After a fervid lovemaking, Sylvan Cheney refrained from pestering her any further. He sat on the edge of the bed lighting a cigarette, the glow of the ember flickering on and off.
His spine was upright in an unmoving line. The warm-toned wall light cast a glow on him, accentuating the stern and deep demeanor on his well-defined face.
Jasmine Yale couldn't sleep. She hugged her knees, sitting motionless on the bed.
Her face was still flushed.
Sylvan Cheney was an ardent lover in bed. Earlier... she had been brought to tears by his ardor.
Even now, dewdrops glistened on her long lashes.
Her teary, wide eyes were full of mist.
Her hair was disheveled on her shoulders, showing how much she had been ravished; a pitiful sight.
She recalled him biting her earlobe at the peak of their passion, whispering her nickname: "Jasy… I love you..."
"Jasy, call my name."
At first, she couldn't bring herself to respond, so he became even more intense in his attentions.
