Page 56 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

I nod, wishing I could down the whole glass I’m trying to politely sip just so I can work up the nerve to ask him for another chance. Because that’s what all these nerves are about, right? I want to do it again. I want to take another ride on the powerful wave of adrenaline and find the blinding release that waits on the other side of the pain and humiliation of letting someone use and abuse my body. I want to learn to associate my mental sufferingwith the buzzing hum of physical bliss. It feels like the only way to reverse the tide.

I want to sweat out all my guilt, regret, and self-loathing and find the peace I hope she found as I watched her die a death so quiet, I didn’t even notice she was gone until it was far too late.

I rub at my neck, ducking my head, not understanding where these thoughts are coming from. Why would I think being flogged to orgasm somehow absolves me of my own grave mistakes?

“You don’t seem interested in eating,” Gibson notes.

“Neither do you.”

“I have a lot on my mind.”

“Like what?”Because please get me out of my fucking head.

“I want to tell you,” he says softly, like this also surprises him.

I glance up at him, my head still bent, my hand still gripping my nape. “So tell me.”

He shakes his head. “We need to figure out this relationship first.”

I frown, confused and frustrated. With my nails digging into my skin, I try to puzzle out what he means.

“Would you consider grief counseling?” he asks. “If money weren’t an object.”

“Sure,” I say without thinking too much about it. My friend Drew came out of therapy a completely different person, but he was also falling in love at the time, so it’s hard to say what initiated the big change in him. He also takes meds. So, who knows? Maybe I need all those things, too. But in which order? Because I think love came first for Drew, which gave him a reason to want to do better. What do I have but a new job for a man I’ve enjoyed kissing—a married, more or less straight, older man I should not be thinking of that way.

“When can you start?” he asks.

“Whenever you want me to, Mr. Hayes.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t. Don’t call me boss, don’t call me sir when you have clothes on, and please never Mr. Hayes.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Okay. Sorry. I’ll have to see when I have some free time with my new schedule.”

“I’d consider counseling a priority.”

I sigh and lean back in my chair, spreading my thighs and dropping my head back for a second. “What does this have to do with you answering a question or me working for you?”

“If it’s not obvious, I care about you. Your well-being is important to me.”

“You gonna offer free mental health services to all the doormen you employ?”

“If I feel like they’d benefit from it, why wouldn’t I? And I do provide health insurance.”

“Yeah, you’re great. I’ll give it a try. What else do we need to figure out?”

Gibson glances around the rooftop like he’s clocking each person’s location. “Getting to know each other better.”

“Oh.”

“Unless that’s not something you’re interested in.”

“No, I am,” I say, probably too quickly.

His responding smile is almost shy, and he averts his gaze. “Good. So am I. On that note, I have a question.”

“Okay.”

“Are you looking to be dominated again?” The words come out slow and measured like he carefully considered the placement and pronunciation of each one. “Or was that a When in Rome kind of thing?”

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