Involuntarily, Jasmine Yale let out a sigh.
Sylvan Cheney paused in his movent with the chopsticks, turned to look at her, and slightly frowned: "What are you thinking about?"
"Nothing," Jasmine Yale denied straight away, "I was just thinking that n and won should keep a respectful distance, so if I help apply dicine later, it might not be appropriate."
"I don’t mind you, so what are you minding?" Sylvan Cheney complained, "If I faint on the ground, would you give artificial respiration?"
"..." Jasmine Yale’s lips twitched.
This petty man.
After breakfast, Jasmine Yale carefully looked at the dicine bottles on the table.
All of them were topical dications; judging by the quantity, Sylvan Cheney’s injuries were quite severe.
"First use iodine for disinfecting, then apply the dicine. For bruises use this bottle, for swelling use this one," Sylvan Cheney instructed.
"Oh, I know."
"So, shall we begin?"
"You... first take off your shirt." Jasmine Yale’s face flushed a bit as she picked up a bottle of iodine.
It was broad daylight, after all, so she felt sowhat uncomfortable.
Sylvan Cheney didn’t think much of it and raised his long fingers, undoing the buttons of the patient gown one by one.
With the shirt off, Jasmine Yale’s face turned even redder; she hadn’t seen Sylvan Cheney shirtless in a long ti.
Except for being thinner than before, not much else had changed; he still had a great physique, no wonder so many won were eager to pursue him.
His body was covered with bruises.
Yukon Carbon hadn’t held back when he struck.
Fortunately, Yukon’s punches didn’t land on his face.
The dicine was a bit pungent, and Sylvan Cheney frowned, his lips pressed tightly.
Jasmine Yale patiently applied the dicine to his back, her fingers pausing as they reached the scar on his waist.
Her gaze lingered on the gunshot wound, and a ripple ford in her chest.
The thrill of that night still echoed in her heart, the icy river water, the torrential rain, and her blurred consciousness.
"What’s wrong?" Sylvan Cheney asked.
"Nothing..." Jasmine Yale sighed inwardly and continued applying the dicine, "Does it hurt?"
"It’s okay."
"If I hurt you, just let know."
"Alright."
Jasmine Yale’s fingers were soft and delicate, causing Sylvan Cheney’s throat to move; a surge of heat arose within him, the fla growing brighter and soon enveloped him, his body tense.
Jasmine Yale’s technique was gentle; such a task wasn’t difficult for her, and she soon had his back covered with dicine.
She ca around to his front, looking at the scars on his chest: "Do you want to continue?"
"Yes." Sylvan Cheney closed his eyes.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, his body burning hot.
The fire couldn’t be tad; every vein was boiling, every cell clamoring.
Jasmine Yale didn’t feel much; she just treated him as a patient, applying dicine bit by bit, very patiently.
However, her face remained flushed.
Especially when recalling those nights, her heart would race.
At that ti, when skin touched skin, when fire blended with fire, they were all of each other.
After each ti, her favorite thing to do was to nestle in his arms, too tired to open her eyes, like a little rabbit indulging in comfort.
Back then, he would embrace her, his fingers entwining her long black hair, kissing her forehead.
Sylvan Cheney was almost at his limit.
This Little Fox.
As she drew nearer, her long black hair fell forward, brushing against his chest, tickling him.
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