Chapter 53

“What kindness do you deserve?” Mal said, grabbing him by his thick hair. Quinn knew he was right; knew, too, that even if this lacked the gentle caress of the butterfly’s wings—“Look, Quinnie, he likes you,” he always remembered Aunt Lena saying as a white butterfly alighted on his shoulder and she photographed him in Singapore Harbor—at least it was touch, a man’s hands on his body, and a man’s hands were what his body craved.

“I know this is how you like it, good and rough,” Mal rasped in his ear as he pulled hard on his cock, drawing the head back while Quinn leaned against the shower wall and Mal thrust into him wildly.

“Yes, that’s just how I like it,” Quinn said, panting. “Find me. Take me. Need me. Make me.”

Afterward as he lay curled up in a ball, he wondered at himself—embracing brutality and yet speaking with a gentle eloquence so admired at Dave’s funeral.