Page 57 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

That’s funny, but the question is too jarring for me to appreciate the joke. “I’ve been thinking about it.” I say. “A lot.”

He props his elbow on the arm of his chair and rests his cheek on his fist, squinting in the sunlight. He’s got that corner of his lip between his teeth again, but he’s waiting for me to go on.

“I guess I feel like it’s probably not a one and done kind of thing. It’s either something you do or something you don’t right?”

“Everyone’s different,” he says.

I shift slightly, trying to put my head between him and the sun. In my shadow, his eyes relax, and I see the anxiety behind them that’s becoming familiar to me. I used to think he was so impenetrable, but he swept aside the curtain on our flight to Rome, and now it feels like there’s not a single emotion he tries to hide from me. There’s an entire essay in the look he’s giving me—one that’s been written with a shaky hand and zero confidence in his own thesis.

“I’d be interested in trying again,” I tell him.

“Practice doesn’t make perfect, you know?”

I’m getting even more frustrated. “What are you getting at?”

“I’m just saying there’s not necessarily an end to it. There’s not a point where your Dom hands you a certificate for completion of sub school. It’s not a process either or something you get better or worse at.”

“Okay. What is it like?”

“More like meditation, I guess. Every scene is different. Your reaction and your focus could vary wildly from one day to the next.”

“I don’t know whether you’re aware of this or not, but people dopracticemeditation.”

“Such a smart ass.”

“How would you like me to think about it, Gibson?”

“Not as therapy,” he says shortly.

I glare at him for that. Feels like a low blow.

“Have you asked your pet why she likes to be your kitten?” I ask in what I hope is just as cutting a retort.

“I suppose I haven’t,” he says, unbothered. “But that’s because I don’t care to know.”

This flatters me, whether it’s meant to or not. “So, if I’mfollowing the right breadcrumbs here, you want to make sure I don’t use BDSM as a replacement for actual therapy.”

“Yes,” he says.

“Because you care about me.”

“Correct.”

“So, I guess asking you to tie me down again would be out of the question.”

18

GIBSON

Christian’s question is as stimulating as a mouth on my cock. I adjust myself in my pants before my dick gets any harder and try not to picture what I think he’s asking me to picture—someone else with access to his bent, beautiful body. “Why would you think that?” I ask, keeping my voice level.

“Sounds a little like you have a conscientious objection to me entering into a Dom/sub relationship without having proper mental health care first.”

“I didn’t say that. In fact, I might have to insist as your employer that I be the one to do it. Though it complicates things.”

He snorts. “You think?”

“Here’s what I’m struggling with.” I lift my head, ignoring the sharp twinge in my groin. “Obviously I want you take the job. You seem to have a knack for it. I also, as I mentioned before, look forward to getting to know you better.”

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