Page 26 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

“I could hazard a guess.”

“She wears kitten ears, she purrs and rubs her head against my leg and makes little biscuits on my chest when she sucks my cock.”

He covers his mouth to hide a laugh his face has no hope of disguising. “This turns her on?”

“Yes.”

“And you?”

“In her case, her obedience is the turn on—her dedication to the role.”

“Do you have sex with her or not?” he asks.

“Sometimes. If it makes sense to.”

“Do you have more than one?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Curious,” he says. “No real reason.”

“It’s just the one,” I say, and I think I might sound ashamed because God knows Marianne has dozens, and Christian is likely aware of all of them. I know better than to ask questions I don’t want to know the answers to.

9

CHRISTIAN

Gibson has a kitten. Who paws his chest while she sucks his dick. And this is a visual that is now permanently seared in my brain because I know exactly which woman he’s referring to down to the cat ears. I thought they were a quirky fashion choice, but my eyes are wide open now. “Have you um…always kept pets?”

“No. It’s something new I’ve been trying out.”

“And how’s it going?”

“It’s getting a little boring if I’m being honest. Some of them won’t even talk. This one does, though.”

I halfway want to ask what they talk about, but not enough to actually know. Sensory overload is one thing, but drunk sensory overload is making me wish I’d made better use of the food upstairs. “Wait—you don’t have a pet here you’re neglecting to talk to me, do you?”

He chuckles. “No.”

“So you’re really only here to watch?”

“As the owner, it’s polite to make appearances when I’m in town,” he says, like a true professional. And then, “Also yes.”

I’ve been watching him watch, and he does so with a cooldetachment, as if he’s unaffected by the cries of women and grunts of men. I suppose he could be hiding how turned on he is—I can’t see beneath the table, after all, nor would I look—but his assessment of the various scenes feels more clinical than voyeuristic.

I did notice the woman attempt to approach him and her abrupt change of direction. I hope I’m not interrupting anything he’d rather be doing. On that note, and considering how drunk I am, I figure I should probably go. Not that I’m not enjoying the conversation, but it’s been a long day. “In that case, I think I’ll head back upstairs.”

“Did you not like my answer?” he asks.

“It’s not that, but I’m probably cramping your style.”

“Not at all.”

“I’m also drunk.”

“Ah, well, in that case…I should go with you. Make sure you don’t trip on the stairs.”

I smile, gesturing at BDSM wonderland. “I’m trying to give you your space.”

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