Page 117 of I'm sorry, Princess

My lips part, a shaky exhale escaping me.

Then his hands move lower, down my back, over my waist, to my breasts.

Gentle. Careful. Worshipping.

He cups them, squeezing softly, teasing, before trailing lower, between my thighs.

His fingers brush over my still sensitive pussy, and I bite my bottom lip, hard.

I expect him to take me again.

To bend me over, to press me against the wall, to fuck me until I can’t remember my own name.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he cleans me.

Cares for me.

Sex with him is the best I’ve ever had.

And it’s not just the way he fucks me, it’s the way he owns me. The way he makes me feel like I belong to him, like my body was made to take his.

He’s ruined me. Completely.

There’s no going back from this.

I could never be with another man. Never.

The aftercare with this man?

It’s everything.

Chapter Thirty-two

Serena

Something warm and wet slides over my toes. I jerk my leg away, groggy and confused, but it follows, sloppy and persistent, until my entire foot is covered in sticky warmth.

I blink into the dim morning light.

“Lorenzo, stop licking me,” I mumble, half-asleep, nudging him with my foot.

The sensation returns, on my other leg this time. Hot. Wet. Eager.

“What the hell...” I sit up quickly and glance down.

Two sets of dark, curious eyes blink back at me.

Two dogs.

Big, fluffy, terrifyingly alert dogs, with wiggling tails and overly affectionate tongues. One ofthem, golden brown with an intimidating gleam in his metal-tipped teeth, is already going to town on my shin again.

“Lorenzo,” I hiss, nudging him harder now. “Lorenzo, wake up. There are dogs. In the bed. Your bed.”

He doesn’t move. He’s sprawled out like a Greek statue, shirtless, one arm resting over his abs, the other behind his head, his mouth parted slightly. Peaceful. Sinfully gorgeous.

“Serena,” he mutters, eyes still closed, “stop licking my leg. It’s weird.”