Page 98 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

It’s obvious what draws me to Christian. His want is beyond compelling. I’m not entirely certain what it was about him that made me hand over my long held identity as a straight man without a second thought, but I’m grateful to myself that I didn’t let the fact that he has a deep voice and a cock hold me back from pursuing our connection. Whatever he’s got, I need. I could use it right now, in fact, but a nap seems the wiser course.

I startle at a light tap on my door, but I don’t reach to answer it. “What is it?”

“You won’t let me in?”

I picture what could happen if I did. A wild fantasy with her robe open and desire in her eyes, her arms reaching to pull me to her, and her mouth meeting mine. A tumble backwards to the bed where I spread her legs and taste what she’s denied me for so long—hear her soft cries begging for more.

“Will it change anything if I do?” I ask.

“Gibson, please. Let me at least try to explain.”

“Another time, Marianne. Enjoy your evening.”

I hear her heavy sigh and the faint creak of the hardwoods as she retreats.

Maybe it sounds insane, but this is the most movement we’ve had in our relationship in ages. The tension we’ve been ignoring has thickened the air and finally shifted the unacknowledged wedge between us.

Maybe she thought we could ignore it forever. Maybe I thought the same thing.

While Christian is not a realistic option for me, nor I for him, what he’s helped me realize is that I’m more than lonely and unhappy. Ineeda partner. A lover—not a pet. I need communication and affection and desire. It was foolish to hold out hope for so long, waiting for Marianne to change her mind. Too much damage has been done between us. Too many new habits to break.

For the first time since she asked to open our marriage, I allow myself to think about what a divorce might look like.

Anxiety comes at me instantly. Does she love me enough to let me go peacefully, or will she do to me what she’s doing to Graham? The fact that I don’t know the answer jars me almost more than the notion of divorcing her does.

When I wakefrom my nap, a text from Christian is waiting for me. My heart drops as I read it.

Christian

I can’t believe you weren’t even there. Do you know what I had to see? I’ll be scrubbing my brain. See you tomorrow afternoon.

No.

I check the time. It’s just after ten, which isn’t late at all for a Friday.

I fell asleep. Are you in the building? Come back up.

Hey. I’m out with friends. Maybe I’ll try later.

Fuck that. I press the call icon and put the phone to my ear.

“Hi,” he says, sounding surprised. There’s noise in the background. Murmured conversations and a woman’s laughter nearby. “One second.”

I wait. Judging by the changing noise levels, I assume he left the restaurant or bar to step outside. “What’s up?” he asks when his end of the line quiets down.

“Where are you?” I ask.

“You gonna come get me?”

“Answer the question.”

“Hell’s Kitchen. 58thand 9th. The place is called, um…Kettle. I think. It’s hard to tell in the neon.”

“Are you drunk?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. I haven’tnotbeen drinking, though.”

“And if I did come get you?”

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