Page 24 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

I gesture at the club. “Well, you don’t see anyone fucking in the open, do you?”

He sends another glance around. “I honestly can’t tell what’s going on in those swings.”

“The Penthouse is an orgy waiting to happen every night. I’ve never seen that happen here.”

“You guys have orgies up there?” he asks.

“It’s what we’re known for.”

“But no one wears masks,” he says. “How does that even work?”

“The people who stay for the orgies are beyond caring who’s fucking who at that point.”

“Meaning what? Drunk?”

“No—we have a three drink limit, which isn’t to say no one walks in there blitzed, but the staff are good about pulling them aside and sending them home. What I mean is they get turned on. Like so turned on they’ll basically fuck anyone or anything, which is fascinating.”

“What’s fascinating about it?” Christian asks.

“You should come up and watch one night—you tell me.”

He nods toward the dark, salacious playground. “This isn’t really my kind of thing.”

“What is?” I ask, and it’s how I know I’m definitely feeling the whiskey.

He laughs again. “Privacy.”

“Ah, so it’s not the contraptions you object to. It’s witnesses.”

His laugh doesn’t stop, and I notice how perfect his teeth are. How completely his face lights up. I’m thoroughly charmed, and I want more. I want to know everything he’s willing to tell me. I pour him another shot.

“No three drink limit for me?”

“I’m not worried about you,” I tell him.

His eyes narrow at me, and he sits back with his glass. His knees spread, and our thighs touch.

I find myself licking my lips and turning to face him, pretending not to notice what’s happening with our legs. Pretending not to care that I am noticing it.

“You’re right,” he says, his gaze sly and playful. “I’m harmless.”

While I might have thought the same thing a few hours ago, I’m no longer so sure. “You’re on the payroll. You have to behave.”

“True, true.” He lifts his glass like he wants to toast. I pick up mine and knock it against his before we each take another drink. “And no, I don’t object to contraptions. Everything has a time and place, I’m sure.”

“Even the swings?” I joke.

“Especially the swings.”

We laugh together, and it makes me wonder how long it’s been since I shared a genuine laugh with anyone. It’s so fucking refreshing. Has my life really become so bleak that this feeling is foreign? Is this what connecting feels like? Jesus, how long has it been?

Or maybe this is just what getting drunk feels like.

“So what was your thing?” he asks. “Back in the day. You can be as general or specific as you want.”

“My kink you mean? Besides being a voyeur?”

“Besides that.”

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