It was ridiculous that such simple words could cause such a ripple effect and make me melt on the inside.
My husband stood in front of me in nothing but pajama pants, his upper ink-marked body on full display. My body went white-hot as I stared at his hard, muscled chest. I had seen my share of men’s abs but none of them compared to Jungkook’s. There wasn’t a single specimen that could hold a candle to this man. His six pack abs taunted me to push my soft body against his. Those strong hands threaded with veins and ink could be so rough, yet so gentle.
Peeling my eyes away from him by sheer will, I went into motion, rushing to grab a roll of paper towels and soaked them against the tile. Then I ran over to the trashcan and brought it over so I would avoid drips across the kitchen.
All the while I avoided looking at the most magnificent, mouthwatering body ever, painfully aware of his presence, watching my every move. The least he could do was help. But he stood there as a statue, his gaze burning me.