Once Lydia was too exhausted to leave a finger, her body covered with marks, a slight bite mark on her shoulder, Weston finally allowed her to rest. He had drawn a bath for her, helped her clean up, and brought her to a new bedroom where the sheets were fresh. Tomorrow, he'd have their master bedroom cleaned up for her.
"Hng… where are you going?" Lydia tiredly mumbled, rolling in bed to see he was walking outside.
Weston didn't respond and returned a moment later with a glass of orange juice and a pill. He put everything on the nightstand, helped her sit up, and caressed the back of her hair.
Wherever he touched, her skin grew warm with yearning. Remembering what his fingers had done to her, Lydia suppressed a deep blush. A century of not doing anything, and he was still skillful.
