As he came out, he saw Jasmine Yale half-reclined on the pillow, lazily unable to lift her eyelids.
A trace of milk lingered on her lips, and the half-empty glass of milk was placed on the bedside table.
His gaze unavoidably traveled downward, resting on the skin of her neck.
Sylvan Cheney walked over, bent down, and gave her lips a gentle peck.
Jasmine Yale lifted her head, wrapped her arms around his neck, her eyes burning bright: "Finished showering? Want me to blow-dry your hair?"
Fresh from the shower, Sylvan Cheney was even more enticing, exuding an aura of cleanliness and restraint. She liked him this way, knowing he was never a man who did things carelessly.
"I wouldn't dare ask a pregnant woman to do things." Sylvan Cheney curled his lips, looking at her.
Jasmine Yale laughed: "You've ordered me around lots of times, what's one more time? Who was it that got drunk and out of sorts, asking me to bathe him and drag him back from the bar?"
