Lydia closed the bathroom door quietly, glancing at the four-poster bed. Jon hadn’t budged.
Good.
He had beautiful feet. Strong and narrow, with high arches. His legs were long and lean, the thighs roped with muscle. She tilted her head to see beneath those thighs, but he had rolled too far over. She enjoyed his stomach instead: low ridges of muscle like ripples on a shore.
Finally she observed his chest.
Smooth as marble.
A patch of hair had once trailed down its center, but a quick waxing had pulled it out. Afterwards, he had rubbed at the reddened skin and smiled. “What I’m willing to endure for you, Lydia. It’s an insult to males everywhere.”
