Drogo walked into their shared bedroom with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as he pushed the door behind and stepped forward — his body instantly froze in place as his brows hit the roof of his skull.
His pupils shrunk.
In front of the dressing table, Karen stood — only in her undies — with her back against the door and her hand slowly spreading the oil across her crisp brown skin.
The deep crease between her soft back muscles trailed down to the cotton lining of her red-coloured panties; her damp hair left to stick to the back of her neck as her toned arm muscles unconsciously flexed with each movement of her hand.
Drogo's feet remained planted on the spot in front of the door — his brain delaying to grasp what he had just walked into — Karen slowly gazed over her shoulder.
Unhinged and calm despite his presence, Karen spoke, "Oh… It's you."
What was that supposed to mean? Who would she have been so indifferent if it was anyone else!
