Page 61 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

“Yes. Hand to God. She’s probably got someone naked sucking her tits right now.”

“Oh.”

“It turns out she has a sex drive. It just excludes me entirely. Not that I don’t understand.”

“Still…assuming you want to have sex with her, that’s gotta be hard.”

“I do,” I admit pathetically.

“How long’s it been?”

“Twenty-one years.”

“Ouch.”

“She’s always said I was free to do whatever I needed to do, but it took me a long time to take her up on it, and I keep it to kink.”

“Mind if I ask why?”

“My heart is hers.”

“I get that,” Christian says softly, taking a small sip of tequila before downing the rest.

“Listen—for a scene—two drink limit,” I say.

He scowls at my random interjection.

“Just putting that out there while I’m thinking about it.”

“Okay, Dad.”

“Ooo…definitely not that,” I say, fighting the urge to cringe. “Too close.”

“I feel like I need to call you something besidesGibson.”

“What’s wrong with Gibson?”

“Nothing, but if we’re gonna have all these compartments I feel like I should get to call you different things, just to—you know—set a vibe.”

“Then you’ll need to get more creative.” I lean back on the couch in the small nook off the kitchen. On the opposite wall is a medium-sized flat screen on a TV stand. In front of me is a rectangular ottoman that’s firm enough to double as a coffeetable. I kick off my shoes and stretch my legs onto in before untucking my shirt and sprawling.

“You nixed all the good ones already. I think I maxed out with Daddy.”

“During a scene you can call me whatever comes out of your mouth. Outside of that, let’s stick with Gibson.”

Christian leans back on the arm of the couch, feet on the cushions, knees bent, facing me. With his thighs together, it’s demure in a way, but his hair is killing me. The strands grazing his cheekbones could so easily be swept back with a pass of my hand.

I have to remind myself I told him to keep me off him. He also said he wouldn’t stop me if I couldn’t help myself, so a bit of a mixed signal, but this feels more like getting to know each other territory, which I do want. He’s so outside my circle of influence or peers, it’s easy to talk to him. To say things I wouldn’t admit to anyone else. Because he works for me, I trust him to keep a secret if I decide to tell him one. Or another one.

How many does he know already?

He’s got a very intense look on his face as he stares at me over the rim of his glass.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask.

He shakes his head. The white string lights make him look like an enchanted prince or something equally mystical and regal.

“Are you writing poetry in your head?”

---