Jasmine Yale obediently looped her arms around his neck, lifted her head, and parted her lips to meet his kiss.
The garage was quiet; no one would disturb them.
The temperature rose sharply, and the air around them was filled with a sense of comfort and warmth.
The kiss didn't last very long. Soon, Sylvan Cheney pulled back, his large hand ruffling her hair.
Jasmine Yale felt unsatisfied, rubbing her face against his sweater mischievously, and teased, "Afraid you can't control yourself?"
"Yes, Little Fox." Sylvan pinched her cheek lightly.
She was indeed a Little Fox—sent here in this lifetime solely to steal his soul.
He wrapped his arm around her waist, walking out together. Jasmine nestled in his embrace like a kitten, not too far, not too close.
As they passed the lawn of the Cheney Residence, Jasmine pointed to the swing set: "I want to sit here and soak up the sun."
"Alright, let's go."
Sylvan was almost indulgently agreeable to her, giving in to her every whim.
