Page 72 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

At first glance, I don’t spot any implements of torture, and I turn back to Gibson. His eyes are dark, and his jaw is tense. He assesses me longer this time. I remain still, unsure if I should speak. If I’m allowed to.

What I want to ask is—have we started already? Is this the scene?

It’s safe to say I’m a stranger in a strange land. A child in a roomful of adults. I feel like a moron when it comes to BDSM. I’m not even sure it’s okay to call it BDSM. All I have to rely on is my innate ability to go with the flow and act unaffected by the outside world.

There’s not really all that much I care about anymore anyway.

“Take off the sweatshirt,” he says.

I look around for a place to set down my drink, but before I find one, he’s in front of me, grumbling, “I’ll handle it.”

I freeze again as he unzips my hoodie. Once it’s undone, he slides his hands in, over my bare shoulders, and slips the sleeves down my arms. He removes one side at a time while I move the whiskey from hand to hand. “Drink,” he says.

I finish the glass in one swallow. He takes it from me, steps past me, and sets it on a nightstand.

My nerves kick up another notch. When he places his hands on my shoulders from behind, I startle. His warm palms smooth down my arms, and he says low in my ear, “Fewer check-ins, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Your safe word is?”

“Sacrifice.”

“More, or less?” he asks.

“More,” I whisper.

“Music?”

“Sure.”

His hands disappear from my arms, and I shudder. A trickle of fear creeps in as understanding of what I just asked for settles into my bones.

Now that my senses are sharper, and I’m remembering last time more clearly. My soul practically cracked open, and tonight I’ve asked him to break it if he can.

I don’t know how the loud club music doesn’t make it into this room, but it’s pure silence until an orchestral song fills the room, and a soprano’s voice rings out. Opera.

“Tosca, if you’re interested,” he says.

I nod. It’s beautiful. Sad.

“I think it suits you.” His lips brush the nape of my neck, and chills break out everywhere. My cock pulses. The soprano’s shocking voice adds to the humming thrill coursing through me.

“What’s it about?” I ask.

“Shh… I’m speaking now.”

I shut my mouth.

“Do you have limits I need to know about?”

“I don’t—I don’t think so.”

“Limits include slapping.”

“No. Slapping is okay.”

“Heat?”

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