Sam pressed himself fully against Illias, sliding a knee between his legs. “I have an idea.”
Sam’s hands were rough and demanding. His grip was tight on Illias’ hips. He pressed his hands against Sam’s chest in a nonverbal warning, but he didn’t pay attention. Or didn’t care. Illias wondered if Cantrell was this demanding. If he would pay attention to the small cues and pull back. Illias wished he was with Cantrell instead. Wished he was being pressed against an oil-soaked pew instead of a filthy bathroom wall coated in graffiti.
“Ow, shit,” Illias swore, pushing Sam. “Dude, what the fuck?”
“What? Was that too much?” There was a hint of concern in Sam’s voice showing that he wasn’t an actual dick like Illias had made him out to be.
“No—I mean—fuck! Whatever,” Illias groaned and turned towards the mirror, examining the spot that Sam bit. “This was a fucking mistake,” he mumbled to himself, fearing the red mark wouldn’t fade by Sunday. “I’ve got to go back to work.”
“So soon? We just got started.”
Sam reached towards Illias and he leaned away.Okay maybe he is a dick, he thought, trying not to glare. “Look, I’m sorry but I really do have to get back to work.”
“Can I at least get your number?” Sam asked, reaching for his back pocket instead of Illias.
Illias mustered a half-hearted flirty smile. “Sure.”
He typed a number into Sam’s phone and handed it back before slipping out of the bathroom. On his way back towards the bar, Illias ran directly into someone. He took a step back to apologize but the words fell silent on his lips when he realized who was in front of him.
Chapter Eleven
Cantrell
“For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each one may receive what is due for what he has done in the body, whether good or evil.”
- 2 Corinthians 5:10
Cantrell wasn’t certain what drove him to Nirvana’s but he knew it wasn’t to see Illias like this. Clothes disheveled, hair mussed and chaotic, chest heaving, and an angry red mark on his neck. Jealousy surged up through Cantrell’s gut into his throat like bile when another man walked out of the bathroom and said he would call Illias before walking away. The selfish urge to attach his mouth to the same spot on Illias’ neck filled Cantrell. He curled his hand into a fist, reminding himself that he wasn’t allowed. He swallowed his anger. Let it sit hot and heavy in his core.
“Care to explain?”
Illias averted his eyes and covered the spot on his neck. “Not particularly,” he grumbled.
Cantrell grabbed Illias by his bicep and hauled him towards the bathroom. Illias swore colorfully, stumbling to keep himself upright when he was shoved through the door. Cantrell pulled Illias into the closest stall then pinned him against the door. Hands firmly on his shoulders to maintain distance between them.I shouldn’t be doing this, Cantrell thought. Illias looked at him with blown pupils and flushed cheeks.But, God, I’ve missed this.
“Did I not give you a penance?” Cantrell hissed, low and sharp.
Illias swallowed, eyes wild like an entrapped animal. “Yes Father.”
“Then why did you and that man come out of the bathroom together?” he demanded. Wanting—no, needing to know if that man touched Illias. Knew him like Cantrell ached to.
“I didn’t—we didn’t—”
“Didn’t what? Touch him? Let him touch you?”
“Does it matter?” Illias snapped back, reflecting Cantrell’s temper. “Does it bother you, Father?”
Cantrell spoke with the serpent’s tongue. “Does it bother you that it wasn’t me?”
All the fight in Illias vanished in a heartbeat. His cheeks darkened and he looked off to the side. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t think I know?” Cantrell stepped an inch closer, bending his elbows to lessen the distance between them. “Before I was a priest, I was a man, Illias.”
Illias met Cantrell’s eyes again. “You still are.” He hooked his finger in Cantrell’s cross necklace, pulling him closer. Warm breath fanned across his lips. “Father.”
Cantrell dropped his eyes to Illias’ lips. For a moment, one that lasted far too long for Cantrell’s liking, he thought of damning his vows. Of risking everything simply for a taste. “And man is weak,” he whispered. “Don’t expect me to always be so restrained.”
“Maybe I don’t want you to be.”
