Page 37 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

His Domme has a small paddle, and she’s tapping him with it, up his spread inner thighs, his round buttocks, and back down. She’s taking it slow, and he seems okay. Jumpy, maybe, but safe.

I allow myself a shallow breath and take a seat at my table. The bartender stops by, and I ask for a bottle of wine.

I’d love to say I’m not staring, but Christian’s prone, restrained body has my rapt attention. I can’t believe he’s naked. Like he’s at a fucking spa for a massage.

Hadn’t he said he liked privacy? What the fuck happened to him at St. Peter’s? I wish he trusted me enough to tell me, but I suppose I blew that by assaulting him with my mouth for nearly an hour last night.

My wine arrives, and I take a sip when I see the first tremor move through his lithe body. It doesn’t stop with one. Soon, he’s shivering as the Domme speeds up her strikes, the noise of the slightly stronger blows carrying to me as I remain slumped low in my booth like a creep. I sneak a glance at his cock, which is still limp.

If I were there, I’d use a softer touch on his inner thighs for a few moments to confuse his nerve endings, make them misfire before the next, stronger impact.

But maybe he doesn’t want to get aroused. Maybe he onlywants to feel the helplessness—to give up for a moment and accept whatever she has to offer.

It’s killing me not to know why he’s here. What drove this. What he needs.

It takes so much willpower not to stand up and take the Domme’s place, I shiver with restraint.

The woman taps her own hip with the paddle as she walks in a circle around the table. He twitches from the sound each time it doesn’t touch him. And then she sinks beneath the table, licks her palm, and takes his dick in her grasp.

He jerks, his arms and legs pulling at the restraints, an unholy moan punching out of him. “Sacrifice,” he calls out.

I startle, nearly choking on my wine.

The Domme looks equally stunned, letting go of him immediately. She scrambles to her feet, and undoes the buckles, starting with the strap holding down his neck, then his ankles, and finally his hands.

Once he has his palms beneath him, he shoves up his chest and looks around. The woman hands him his pants first. He sits up, his back to me, and slides off the table giving me a view of his entire backside. I probably should have gone the rest of my life not seeing that.

His body is immaculate. I love how slim he is. How broad and angular his shoulders are. The perfectly round globes of flesh that form his ass are pink from the paddle. He pulls up his jeans, hiding it all away and then shrugs into his shirt, head bent as he does up the buttons.

I lick my lips, tasting the tart wine on them. I should go. Iwouldgo.

Except—I need to talk to him about this, regardless of how uncomfortable it makes either of us.

He thanks the Domme, and she gives him a polite nod before turning away and heading into one of the backrooms wheresome of the less cute stuff happens and bodily fluids are more often exchanged rather than spilled.

Christian turns, and his eyes land on mine. He stills, but his face is unreadable. Impassive. As he approaches my booth, he rubs his wrists before running a hand over the back of his neck. His hair is a perfect mess, the strands partially covering his eyes. Between that and his lips, he looks well used, but I know better. He’s barely been touched.

“Do you mind?” he asks, reaching for the bottle of wine as he takes a seat.

I don’t get a chance to respond before he has the rim to his lips and is chugging a few swallows back. He sets the bottle down, wipes his mouth with the side of his hand, and takes a deep breath.

“First time?” I ask.

“You tried something new. I figured I could too,” he says, his voice flat.

“It’s a risk to be dominated by someone who doesn’t speak the same language.”

“I thought it might help clear my head. I wasn’t too concerned about my safety.”

“And yet, you safe’d out.”

“Wasn’t in the mood for a hand job.”

“Ah.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.

He shakes his head, stoic, not looking at me.

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