other not.”
Santino narrowed his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re using this useless platform. There are only half-naked teenage girls dancing to shitty rap music on there.” He shrugged with a smirk. “I suppose that’s your crowd.”
“You know, Sonny, TikTok is algorithm-based. It says more about you than TikTok if the only videos that are suggested to you are half-naked girls.”
“I’ll let your dear brother know. It was his TikTok account I checked when I confiscated his phone last time.”
“Sure,” I said, stifling a grin. Our banter gave me life. Despite our frequent, very frequent sexual encounters, we still teased each other without mercy.
“I have the most gorgeous teenage girl flashing her ass cheeks at me every morning and night in a desperate attempt to seduce me, I don’t need TikTok for that.”
“Newsflash, it’s not an attempt if it’s successful.”
His answering sly grin warmed my belly more than the best hot chocolate in the city. I nudged his arm with mine, my smile widening. “I’m starving. Feed me.”
Santino gave me a very dirty look that made me wish for a less public place. “I fed you last night.”
I slapped his arm, my cheeks warming and desire flaming up my belly as I remembered how he’d taken my mouth last night, but I played oblivious. “I think I’m in the mood for a good duck paté and a salad.”
“Not what I’m in the mood for.”
Despite his words, he led me toward a small Parisian restaurant with old glass cabinets with savoy cabbage and chicory made from porcelain as decoration. It had become a favorite of ours. The owner was quirky and a bit confused, but he spoke English—which made Santino happy—and they served the most delicious duck paté with homemade gherkins and rustic bread. We settled on a small table next to the door with a view of the lively neighborhood.
“Two glasses of champagne,” Santino said then raised his brows at the waiter. “If you haven’t drunk it yourself again.”
Last time we had lunch at the place the owner and his crew had drank all the champagne the previous evening while watching soccer so they hadn’t had any for us.
With a sheepish smile, he served us two glasses of champagne.
“Are we celebrating anything?” I asked as I picked up the glass.
“Just that life’s good right now.”
“And that you finally popped my cherry?” I whispered, smiling coyly at him.
“That was weeks ago.”
I pouted. “So it’s old news I suppose.”
He grinned. “I prefer to celebrate giving you three orgasms this morning.”
“Cheers,” I said, clinking glasses with him before I took a sip. Then a thought crossed my mind and I almost choked on laughter. “I’m pretty sure Dad won’t be happy if your expenses include champagne for giving me orgasms.”
Santino’s expression darkened at once. “When I pay for us, then it’s from my own money. That’s what a real man does when he invites a woman.”
“I really like the bad boy you, but gentleman you is pretty cute too.”
Santino grumbled something then took another sip. He didn’t even particularly like champagne and only did it because I hated drinking it alone.
“You know,” I said when we were almost done with dinner. “I have been feeling horny since the Eiffel Tower.”
“The rat did it for you?” Santino said dryly but the lustful gleam in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed.
“Oh yes, that’s my thing. Especially if they feast on fries. That’s what it was by the way, not a piece of baguette.”
“You love being right.”
“I am usually right,” I corrected. “But I love it too.”