Page 138 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

His hand moves between my legs and covers the head of my cock. I burst with an indecent cry, and he catches what he can in his hand while I do my best to pump more out despite the way it aggravates my overstimulated nerves.

He sinks his teeth into my ass as I fill his palm, but only once I’m wobbling on my knees and can’t bear to touch myself anymore, does he take what I gave him and rise behind me. I watch his shadow on the ground as he covers his cock in my cum, positions his crown, and breaches my entrance.

“Unf…fuck…yes.”

I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stand it, but this is exactly what I asked for. Using each other in order to use each other more. Between my cum and his saliva, I’m wet enough for him to slide in and out with relative ease. He sets a fast, pounding pace, and it’s all I can do to keep my face from hitting the dirt. I’m ninety-five percent successful.

“God damn you feel so fucking good, Christian. You take meexactlythe way I fucking deserve.”

I love that. Love that he said it. Not sure I believe it, but it’s gold, and I’ll keep it.

Each thrust is a combination of him shoving into me and pulling me back at the same time. It’s punishing and rough, like he’s trying to prove a point, and I’m here to take the lesson.

“This is the best you’ve ever looked, baby. On your knees in the dirt for me.Allfuckingmine.”

He’s making me hard again. There’s no way he could fuck me that would be anything less than perfect, but this is unparalleled. I love being stretched and filled by him. There’s no better feeling. It’s a sharp edge of bliss and agony, and I’d do anything to keep it.

I know he thinks I’m pretty, but he doesn’t treat me like I’m delicate. At least not when he’s as out of his mind with lust as I am.

“Baby, I’m gonna come.Fuck.” His words tumble out on a rush of air, and no sooner are they out of his mouth than I feel his heat in my ass—the extra later of slick he unleashes and continues to stroke through as his dick throbs and unloads gush after hot gush inside me. It’s so illicitly good, my semi goes rock hard.

Exhausted, and full, I still reach for it again, but the grit anddirt on my hand make my own touch miserable. I finally let my face hit the ground, the cool earth meeting my flushed cheek.

He pulls out slowly, and his cum drips down my balls.

His tongue meets my flesh as he cleans me up. “Christ,” I breathe into the ground. “Gibson…”

“Mmm…how do I get enough of you?”

“You don’t stop,” I whisper.

He moans again, like I’m the best thing he’s ever had in his mouth. Like the taste of us together is the closest he’s ever come to heaven on earth.

When he sucks my balls, he must notice the new tautness of the skin, and he makes a sympathetic noise. He rolls me onto my back and immediately takes my cock down his throat, applying deep, powerful suction. I arch off the forest floor and come again with no warning, my nerves sparking—fucking firecrackers burst behind my eyelids—beneath my skin.

What makes this not just good sex, butgreat sexis the feeling that comes over me when he glances up to assess my face.Gluttonous lust.

I could do it all over again.

39

GIBSON

Marianne and I are rarely not in touch, and this long Fourth of July weekend hasn’t been an exception. She’s made no secret of the fact that she’s with “friends” in the Sag Harbor house, not far from where Christian and I are, though I have lied about my own location. I’ve asked myself since the lie came out of my mouth—why? Why wouldn’t I tell her I also had friends I’d be visiting.

Perhaps because they’re not my friends, but Christian certainly is. Is Marianne aware of how close I’ve grown to him? I don’t know. I don’t think Iwill knowunless she tells me to my face. I don’t know whether she’ll care enough to speak with me about it.

Not the way I care that at least some people in Manhattan believe her friendship with Avery has progressed into something more. It bothers me for a hundred reasons, the first of which is that the open aspect of our marriage is supposed to be kept between us. NDAs are involved. Discretion. It’s the way she wanted it—to protect my reputation because she damn well knows what it would look like if I let my wife do whatever the fuck she wants.

Toxic masculinity is alive and well in Manhattan real estate. “Our women” are faithful and dependent. Toned, tucked, and dressed in the latest fashion. Bedecked in jewels. Plump lips, big tits, and slim hips. Marianne has always played the part beautifully. When we’re out, she’s gorgeous and demure, occasionally insinuating naughty things about a sex life that hasn’t existed in more than two decades. She gives the impression of a woman who’d tie my tie and spread her legs for me in a heartbeat. At my whim.

If she left me for a woman, it would publicly humiliate me. Privately? I don’t know how I’d feel about it. And now I’m forced to wonder how she’d feel if she knew I was this close to falling for someone else. I wish I had less guilt about it. I shouldn’t have any guilt left to give this marriage. I’ve been consumed by it since I proposed. Surely there’s a limit. Christian might know, if I were willing to bring this up with him, but we’re supposed to be having fun. My feelings are as chaotic as the light show overhead.

As the fireworks explode over the water, Jericho’s head is in Joe’s lap. Drew is curled into Olivier’s side. Elodie and Mallory are sitting next to each other, temples and shoulders touching. Jeremy and Larry are lying on the blanket, pointing and laughing like kids. I have Christian in my arms, between my legs, tucked against my chest, and a building sense of urgency to get ahead of my wife before she can do anything to hurt me. And I need to find out if she’s done anything already.

The problem is, usually when I have a complex problem like this—she’s the one I turn to for first steps—for the right person to seek counsel from. My mind works in finance and numbers. I have people skills, yes, but my relationships are transactional, non-memorable in general. Maybe it’s been lazy of me to leave the social side to her, but if we can’t have a real marriage, we’ve at least had a partnership.

I’m tempted to drive by the Sag Harbor house, see how manycars are out front—whether it looks like several people are there, or whether she’s only entertaining one person in particular.

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