She wanted to kiss him, to have him, to long for him.
In a daze, Jasmine Yale was startled by her own thought.
She actually had such a thought.
That thought, which she had once had during her adolescent years, would make her blush and her ears turn red just by thinking about it.
Now, her face was also flushed.
The effects of the drug were kicking in, and she had such thoughts.
She wanted to suppress the thought, but it was no use; her mind was filled with nothing but those thoughts.
Not far ahead was a hotel, and she needed to get there immediately—who knows what might happen if she lingered on the street any longer.
Her feet felt like they were stepping on cotton, making it difficult to walk.
"Sylvan..."
She softly called his name, gaze hazy, hands incessantly tugging at her sweater's neckline.
So uncomfortable; very uncomfortable.
Her neck was almost scratched with several red marks.
"Sylvan..."
She leaned against the wall and moved forward.
