Giovanni's POV

I woke up stiff and frustrated, staring at the ceiling as my body reminded me exactly what had happened the night before, outside that courtyard.

Arya's lips on mine. The little sounds she made when I kissed her neck. The way she'd come closer, like she couldn't get enough of me.

My hand automatically went down, squeezing through my boxers, but I stopped. Pathetic. I was Giovanni De Santis, for fuck's sake.

I didn't lose control over a woman, nor did I wake up like that from the memory of a kiss.

Except that, apparently, yes.

"Damn," I muttered, throwing back the sheets and walking briskly to my private gym.

If I couldn't think of a way out of this, maybe I could tire my body until it gave out.

I trained harder than I had in months, ending with an intense run on the treadmill that left me drenched in sweat and breathless.

It didn't help.

If anything, it made it worse. Every movement reminded me of how her body had felt against mine, how perfectly she had fit in my arms.