“Illias, please just wait a minute,” Henry pleaded, halting Illias mid-step. “I know I haven’t done right by you or Lauren. And I’ll never be able to change what I’ve already done. But I want to try to make things right between us.”
“You’ll never be able to make things right, Henry. Make your peace withthat,” Illias bit out, then headed towards his car. Eyes wetter than he wanted to admit.
His conversation with Henry left a hollow ache in the center of Illias’ chest. Anger burned at the edges, but he wasn’t sure who the anger was directed towards. Henry for waiting too long to apologize, or himself for not accepting it. Henry didn’t deserve forgiveness or a second chance. Some part of Illias knew it would’ve been the good Catholic son thing to do, then again, he never was a goodCatholicson.
Illias did his best not to think about it, throwing himself into work instead. He flirted with anybody that showed him the slightest interest. Cheap, powerful, overwhelming cologne crowded out memories from earlier. Perverted promises attempted to replace Henry’s voice. It wasn’t enough though. Illias could still feel that burning, empty ache lingering like a stain.
He wondered how late Revived Faith was open. If Cantrell would be there, sitting in the pews. Waiting. Illias pictured the scene. Candlelight casting a soft orangey hue over Cantrell’s gentle, aged features. His smile would be warm as he invited Illias to sit and talk. Illias wouldn’t be able to resist. He never could. There was something about Cantrell that made talking easier. Illias didn’t understand why, but he did know one thing: he desperately wanted to see Cantrell again.
A whistle at the end of the bar caught Illias’ attention. He glanced over his shoulder to see a man motioning him over. Illias finished pulling the beer for the customer in front of him then walked over. Illias’ heart dropped to his stomach. The man looked almost identical to Cantrell, though Illias admired the way his shirt hugged his broad shoulders and biceps. Cantrell wasn’t necessarily a wisp of a man, but this man had him beat in the muscles department by a long shot.
“Well look at you. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
Illias made a show of dragging his eyes down and up the man, drinking him in. “What can I get started for you, sir?”
The man leaned against the bar. “Whatever gets you in bed with me.”
“I’ve got just the drink.” Illias winked.
He walked over to the liquor counter and swayed his hips just enough to draw attention to his ass. He knew his ass looked good in the jeans he wore, despite how baggy they were everywhere else. He made a show of bending and jutting his ass out until he finished the drink. Illias turned, pulling the test straw from the cup and locking eyes with the man. Illias licked up the straw before wrapping his lips around the tip and releasing the taster onto his tongue. The man’s tongue darted out to wet his lips and Illias knew he had the man, hook, line, and sinker. Illias tossed the straw and sauntered over.
“A Sex in the Driveway.” He pushed the glass across the bar. “Extra hard,” he whispered with an over-the-top wink.
Caught up in eye-fucking the man, Illias missed Jasmine coming behind the counter. She smacked his ass as she walked past and said, “Someone’s getting busy.”
He jumped, heat rushing to his face. “Jasmine,” he hissed in her direction.
“Do you need to get back to work?” the man asked with a charming smile. “I’d hate for you to get in trouble and get spanked again.”
“What if I liked being spanked?” he retorted without thinking.
“Then I think I might have to take you over my knee myself.”
Built up lust ran rampant through him. The man bore such a striking resemblance to Cantrell that Illias considered sneaking off with him and pretending he was. After all, the priest had said Illias couldn’t touch himself, not that others couldn’t touchhim.
“Illias, quit trying to fuck the nice man at the counter,” Jasmine scolded, flicking her bar rag at him as she passed by again. “I need your help on the floor.”
“Illias,” the man repeated. “Pretty name for a pretty face.”
“And what’s your name?”
“Sam. You’ll be screaming it later.”
“Oh, I do hope so.” He bit his lip. “I’ll be back.”
Illias grabbed a small notepad and headed out onto the floor. The bar was more crowded than normal, making it difficult to navigate. He apologized as he squeezed between patrons and dodged pool sticks. Focused on not running into anyone or anything, he didn’t notice someone coming up behind him. A startled gasp escaped him when hands grabbed his waist.
“I couldn’t wait for you to come back to the bar.” Sam’s breath was hot across Illias’ ear. “You looked too good out here.”
“I look a lot better bent over,” he responded on impulse.
“I bet you fucking do. Bathroom, two minutes.”
Illias watched Sam disappear into the bathroom across the bar. Maybe if he didn’t look so much like Cantrell, maybe if Illias was a stronger man, then he wouldn’t actually consider following. But Sam looked like Cantrell and Illias wasn’t stronger than the lust that rampaged through his body after three mere days of denial. Before he talked himself out of it, he made a beeline for the bathroom.
The minute the door closed, Sam pushed Illias against the wall and caught his lips in a rough kiss. He groaned into Sam’s mouth, tangling his fingers in silver hair. Illias arched his hips off the wall, pressing against Sam’s. Sam pulled away and dropped his head; his lips grazed the shell of Illias’ ear. “Needy little thing, aren’t you?”
“You have no idea,” he breathed, eyes fluttering close in bliss as Sam’s lips pressed hot, wet kisses to his neck.
