"Got it," Sylvan Cheney promised her.
He carried her to the sofa and gently placed her on it.
He saw an empty milk cup on the table: "Where is my midnight snack? Huh?"
Jasmine Yale smiled shyly, hooking her arm around his neck, and whispered, "I think I'm tastier than a midnight snack..."
After saying that, her face turned red to the roots of her ears.
Although they were neither inexperienced young boys nor girls, when it came to saying these kinds of things, Jasmine Yale was never quite as thick-skinned as Sylvan Cheney.
He could always say something not so decent with a straight face, while she could never learn to do the same.
In the end, it's simply because his skin is thicker.
Sylvan Cheney laughed and bit her lip: "Let me have a taste."
There was still a milk fragrance in Jasmine Yale's lips and teeth, which Sylvan Cheney swept through, tasting both the flavor of the milk and her unique fragrance.
In his ears were the sounds of the rain and her breathing.
