Page 40 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

“Sorry if I was rude downstairs,” he says, putting a sandwich on a plate.

“You weren’t. I should have given you your privacy.”

“I wouldn’t have gone down there if I wanted privacy, right?”

I don’t answer, because I’d be prying, wanting to know what he went down there seeking—whether he found it or not.

Or whether he needs more.

13

CHRISTIAN

Being Gibson’s assistant isn’t difficult so far. At dinner with his Italian investors, I sit silently, smile when everyone else smiles, and jot down a few notes while recording the conversation as a voice memo. My mouth looks better after holding ice on it for half an hour before falling asleep for the rest of the afternoon. I look like the ladies in the building do the day after a filler injection, and in this suit, I probably seem vain enough that I would do that kind of thing.

Gibson’s working persona is another side of him I’ve never seen. He’s smooth as fuck, deploying a single eyebrow arch, a smirk, a guarded wariness when called for. His laugh is also different. Shorter, throaty. Not that deep chest laugh I was so enamored with yesterday. And yet…I’m no less charmed.

More than once during dinner when he turns that smirk on me, and his eyes tighten slightly in the corners—again—like he’s checking in, my pulse speeds up, and I have to reach for my water—suddenly parched.

Meanwhile, the wine is flowing, and I’m partaking as much as he is, matching him glass for glass—no more. I’m not drunk, but I am relaxed, and I’m no longer thinking about the spectacle Imade of myself on the table in the dungeon where I nearly got milked like a cow. Before she put her hand on my cock, I was kind of getting into it.

Being trapped—especially having my head trapped—had been intense and humiliating. But the Domme was good. Easing me into the restraints and then working the paddle over my lower half—orienting me as to what I could expect. But Gibson was right—without knowing what was next—without being able to communicate—I was far too tense. At least I tried.

But maybe BDSM is too simple a solution for what plagues me. I’ll likely need to find another way to suffer my way through all these years’ worth of constant guilt and shame. Squeeze it until it fucking pops.

Tonight in The Dungeon, the screams are louder. The two Italian businessmen who came with us are clearly familiar with the place. The other two gentlemen went home to their families, so it’s just the four of us in Gibson’s booth, but I have a feeling it’s about to be down to me and him soon with the way those two are scoping things out.

Sure enough, a man comes to collect one of them. They and a woman disappear behind a wall on the other side of the room. “What happens back there?” I ask Gibson.

“The more private things,” he says.

“Like actual sex?”

Gibson shrugs, but he also gives me that assessing look. The one that makes me think he’s remembering last night, too.

“Ah…there she is,” the other man with us says, eyes lighting up at the sight of one of the tallest women I’ve ever seen.

She’s holding a leather flogger, and she snaps it to her side as if she’s telling him to heel. He’s up and moving so fast, I laugh. They head for a swing in the shadows. The crowd is thicker tonight than last night, so I can’t see as much of what’s happening on the small risers. The music is pumping, the energy is high, and there’s a distinct musk of arousal in the air.

“How are you holding up?” Gibson asks once we’re alone.

“I could go back to bed, honestly.”Or get my mouth tongue-fucked for an hour or two.Luckily, I’m not drunk enough to say that tonight. I have a nice buzz, though.

“What happened on the table today?” he asks.

My eyes narrow. “I thought we were working.”

He waves a hand dismissively. “Work’s over. You’re off the clock. What happened?”

“If you’re not paying me anymore, then I’m going back upstairs.”

He gives me the brow arch. “I’ll just follow you and keep asking.”

I don’t hate the sound of that, but I humor him. I’ve been enough of a pain in the ass today. “I was in my head. Way too tense.”

“She was too gentle with you.”

I frown. “It was my first time.”

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