Page 150 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

At the club.

I’ll meet you there.

Should I prepare the bench, or are you just being accommodating?

I don’t even have to think about it.

Bench.

When I arrive at the club, I’m clean, inside and out. I feel like I haven’t seen Gibson in a month even though we woke up together in my bed again this morning.

He rises from his chair the second he spots me and walks to his private room. I walk through the door he holds open and wait until he closes it before I turn to face him.

He looks okay. Still in the suit I left him in, minus the jacket and tie. Not looking any more troubled than usual. “Check in with me,” he says.

“I’m good.”

“A walk?”

“Yeah, I went on a walk.”

This room is not nearly big enough for the elephant inside it.

I need him to strap me to the bench and move on with the night. Something needs out of me in a way I haven’t needed in a while.

“Christian…”

I give my head a shake and take off my shirt, turning my back on him. I push down my pants where I’m bare underneath, andstrip them off along with my shoes. I look at the bench, considering it a moment. I’ve only ever been face down on it before, but what if I weren’t?

It wouldn’t be comfortable…

His hands are on my waist. His mouth on my neck. I stiffen as air rushes into my lungs. He rubs his palms across my abdomen, down and back up my thighs, then over my hips. “I’m trusting you tonight,” he says.

“Is there a way to do this face up?”

He groans, bending his forehead to rub the curve where my neck meets my shoulder. “Mmhm.”

“Show me.”

“Baby…” He kisses my shoulder and folds his arms over my stomach. “I don’t know if I can do this…”

“Is something wrong?”

“No, I…” He stops speaking abruptly to clear his throat. When he starts again, his voice is rough. “This is what you need?”

I nod, my limbs aching to be stretched. My skin tingling to be struck. So many crowded, useless thoughts, desperate to be dispersed.

“It’s been a few weeks. What’s your safe word?”

“Sacrifice.”

He squeezes my hips tightly before letting me go. Walking to the nightstand, he opens the bottom drawer with the restraints, pulling out handcuffs and some plain leather straps.

He approaches me. “Wrists,” he says flatly.

I put them together, and he handcuffs me.

“You’ll want to straddle the bench first.”

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