Page 32 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

It’s a business trip, but I’ll see what I can do.

How’s Christian liking it?

Of course she’d ask that. My gut clenches, bile rising. I drank too much. Kissedwaytoo much.

Fine. He’s doing great so far.

You think he’ll take the job?

I’m not sure it’s up his alley.

Then sweeten the pot, love. You need him. I know I’ve made your assistant experience miserable, but I have a good feeling about him for you.

I almost respond that I’ll be lucky if he’s here when I wake up, but I send a thumbs-up emoji instead, effectively ending the conversation. I should eat, but I don’t think I could hold anything down.

In my room, I strip off my suit and drop the shedded garments on the floor. Entering the en suite naked, I turn on the shower and wait for the water to heat. I brush my teeth with some regrets, spitting the taste of Christian down the drain and doing my best to clear what I just did with him from my mind.

My dick has softened, but not enough to ignore in the shower once the water hits my back.

Normally, when I jerk off, it’s to thoughts of Marianne. Fantasies of her wanting me again. Coming to me needy in the night and kneeling to take me into her mouth. Savoring the length of my cock like a long lost lover would. I picture her pretty lips suckling at the tip, drinking from me like a cum-filled straw.

But it’s not working tonight.

The images fail to materialize. What I’m left with instead is Christian’s whimpers. His fists against my chest. The wet heat of his mouth. I picture myself pinning his hands above his head with one hand and holding his mouth open with the other while I lick his tongue greedily and grind my cock against his. I imagine his legs wrapped around my back, and his hips thrusting into mine, needy and seeking my dick. I picture him begging for it.Please I need your cock.

I picture him red-faced and panting. Angry and struggling. I’d overpower him and pin his ass to the bed with my hips, leaving him unable to move while I got myself off on his mouth and his rigid friction.

I’d come on his lips.

“Fuck…” I grunt, cum spraying the tile in thick streaks. I keep stroking and cursing, emptying myself of every hard-earned drop as aftershocks wrack my body, sending the burn of pleasure up my spine and down my thighs, leaving me limp and breathless.

Christian’s still here.

Dressed in slim-fitting jeans with a dark wash and an equally fitted black, long-sleeved, button-down shirt, he looks great. He glances up from stirring his coffee asI enter the living room. His eyes are red-rimmed and weary. His lips are purple with bruises.

Jesus.

“Boun giorno,” he says.

“Buon giorno. Were you able to sleep?”

“Like a rock,” he says. “You?”

“Just fine,” I say. I slept like shit. “Is there more of that?”

He nods over his shoulder and drops his gaze again. I move behind him in the kitchen, preparing my own mug on the opposite countertop. Are we supposed to do a debrief? Or is it better to pretend it didn’t happen? Or do we move along knowing it happened, but it meant nothing?

I’m not accustomed to explaining myself.

“I have my route all mapped out if you want to skip St. Peter’s,” he says.

“I appreciate the out you’re offering, but I have a few sins to confess.”

I hear his soft huff of a laugh, and it makes me grin. “This evening we’re having dinner with three of my Italian partners. We’ll head to The Dungeon afterwards.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t have to stay for that part,” I add, offering him an out the same as he did for me.

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