Chapter 33

Already a dark purple-red had spread over the whole of his wrist, a perfect imprint of John’s palm and fingers, in a thick bracelet. “Oh wow,” he murmured.

“Let me see,” John ordered in a quiet, hard voice.

Jason brought his hand between them. John winced as the guilt spread like a midnight high tide across his face. He bent down and kissed Jason’s fingertips with a gentle peck for each. It was much nicer than a moment later, when John eased Jason’s hand into a loose fist and encouraged him to flatten his hand out.

The throb of abused tendons shot up to his forearm, the bones in his hand and wrist creaking like a rustydoor, but each finger moved at Jason’s command. Nothing felt broken, or out of place, or separated in aweird fashion.

His skin felt tender, but he’d live.

John smoothed his fingers down the discolored skin, light as a breeze. “Damn it, I’m so fucking sorry. This looks bad.”