And whenever I kissed him, he melted—every single time. I could feel how much he craved it, how much he craved me. It was like watching a starved plant finally getting water.
And maybe it was selfish, but I liked it.
I liked being the one he reached for.
I liked being the one who could make him fall apart with just a look.
I liked knowing that the pleasure he was discovering was tied to me and only me.
I wanted him addicted to it, and it was working. I saw it in the way Elior’s eyes melted, and his lashes fluttered when he looked at me, in how quickly he came undone with the smallest touch, in the way he’d tug me close with these trembling little breaths.
Elior talked aboutFatherless now—way less. Just days ago, every other sentence had includedFathersaid, orFatherwants, orFatherbelieves. But now?
The word hardly ever crossed his lips when we were together.
Instead,Daddyrolled off his tongue as easily as water.
And more than the word, more than the thrill it sparked through me, it was the look in his eyes when he said it—soft, trusting, wanting.
Like Malachi wasn’t the center of his world anymore.
Like someone else was finally taking that place.
I ran a hand over my face, a slow exhale leaving me.
Good.
It was about damn time someone replaced that monster in Elior’s heart.
I wasn’t done—not even close. Malachi still had claws in him, still had years of control and lies buried deep in Elior’s brain. But those claws were loosening, if only a fraction at a time. Every touch, every kiss, every quiet night tangled up in each other pulled Elior further out of that man’s shadow.
Just before he’d fallen asleep tonight, he’d taken my cock again—the same way he had the past few nights. This time, though, I’d made him get on top and ride my dick, although he really hadn’t accomplished much riding. He’d tried—don’t get me wrong. But it had taken only a few seconds before he’d collapsed, saying it was too deep, and clinging to me as I fucked up into him until both of us were coming.
Yesterday, I’d shoved a smooth wooden crucifix into his hole before evening service. Elior had gasped, knees buckling as I twisted it deep, the crossbar catching on his rim before poppinginside. His eyes went wide, pleading, but I’d clamped a hand over his mouth, whispering, “Hold it in during prayers, cherub. LetFatherpreach while Daddy’s cross fucks your guts.”
“I can’t, Daddy,” he’d cried.
“But you will,” I told him. “You’ll do it for me, won’t you, baby?”
He’d nodded hesitantly, trembling, small cock leaking into his underwear as I straightened his robe and marched him into the chapel. The congregation and Malachi had filed in just moments later, oblivious.
They murmured prayers while Malachi ranted from the pulpit about purity and divine wrath. Elior perched on the edge of the Seat of Light, right in front of them all—his holy pedestal now a secret throne of torment.
I sat in the back pew, cock straining against my briefs, watching every twitch. Elior’s thighs clenched, knuckles white on the stone arms. His face stayed serene for the faithful—a picture of angelic devotion—but I saw the truth. Lips parted on silent whimpers, cheeks flushing pink. Each shift ground the crucifix deeper, pressing against his prostate relentlessly.
Malachi’s voice boomed, eyes flicking to Elior now and then, hungry and unhinged. “The light demands sacrifice! Obey, or be cast into darkness!”
Elior jolted at a particularly loud shout, biting his lip bloody to stifle a moan. His hips rocked subtly, chasing friction, the motion hidden by his robe but obvious to me. Precum soaked his thighs. I just knew it. His little dick was throbbing under there, untouched.
Halfway through, he met my gaze. Those big eyes shimmered with tears, begging release, but I mouthed, “Be good.”
He shuddered, nodding, ass clenching around the intruder. Malachi droned on about purity, ironies dripping from every word as Elior squirmed, stuffed full of sacred wood.
When service ended, followers shuffled out, praising Elior’s radiance. After the sanctuary had emptied, he stood on wobbly legs, crucifix lodged firm, and I pulled him into his rooms. The door standing between us and the chapel had been closed for but half a second before I yanked his robe up and ripped his underwear off.
“Good boy,” I growled. His hole gripped the cross tight, stretched pink around it. I pumped it in and out once, twice—Elior keened, spurting cum onto the floor without a touch to his cock.
“Come again for Daddy,” I ordered, fucking him harder with the crucifix until he sobbed, another load puddling at his feet. Only then did I pull it free, his rim gaping, drooling oil. I spun him, shoved my cock in raw, and bred him against the door until he gave me a third orgasm.
