Claimed By Dad’s Italian Best Friend Read online Flora Ferrari

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Romance Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 17
Estimated words: 15539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 78(@200wpm)___ 62(@250wpm)___ 52(@300wpm)

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Claimed By Dad's Italian Best Friend

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Flora Ferrari

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Under the hot Tuscan sun, this virgin finds the older man of her dreams. It doesn’t matter that he’s Dad’s best friend and business partner, or that out in Italy, he might as well be my boss. I’ve wanted him since before I met him, but now I’m here, is there really a chance for all my Italian dreams to come true?

Dana’s all the woman I can handle, and the only woman that I want. We share an appetite for more than good food and it doesn’t matter that she’s my best friend’s daughter. This older man can’t wait to claim her and show her what an Italian lover can really do.
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Flora Ferrari

Chapter One


From the back of the vaulted Botticelli Room of the Uffizi Gallery I pin Dana's gaze with mine. Watching her speak to her audience gives me such a rush, but I wish she was giving me a one-on-one instead. I'd show her everything she needs to know about Florence.

Forget history. Forget art. Nothing is more important than the inside of my apartment, my bedroom specifically. My body, definitely. She's worth more than every piece of art in here.

My pupils dilate as she gestures to the picture on the wall behind her, saying something that is no doubt deeply knowledgeable, but I'm not looking at it. My breathing shifts in time with the subtle rise and fall of her chest and I lean in towards her, barely realizing it, magnetized by her presence as she carries on speaking. I can't stop my eyes from tracing the swell of her ample breasts beneath the white silk of her blouse.

I don't care about the portrait some long-dead man created. She's right here and now, curvaceous and vital and very much in her prime and she has my full attention. She always does.

Arms folded across my chest, legs spread wide in an effort to alleviate the pressure of my zipper against my straining erection, it's all I can do to keep myself planted in one spot. At thirty-eight I shouldn't have this problem, but every time I look at her I'm ready to take her up against the gallery walls like my body already knows that she's meant to be mine.

It doesn't matter that she's only eighteen, I want her in an uncontrollable, feral kind of way. Me Tarzan, her Jane. I want to drag her back to my cave and show her exactly what I want to do to her. Not just for one night, deep down I know she is supposed to be the mother of my children and I won't be satisfied until I've planted my seed deep inside her and made her belly swell, claimed her as mine forever and made her forget any other men exists.

Never mind that I'm her father's best friend. No one, not even him, could stand in my way.

I'm not quite leaning against the pristine white wall, I couldn't be so relaxed when she's in the same room. I'm watching every move she makes, listening to every word she says, but I want so much more.

It's a good thing I'm tall enough to see over the heads of the crowd of geriatric culture-vultures hanging onto every word she says as she explains the paintings on the walls around us, otherwise by now I'd have done something I'd regret to whichever octogenarian got in my way. And that's not the kind of behavior I pride myself on.

There's no other woman in the world who can capture my attention the way this young woman can. So what if she's got two dozen pairs of eyes looking in her direction? Most of them are focused on the picture of Venus riding her clamshell on the gallery wall behind her, listening to her perfect, soft voice tell them all the things any tourist wants to hear about the major artworks in the city. Just enough to clue them in without sending them off into a coma, so they can go back to America feeling cultured.

Good for them. They can go back. But I'm finding a way to keep Dana right here with me.

I've heard it all a thousand times before out of the mouth of her father, but when she talks about Botticelli, I can't get enough. Right where she's standing, I can see everything I need to know she puts this Venus to shame, not that I needed the confirmation. She's a goddess in her own right - voluptuous and fertile and feminine and I want to burst her open like an overripe peach and drink in her juices. I can't stop my eyes from roving hungrily over her, taking in her curvaceous figure and imagining what's beneath that frilly blouse and skirt she's wearing.

I can see her blush start to heat her cheeks and her eyes widen slightly, like she's asking what I'm staring at as she rubs at the back of her neck, making me want to see her arch it even more. One day I'm going to make her throw her head back and moan in sheer ecstasy.

How could she not know that she's the one who has all of my attention? I have to fold my arms across my chest to hold myself back. My wide stance isn't doing anything to help disguise my straining erection. She makes me rock hard, even when I'm not thinking about how much better that picture would be if it showed her up there, naked on a clamshell, with her blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders and all her curves out on display.