Don Valentinos Farfalla And Heiress
He sticks his fingers in his mouth and releases a loud whistle that can usually be heard miles away.
Seconds later, his dog, Rocky, runs towards us from the large tree he was sniffing around.
I crouch, resting on one knee, and I hold out a blouse that belongs to Ivy.
“Vieni qui, ragazzo,” I growl, patting my knee with my hand.
Rocky advances toward me, licking my cheek as he rubs the side of his face against my body.
“Bravo ragazzo.” I rub his head, pressing the blouse against his nose. “Find Ivy,” I state in a dominant tone. “Go.” I pat his upper thigh, and he barks, then takes off running.
Bab Populer