Page 55 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

He holds out his hand, and we shake on it. But when neither of us lets go right away, my heart trips over itself with a rough stumble.This hand was on my cock three days ago.

We glance at each other, and the expression on Gibson’s face gives me no reason to believe he’s not thinking the same thing. We let each other go in a hurry.

“I suppose we have more to discuss if you’re up for it,” he says.

“Ithasbeen on my mind.”

Our eyes meet again. “Mine, too.”

The way he says it has me tensing all over. “In a bad way?”

“No. Why would it be a bad way?”

I shrug like his opinion of me matters less than it does. As much as I’d wanted to share what happened with at least one of my friends Sunday night while we were out, the opportunity never came up.

“I’ll be completely honest,” Gibson says, leaning away fromthe table. “I’m not sure whether to apologize or expect a thank you note.”

A laugh bursts out of me. It’s born of embarrassment and a combination of those exact sentiments. I’ve been more than confused about how to process what I let him do to me,andhow I reacted after it was over, that it’s a relief to have it on the table along with the salads neither one of us has touched.

A slow smile bends his mouth, showing the deep indentations of his dimples, which throw me off balance every time I notice them. “The thank you note is a work in progress,” I say, knowing how red my face is and wishing I weren’t so fucking transparent. “As is my letter of apology.”

“Why an apology?”

“I feel like—” Jesus, my face is on fire, and he’s the one with the sun shining on him, making him look both carefree and devastating. “Like I might have taken advantage of the situation…afterwards.”

“Oh. I, um…well I wasn’t expecting it, but it’s certainly nothing to apologize for. As long as you were doing it for you.”

“I felt like…”Ugh.I rub my cheeks, but that probably only makes them redder. “Yeah. I needed more than a hug, but I should have…asked.”

He bites the corner of his lower lip in the subtlest of moves, and his chest expands with a deep breath. “I liked that you didn’t feel like you needed to,” he finally says. “You surprised me. In a good way.”

“Okay,” I say quietly, and look down at the salad. I pick up my fork and contemplate whether I could swallow a bite if I tried. My stomach is a mess of nerves and desires and doubts. My mind is a flood of filthy thoughts.

I put the fork down and pick up the champagne, taking a long sip.

“Was it what you needed?” he asks after a few moments of silence between us.

Was it?I wonder. It wasn’t overly painful, but I felt a shadow of suffering—from humiliation mostly. I’d begged and sobbed, then I came so violently I nearly blacked out bent over in front of a man I respect and have always wanted to impress. He’d called meboy.

I released more than an orgasm during the scene, but in the kissing afterwards, I lost my way again. The tight coil inside me is still very much alive. I should have just let him pat my back and pour some water down my throat, then slept on it. But I complicated everything by mixing it up with desire when I don’t think wanting him was the point.

Butwantingis one of the many wounds I bear that doesn’t want to heal.

“I thought it was, but maybe not. I don’t mean the submission part. I felt like that worked, but it could have been…”

“What, Christian?” He narrows his eyes when I cut myself off. “Better?” he asks. “More?”

“More,” I say. “Yes.”

His head ticks back and forth in a slow shake. “I’m not sure about that.”

I finish my champagne and immediately take the liberty of pouring myself more. “Look, I appreciated the fact that you were checking in since it was more or less my first time, but you knew what you were doing—like—you didn’t need my input.”

“The questions distracted you?” he asks.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“But you understand why I needed to ask them.”

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