Page 87 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

“Yeah, I noticed that.”

He gives me a side-eye that’s actually really hot.

“Why’d you wanna tell me about this?” I ask. “The stuff about Lawther and Silas, I mean.”

“You don’t think he’s gonna do something crazy like—end it all do you?”

“Probably not, but I’ll talk with Silas later if I can get him to pick up the phone.”

“It wasn’t until I was laying out all the terms that I realized how completely she wanted to destroy him,” Gibson says. “Like there was nothing I could say to mitigate it.”

“You told him he has options, which is true—he does. You have options, too.”

“Like what?”

“Tell Marianne you’ll get Avery the money, but it ends there.”

He sighs heavily. “She’ll just do the rest herself, Chris.”

“And how would that make you feel?”

“Not any worse than I do right now.”

“You sure about that?”

He shifts in his seat and spins his glass on the table. “What are you asking me?”

“I know I’ve brought this up before, but you don’t strike me as particularly happy with your life—specifically your marriage.”

“Is it the way I follow you around that’s tipping my hand?”

I laugh. “No. If anything, I’m the one following you around. We cancel each other out.”

We’re not the only people in the Downside, but we’re two of less than a dozen others. Still, when he grabs me by the neck and brings our mouths together, my eyes blow wide open, and I almost pull away.

Almost.

But once his tongue brushes mine, I’m already fighting the urge to shove my hand down his pants. If he’s trying to distract me from the subject at hand, it’s working.

“Mm…” he groans. “You taste so fucking good.”

“So do you.” Whiskey and warmth.

We kiss again, and I wrap his tie around my hand, keeping him close and locked against my mouth while I try to devour every centimeter of him. The way he kisses me has evolved a lot since that first time. It’s aggressive, still, but he allows me my own hunger, too. We feed off each other, our interest mutual and, if my math is right, equally voracious.

I still want to fuck him, but I doubt he’d be into it. When it’s just him and me like this, though—talking, drinking—it doesn’t seem like such a stretch that he might want to be closer in whatever way works. That he’d let me, the same way he let me suck his dick. If I ask nicely. If I smile pretty enough.

If I let him know how much I want him.

With the next plunge of my tongue into his mouth, I let go of his tie and put my hand between his legs.

He shifts toward me, spreading his thighs to give me better access. His rock solid length strains against my palm, and I give it a tight stroke through the fabric. His kiss gets hornier, both our breaths heavy. “We should get out of here,” I tell him.

“Your place?”

“I’d fuck you right here if I could.”

“Jesus.” He crashes his mouth to mine. It’s bruising—rough and possessive—his hand splaying across the side of my face like he’s trying to hide me from anyone who might be watching. He lifts his hips, pressing his cock harder against my hand, allowing me to cup his balls. I give them a nice, firm squeeze to entice him out of this fucking booth.

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