Page 93 of Forgotten Sacrifice
“Except Italian.” She smiles smugly.
“Why did you lie to me? I asked you the first time we met?—”
“Whether my old man taught me Italian. He didn’t; I taught myself.”
I can’t help but laugh. A kindred soul hustler, through and through.
Our server appears with our drinks, and I order for Luna and myself.
“What if I didn’t want pizza Margarita?” Luna challenges.
“And this is why we can only get along for five minute increments,” I tease her.
“Five minutes is being generous,” she retorts.
“One, it’s your favorite. Two, you have to try pizza Margarita in the city where it originated. Now, put away the claws for just a moment, and let’s make a toast.” Grabbing my water glass, I raise it. “To you becoming a Grandmaster.Salute.”
Luna smiles brightly, her emerald eyes lighting up the dining room. “Salute.”
We clink glasses and take a sip, with her making a horrible face.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I thought this was Italy’s version of soda.”
“It is.”
“Why is it so bitter?”
I shrug. “They don’t put half a pound of sugar in their soda like we do?”
“That’s the problem,” she solemnly agrees.
Our pizza is presented, and I watch Luna take the first bite, her eyes closing as she moans. “I get why this is hallowed ground.” She opens her eyes, catching me staring. “What?”
“I like watching you eat,” I admit.
She wrinkles her nose. “Weirdo.”
“You eat with passion. It’s very pleasurable to watch, especially when you eat my food,” I admit, taking my first bite.
“You’ll have to feed me, Daddy, when we get home,” she leans over the table and whispers. “And then my sweet little cunt will feed you.” She runs her foot along my calf, moving it higher before I grab it under the table.
“Five days.” My dick jumps in protest.
“Come on! Hasn’t it been a week already? What about the time difference?”
I shake my head, placing her foot on the ground. “Italy is only six hours ahead.”
Luna’s pout is soon replaced after dinner when we stop for gelato. She takes a lick of her cherry cone, and I’ve never been as obsessed with a woman’s mouth as I am with hers.
“Want a lick?” She holds out her cone. “Or are you worrieduna ciliegia tira l’altra?”
“It’s too late to worry about that, don’t you think?” I take a lick.
What I should be worried about is falling for Luna, because I don’t have to be an oddsmaker to predict how this game will end.
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