Page 67 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

How bad is this? On a scale of one to ten?

The fact that we’ll scene tonight doesn’t help refocus me—I’m barely looking forward to it. While I may get to touch him and wreck him, I want more of last night. When he was in my lap with his cock smashed between us—the sound he made when he came—God. I can’t stop thinking about it. The way his sighs fell on my mouth. The taste of me on his tongue. He moved on my lap like a talented stripper, rolling his body to ensure I felt every muscle in motion, every clench of his tight, round ass as he fucked his dick against my abs.

That’s what I want—except while I’m inside him.

A sharp rap on my door bolts me upright. I scoot my chair in to hide the persistent tent in my pants.

Marianne slips into the office and sits where Christian had been. “I saw him go out. Do you have a sec?”

“Uh…sure.”

She looks casually perfect today, and a different kind of ache rips through me. Hair in a ponytail, she’s dressed in an off-the shoulder wheat-colored sweater and soft white leather pants that reveal how thin she is. She’s all firm skin and bones. Lips and eyes. “I need you to make contact with Senator Lawther.”

Jesus. She’s still on this. “Any particular reason?”

“Because you have a penis, Gibson, why else?”

The penis she’s referring to is caught in an identity crisis at the moment. What got it into its current state has been replaced by the object of its most pathetic longing. I already feel the wilt beginning, but I suppose that’s for the best. “What would you like me to say to him?”

“Speak to him as a friend?—”

“He and I aren’t friendly.”

“To Avery. Suggest it’s in his best interest not to contest any of the terms of the divorce when he hears from her attorney. If he asks why, you’ll show him this.”

She passes her phone to me. On the screen is a video filmed through an apartment window of a man grabbing the edge of a kitchen counter and being fucked from behind. The man being railed is naked. As the camera continues to zoom in, I’m able to discern the face of the young man whose picture she sent me while I was in Rome—Silas Manning, and then—the man fucking him.

It’s unmistakably the Republican senator from New York, down to the neatly trimmed beard and the distinctive mole on his right cheekbone. He’s dressed with only his pants open—like he just couldn’t wait to be inside his lover.

“How the fuck did you get this?”

“I told you we hired an investigator.”

We?

She and Avery are awenow?

“Is that all?” I ask, knowing it won’t be.

“Actually, I’m happy you asked. You know Divina and George are up for re-election this fall. We’d love his endorsement.”

“You expect him to support the opposing party? In this political climate?”

“I think it’s high time he has a change of heart regarding the LGBTQ community, as well. Do you not? Not to mention he’ll need to withdraw all his support of the bills restricting sex work either live or on social media. That one’s non-negotiable.”

“He’s just one person, Marianne.”

“One person whose stand could make a real difference if he does the right thing for once in his lying life.”

It isn’t that I disagree with Marianne on principle. I object to the means.

“Thehypocrisy, Gibson. He really should have to come out. That would set an example and at least go toward making up for what he’s done to Avery. And thatman. Do you know they’ve been together over two years? Tell me he’s not in love with him. Try.”

“I…” I look back down at the video, which is still playing. Graham is bending over his lover now, kissing his neck, stroking him to orgasm. “I suppose he probably is.”

“It makes me sick,” she says.

“Which part?” I ask, newly miserable.

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