Page 145 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

He thrusts harder—deeper into me. It’s so fucking sensitive and tight. My toes curl, hanging on for dear life as he destroys my cock. His breath stutters. I feel every contraction of his shaft like it’s happeningtome and notonme. The heat is incendiary as he groans his release.

I grab his shoulder and squeeze, watching his orgasm send him to the stratosphere. His head falls forward as he pants and shudders. As he slides out, I shake, too, taking in the whole illicit sight—hiscum dripping out ofmycock.

He takes my erection in his hand and tugs it. Soap suds mixed with thick, milky white jizz. Three slow, powerful strokes, and I’m a goner—exploding at the sight and the firm pressure of hishand. I slap the wall to stay upright as my body is overcome with a thunderous spasm and my cock releases several powerful jets of cum directly onto his abs. “Fuck!”

Before one or both of us collapses, I pull him into my arms and slam my mouth to his. He meets me in a hot, wet, kiss that keeps my orgasm alive and thoroughly numbs my brain.

Once we’re breathless, we hold each other tight, long enough to come back to earth.

And in the clearing haze, I realize something important.

If I keep waiting until we’re not lusting after each other or sated from each other, the words are never going to come out of my mouth. Since the Hamptons, for three weeks, we’ve been insatiably attached. We’ve woken up nearly every morning together. The only time I’m not with him is during his eight-hour shifts in the lobby. He comes with me to the club, he’s picked his side of the bed, which used to be mine, and I stopped turning down his invitations to go out with his friends.

We’re in a relationship, whether he wants to call it that or not, but I haven’t asked.

With Marianne scheduled to return to the city tomorrow after a month in Sag Harbor, I need, at the very least, for Christian to know where I stand, even though the guilt of it sometimes still manages to choke me up. I’ve known since he found me in the woods, and each day since, the feeling has only stabilized and settled deep in my gut. “I’m in love with you, you know?”

His response is to tighten his grip on me. “I didn’t know,” he whispers, and I can barely hear him over the water.

“Is that okay?”

He nods, his face moving affirmatively against my neck. “Still not going anywhere, which is what I really need to hear from you.”

“I’m not, baby. I can’t. You’re the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I know.”

I grin, kissing his bare shoulder. “Now tell me whatIneed to hear. Because I’m not stupid.”

He lifts his head slightly to kiss my earlobe. “I love you, Gibson. More than everything.”

I knew. I did. But hearing it in his words, his voice, is different than knowing. Hearing it with his wet naked body pressed to mine makes it mean all these unmet needs have found a place to spend themselves safely—in a way that doesn’t break me down and chip away at my soul. Intimate, full-fleshed, loud, openlove, and all I have to do is hold onto it.

“In that case, I think we shouldnotgo to work today,” I decide.

“Well, we can’t stay inhere.”

“You want to go out?” I ask.

“I think it’s supposed to rain.”

“I don’t care,” I tell him.

“We could cross the street and be inappropriate in the park. With snacks.”

“In the rain?”

“Why not?” He loosens his hold and pulls away to look at me. He reaches up to push my drenched hair off my face. I return the favor. “I like you wet.”

“Love. You love me. Wet.”

“That, too.”

Christian definitely gets me wet.

The rain comes and goes, soft summer showers that drench for a few seconds then taper to a fine sprinkle. We find a tree to lie under, but it offers minimal cover on the edge of the small clearing in Central Park. Other couples are enjoying the summer showers, so it doesn’t feel altogether indecent to make out with Christian in a public space as often as I feel compelled to. His wet, black t-shirt does things to me.

He lets me talk endlessly about finding a building for him to buy and restore. He says it has to be for apartments when I force my fantasy real estate game on him, and they have to be affordable. Since those are his only conditions, I run with it, spewing ideas until he says something along the lines of—that makes sense or,yeah, that could work.

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