Page 22 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

“Smart ass.” He claps a hand on my shoulder, gives it a firm squeeze and a light shove toward the door. “Are you drunk?”

“Not quite.”

“Maybe we can work on changing that.”

I laugh. If he were anyone else, I’d swear we were flirting.

8

GIBSON

Ididn’t see the eyeliner coming.

I also can’t say what it is about the fact that Christian is wearing eyeliner that’s making me that much more eager to get him down to The Dungeon. I’ve never been sexually attracted to a man before, but I do find watching men together sexy. I like to watch men fuck women, too. Generally, I like watching people get off in whatever way they choose, and I’ve never given much thought as to gender or sexuality.

Christian began our conversation by stating he’s bisexual, and I only batted an eyelash because it’s not the way most talks between two people begin. Still, it set a tone.

I wonder what we’ll see tonight. At this club, there’s no telling.

One thing the hotel doesn’t have is an elevator, and I live on the fifth floor, which we added on when I bought the building. My stairwell is private, behind a locked door, but the main staircase is wide, marble, and restored from the original. It’s as old as the Renaissance, built for a wealthy silk merchant. It’s lavish, and exactly what one would expect from a luxury hotel in the heart ofRome, pain in the ass though it may be, and absolutely not suitable for the very elderly or people with mobility challenges.

The laws here are different, and when I find a place for an elevator, I’ll put one in, but that’s a future me problem.

“This reminds me of a place I used to live in Brooklyn.” Christian says. “It was a walkup,” he adds, probably realizing the similarities between an Italian Palazzo and an apartment in New York are limited.

We arrive at the ground floor and approach a door guarded by a bouncer dressed as a bellhop. “Signore Hayes. Bentornato.”

“Ciao, grazie. This is my assistant Christian. Christian this is Marco.”

Christian nods and smiles as Marco shakes his hand in greeting.

“Pass along we’ll be here until Sunday. He can come and go as he likes.”

“Si, Signore,” Marco says, then opens the door with the wave of a card.

We enter the violet-lit tunnel with painted black stone walls. Music and moans filter up from below as we approach the narrow staircase.

“This is downright medieval,” Christian says.

“That’s the theme. Admittedly, it’s not for everyone, but I have an extremely loyal client base.”

“Does it work the same way as the club at home? With the escorts and everything?”

“No. This one functions more like a club with senior members who teach younger members the rules and techniques. It may sound ridiculous,” I say as we descend the stairs, “but it’s more like a family—or I guess maybe community would be a better word. And the membership isn’t quite as pricey as the Upper East Side.”

“Does it make a profit?”

“Sure. I only have to hire monitors and bar staff.”

“Cleaners?”

“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “Someone mops the floor.”

He laughs.

The bass line of the music makes my chest thrum. A woman screams, and the smack of flesh on flesh is audible.

At the lower landing, the dungeon reveals itself. Everything is black, save for the bottles of liquor behind the bar. The same purple-hued light leaves the club hazy and dim.

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