Page 107 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

“I’m not your keeper. I’m just curious.”

“Sure you are,” I say, still amused because this is almost exactly how I reacted when he told me he was having drinks with Silas Saturday night. They’d stayed out past midnight, and I’d required some assurances when he got home. I’d couched it in concerns about safe sex, but he’d asked if I wanted to put a “Property Of” stamp on his ass.

I’d been tempted, but his ass still looks taken as fuck. His cock, however…

“Are you coming back here later, or would you rather come to my place when you get home?” he asks.

“Your place,” I tell him, leaning in for a kiss. “Definitely.”

He’s satisfied, and we stand, leaving The Penthouse together after stopping by the bar where I grab an unopened bottle of vodka, Fischer’s drink of choice.

On the elevator ride down, I take the opportunity to cage Christian against the wall and kiss him better. “What’ll you do while I’m gone?” I ask, bringing our hips together and moving to inhale his neck.

“Write, I guess,” he says, and I love the breathless sound the words make.

“How is the writing?”

“Good. I think I’ve got a decent collection going,” he says as I suck a mouthful of his vanilla-scented flesh.

He inhales sharply and grinds our cocks together. “Now I gotta go make blue balls sound poetic.”

I chuckle against his skin as the elevator comes to a soft stop. I let him go and adjust myself in my pants before stepping into the lobby. He doesn’t even bother, just turns the corner for his apartment and gives me a wave goodbye.

He makes me fucking crazy. One second he’s the Spanish Inquisition, and the next he’s walking off without a backward glance. I adore him. I mean, I’ve always liked him. But now I can’t get enough. I want every thought in that gorgeous head of his. The last two days, I haven’t been able to see nearly as much ofhim as I wanted. Or use him, either. But tonight I planned a scene, and now it has to wait. Disappointed doesn’t begin to cover it.

As I turn down the block to head to one of my other properties, The Eastmoor, where Fischer lives, I try to re-focus on my friend and what could have happened. I always thought he got lucky in his divorce considering he was rarely in town for the duration of the marriage, but Nicole seemed like a decent enough person. Certainly not someone who would snatch her son from his father’s arms for no reason. But abuse is impossible to believe. Not even if I really stretch my imagination, add alcohol and a horrific day—Fischer is nothing if not incredibly capable of keeping his emotions on a tight leash.

That’s one of the reasons I think about what I saw in that glass room at least once or twice a day. The burning heat—the passion. The two of them scorched the air, and Fischer was completely vulnerable. The guy who always had a snide joke for everything, who walked through war zones like they were playgrounds, who after nearly twenty years of friendship still tries to greet me with a handshake.

I never saw it coming—his falling in love likethat.

The night doorman whose name I don’t know but who obviously knows who I am, tries to look more alert when I open the door for myself and step into the lobby. “Mr. Hayes. How can I help you?”

“Just here to see a friend. He’s expecting me. Eleven-seventeen.”

“Yes, sir of course.” He beats me to the elevator and pushes the button. He’s young and massive with golden brown skin and large, dark eyes. His hair is tied back in a very small topknot while the sides are shaved. A gold stud in his left ear glints in the dim vestibule lights.

“Remind me of your name?” I ask.

“Marcus, sir. And it’s okay. We haven’t met.”

He has a great smile. I swear I have the best looking doormen in the city. Lee Vega, who owns a few other buildings on the block, gets all the old men. He thinks they’re more reliable, but I like hiring the younger ones. For one, they’re far more likely to stay awake all night, but if lifetime hospitality isn’t their goal, it’s a decent living in the city when you’re just getting started, and easy enough if you have other dreams to chase.

“Are you helping with coverage?” I ask.

“Yes. Any chance I get. Saving up for college.”

“Excellent. Marcus…?”

“Longoria.”

“Got it.” The elevator arrives, and he steps aside to gesture me in. A formality I’ve always enjoyed. “It was good to see you.”

“You, too, sir.”

On the ride to the eleventh floor, I hear from Marianne. Her text is more in depth, and I read it twice before I knock on Fischer’s door.

Marianne:

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