An old cinema reel of flashes ticked through my mind’s eye. Jasper’s defined Cupid’s bow, its rim a darker pink than the bed of his lips. Instant replays swarmed me of his warm, timid smiles, now replaced with frown lines. The deep rumble of his enticing laughter, which now seemed elusive. Not even the incessant sound of my clicking pen could drown out the playback on his smoky voice, and how breathless it became whenever I handled him roughly. I could almost feel the memory of his silky hair being abused by my unforgiving fingers.
