Jeffrey Foster, at over thirty years of age, was kissing a woman properly for the first time, and lacked any real technique. Yet, it didn't prevent him from enjoying it, even becoming a little addicted until Isabelle Martin found it hard to breathe, and only then did he reluctantly let her go.
Looking at the smudged corner of her lips, he contentedly extended his fingertip to gently caress it, his voice hoarse, "Isabelle, once you tell your parents clearly, move in with me."
Isabelle was dizzy from the kiss, and before she could recover, she heard Jeffrey Foster's words. The desire in his voice was intense, making Isabelle's heart burn. She felt like she couldn't stay in the car any longer, afraid she might lose control, so she hurriedly muttered an agreement to Jeffrey, and urged, "You better get out now, or my mom will call."
"Okay." Jeffrey Foster made a light sound, but didn't move.
Isabelle looked at him, "Is there something else?"
