The muscles in my back clench as I turn back to the stove. Memories of Jasper’s cruel care, the torturously perfect pain he can inflict, are too vivid, even after all this time, for me to ever relax properly around him. Now, normally I would say that letting your psychologist whip you until you come somewhat stretches the bounds of friendship—but lying to myself isn’t my kink. Jasper is torturously perfect. Perfectly painful. And if he’d wanted to work me over every night since our very own D-day to satisfy his frustrated sadistic needs, I’d have buckled the handcuffs myself. But I’m not that
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