Cristiano walked to the bathroom and returned a moment later with a washcloth dampened with warm water. He went back to the bed, and Siena was lying there, eyes closed, legs slightly parted—the soreness preventing her from pressing them together. She flinched slightly, eyes fluttering open, as she felt him near her, his hands gentle on her tender flesh.
Cristiano sat at the edge of the bed, carefully wiping her between her thighs with a warm washcloth. His eyes never left her sore p***y. His brows furrowed as he took in the red, swollen evidence of their passion.
“We have to be careful,” he murmured, his voice low and serious, “not have s*x for a few days.”
His words made her stomach flip with a mixture of fear and embarrassment.
No. She couldn’t bear it. Not now, when every restraint
