Excerpt from a recent review:
“A very realistic Italy too, dirty and messy, complete with Vespas, Alfas, dangerous drivers and obnoxious dog poops…I really enjoyed the style of this book, quite a lot grittier than most romance I ever read, and almost harsh in places, but in a very engaging way. There is a wicked sense of humour …”
Access the full review here.
Here’s an 18+ excerpt:
The bells of the Duomo rendered Luke’s alarm surplus to requirements. He lay stunned for a few moments, trying to remember where he was. The sleep had been so deep he felt as if he were crawling out of some burrow after a long winter. He tried to assemble his bedroom in his mind but the door was on the wrong side, the light shone through the window too brightly. The sun!
“Shit!” He jumped out of bed and found his watch. Seven o’clock. Plenty of time. How could he forget he was in Florence? How could he forget the evening with Lorenzo? He felt his cock, running his thumb inside the foreskin. It was still wet and slippery like a ripe avocado. He smiled as he walked to the bathroom.
He showered longer than necessary, his tight muscles easing under the hot spray, admiring his body in the full length mirror. He ran a soapy hand over his stomach, hard as steel and shining like glass as the water sheeted over the muscles. He’d look as good as anyone on the beach today. A little pale, but good.
He dried himself on the abrasive towel and whizzed the hairdryer over his head a couple of times before fingering gel into his hair. He looked again in the mirror and reached for his scissors; his pubes needed just the tiniest of trims. He smiled at the Poirotesqueness of it all and wondered if the Belgian detective paid as much attention to his pubic hair as to his mustache.
A day on the beach with Lorenzo. He sighed with contentment. It was all he had hoped for just… blimey, was it really only yesterday? Less than twenty-four hours had passed. Lucky that he had chosen Lorenzo’s trattoria. Now he would have him all to himself today. Maybe they would fuck in the pineta? The last time he’d done it with, what was his name, Roberto? No, that wasRome, on the banks of theTiber. Cute Roberto with the pencil dick. Luke could have taken him all night and not felt a thing the next day. No, the pineta had been with Marco. Marco with balls like goose eggs and a cock as thick as Luke’s wrist. Luke had ripped the bark off the pine tree bracing himself and ended up wheeling the rented bike back to the hotel.
He slipped into a pair of black Speedos, then put on some loose, grey shorts and a very tight matching vest. He chose a red cotton long-sleeved shirt which he left loose, and took a final look in the mirror. Content, he grabbed his day bag and went down to the bar at street level. He needed coffee.
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