Page 151 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

I kneel on the lower ledges of the bench, my thighs straddling the top.

“Move all the way to the end,” Gibson says.

Putting my bound hands on the other end of the bench, I scoot forward, my shins comfortable on the cushioned leather. But he solves that problem quickly enough.

“Hold on, or you’ll lose your balance.”

I grip the edge with my fingertips as he straps my right ankle to my right thigh, effectively eliminating my leg’s contact with the bench. He does the same on my left side. I have to engage my core in order not to fall.

Once my legs are immobilized, he grabs the chain between the handcuffs, places a hand on my lower back and guides my arms over my head.

My back bends until my spine rests along the leather top, but my arms keep moving until they’re stretched over and behind my head. Another clunk of a lock secures the handcuffs low on the bench.

He straps my chest down before adding what feels like a pillow beneath my ass that lifts it slightly. It puts a strain in my back that extends from the tops of my thighs to my wrists. I’ve been holding my breath, and I let it out now, secure at least that I won’t fall. I test my mobility and almost nothing moves. My hips, maybe a little, from side to side. My neck is free, but with my arms hyperextended, it’s difficult to raise my head. Even my skin feels stretched taut.

“Do you feel safe?” he asks, his voice low and inflectionless.

“Yes.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes.”

“The way you need?”

I don’t know how to answer that. Is he asking me if this is enough?

I hiss when a clamp bites down on one of my nipples and yelp when the same thing happens to the other. “Open your mouth.”

I do. He inserts something and tells me to bite. I close my mouth over a silicone circle I can stick my tongue through. But when I turn to face him, the tug on my nipples is so extreme, I whimper. The clamps are connected to the ring. A strap aroundthe base of my skull secures the whole contraption, and I start to sweat. My breaths, out of necessity, are shallow.

He runs a hand down the center of my chest, my abs, and grazes the hair leading to my cock. “You do look gorgeous like this, though.”

He dips his head. His tongue licks over the tips of my stinging nipples, and I let out another helpless sound. He grasps my flaccid cock and gives it a few tugs. I shut my eyes as the pain and quick jolts of pleasure battle it out for my attention. There’s a shocking amount of both so it’s impossible for my thoughts to settle. We just started, and I’m already half out of my mind.

“I can’t hit you like this. I can only torture you,” he says, sucking too hard on my nipple, making a sound very close to a scream come out. A scream, and drool.

He jerks me quicker, my dick unable to decide whether to get hard or not.

I manage a semi eventually, and he sucks it into his mouth.

I make more noise, but he’s quiet. Not just because he’s sucking my cock, but quiet in general. I want to touch him, but I can’t move my arms. I want to say something, but there’s a fucking ring gag in my mouth. I want to move my hips, but they’re so jacked up, there’s nowhere for them to go. I moan, but not because I’m surrendering. I’m resisting.

I try to relax my tense muscles. Close my eyes and breathe through my nose. I focus as much as I can on the feel of his wet mouth, his swirling tongue, the slight buzzing hum in my balls. It feels good. It does, and I am getting hard, slowly, but his movements feel so mechanical. There’s no sound from him, none of the passion I crave—the need. He’s going through the motions, and it strikes me that so am I.

This is the last thing I need tonight. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. It isn’t right.

Sacrifice.

I fight to concentrate on the word. To remember what itmeant to me that day in Rome. Why did I feel more suffering was required of me to absolve myself of the guilt over Trinity’s unnecessary death.

I’m forgiven, aren’t I? Surely by now, after all this time, any god could forgive a teenage boy for not realizing a face on a phone screen in the middle of the night was that of a dead girl and not a sleeping one. He can forgive him for thinking about how pretty she was—how he wanted to hold her and tell her it wouldn’t always be so bad. That one day they’d grow up and leave that town and her church behind.

And if He can’t, I’ve already forgiven myself.I’ve let her go. A few tears leak from the corners of my eyes as the truth washes through me, overwhelming both the pain and pleasure.

“Sacrifice.”

My mouth can’t do shit.

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