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Tilda cast a sidelong glance at Lyndon, who hovered at the periphery.

“You should go now.

I can manage on my own,” she said firmly.

Lyndon, with a subtle smile, advanced and began to undo the buttons of her loungewear.

Tilda, taken aback, swiftly intervened, her hand darting out to halt his movements.

“No, I’ve got this,” she protested, wincing as she inadvertently agitated her wound.

Lyndon’s expression softened, concern coloring his tone.

“Why must you always be so headstrong? We’ve been this close before.

There’s no need for modesty now,” he chided gently.

Tilda faltered, her cheeks tinged with red.

Indeed, they had been close before, but familiarity hadn’t eased her discomfort.

She was still embarrassed.

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“And besides,” Lyndon continued, a hint of amusement in his voice, “as a screenwriter who’s penned numerous scenes and witnessed countless more, I’d have thought you’d be unfazed by now.

”

Tilda got caught off-guard.

Sure, she had read countless novels and scripts, but that didn’t mean she’d no longer mind what Lyndon was doing.

Tilda’s protest died on her lips as Lyndon’s hands resumed their work, peeling away the fabric of her top.

The cool air brushed against her skin, sending a shiver down her spine.

His gaze lingered on her chest, deepening her discomfort.

Tilda turned away abruptly, shielding her front from his view.

“Could you please not stare? It’s different being the subject rather than the observer,” she admonished, her voice a mix of irritation and embarrassment.

Now clad only in her undergarments, her delicate frame was illuminated by the soft lighting, highlighting the smoothness of her skin- an image both fragile and alluring.

It made one want to hold her.

Lyndon, visibly struggling with his restraint, noted the scar marring her shoulder.

His desire momentarily overshadowed by concern, he reached out, his fingers brushing against the clasp of her bra.

“I apologize, but it seems I can’t help but look.

Tilda, you are my wife.NôvelDrama.Org (C) content.

It’s time we grew comfortable with being this intimate with each other,” he murmured, his voice low.

Then her bra came undone.

Her face flushed a deep crimson, and she instinctively hunched her shoulders, a mix of apprehension and bashfulness seizing her.

Words failed her, her throat tight with nerves as she felt the warmth of his hands at her waist, easing her Loungewear pants down her legs.