With a rough hand I grabbed his bare ass, my fingers so close to disappearing between his cleft, and he didn’t stir. Jasper could sleep like the dead if I exhausted his body enough. I trailed my gaze down the hickeys on his back, to the matching deep purple bruises I’d sucked onto the curve of his ass in between rimming him as he prayed for mercy on the lid of my Steinway. I’d gotten carried away. I could’ve used the alcohol I’d barely drunk as an excuse, but the weak attempt at justification would’ve been transparent. Jasper’s body now reflected years of grief, of anger, resentment, betrayal,
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