He was drunk, and she knew it.
Suddenly, he fell into silence, uttering not a single word.
His broad, strong hands tightly embraced her, refusing to let go, just refusing to.
His temples throbbed painfully, but subconsciously he could discern Jasmine Yale's scent, and he followed it as if chasing the light.
"Answer me, Sylvan Cheney!"
"..."
Sylvan Cheney didn't speak, his head ached.
Jasmine Yale's slap was heavy, and his cheek still stung from the pain.
But he didn't speak, nor did he get angry; he just held her, nuzzled her, and buried his head in the crook of her neck.
Sweet Kitty always liked to do this movement with her.
When Sylvan made the same gesture at that moment, Jasmine's body felt like it was being electrified; she couldn't bear such movements.
Her body shook violently, and while he remained silent, she was in great discomfort.
"Get out," she pushed him with force.