Betraying Giovanni
Monica and I walk over to the clothes and look down at them.
“Your man has taste, chicka, and its real Gucci,” she grins, nudging me.
I blush, “He’s not my man,”
“That’s not what you say when he’s deep inside you,”
“Mona!”
She throws her head back and laughs.
“You are so annoying,” I groan and watch as she laughs.