Illias’ previous confessions swirled within Cantrell’s mind, conjuring an image of Illias, flushed and teary eyed, bound and helpless across Cantrell’s desk, asking—no,begging—to be led to salvation. Teeth biting into the beads so hard Cantrell thought one may crack, he came hard and fast. He slowly opened his mouth, jaw tender and sore, and brought his rosary away. The beads shined with spit, glistening in sin when the sun peeked through the small window. Cantrell sat back on his legs. The Mother of Christ stared down at him, her expression one of placid indifference.
Mother, forgive me.
Chapter Twelve
Illias
“I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service.”
- Romans 12:1 KJV
The minute Illias walked behind the counter, Jasmine’s eyes were glued on his neck. Needy customers kept her from having a moment of peace to badger him about the mark for the first few hours they worked. Every time she tried to talk to him, one or both of them were called away. Hoping that they would continue to miss each other like boats in the night, Illias stepped up to pull a beer. Unfortunately, Jasmine joined his side a second later.
“Who, what, when, where, and why?” she said, nudging him with her hip with every w-question.
“The who isn’t your business, I don’t know how to answer the what, but as for the when, where, and why? That is”—Illias paused for dramatic effect— “also none of your business.”
“You’re no fun,” she pouted. “Just give me some dirty deets.”
Illias rolled his eyes. “My sex life is none of your concern.”
“Uh, itsototally is!” Her eyes widened comically as she looked at the mark then back at him. “That thing on your neck literally popped up the day after you and that guy went into the bathroom together and he left bragging about getting your number. Speaking of!” She slapped his shoulder with the back of her hand. “Fucking dick, don’t be using my number for your heathen activities!”
He laughed, nearly sloshing the beer over the edge of the cup in his hand. “Okay, okay, I won’t. But I’m not saying shit because I, my good lady, do not kiss and tell.”
He turned on his heels and went to deliver the beer, leaving Jasmine floundering at the tabs. She turned quickly and lobbed her bar rag at him. “Bullshit!” she exclaimed, drawing the attention of a few of the customers sitting at the counter. “Don’t kiss and tell my ass!”
“Jasmine, knock it off,” Maverick scolded when he walked up to the bar. “You two bicker like siblings.”
Illias stuck his tongue out at her and she retaliated with the finger.
Maverick pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ, I really did hire children.”
“While they may act like children, I’m afraid they’re both adults,” an all too familiar voice commented, startling both Illias and Maverick.
“Jesus—shit.” Maverick clutched his chest from Cantrell’s sudden appearance. “Sorry, but you can’t just sneak up on people like that.”
“My apologies, I didn’t intend to scare anybody.” He looked at Illias, eyes flickering down to the mark for a fraction of a second. “Tea, please.”
Thankful to busy himself with a simple task, Illias moved to grab a cup. He had managed to ignore the simmering want that remained from their interaction hours ago but it only took Cantrell’s appearance to bring it back full force. Illias walked down to the far end of the bar where Cantrell stationed himself. The priest reached for the cup, his fingers grazing Illias’. His heart fluttered at the slight touch.
“I wanted to apologize,” Cantrell spoke underneath the sound of the game playing above their heads. “I forgot myself and got carried away. For that, I’m sorry.”
Illias fussed with the items beneath the bar, pretending to work so that Maverick or Jasmine didn’t come over. “Don’t be. I liked it.”
Heat rose up his neck when he realized what he had said. He stood up, ready to defend himself but Cantrell’s dark eyes on his neck kept him quiet. “I wish you hadn’t said that,” Cantrell breathed, fingers wrapped tightly around his glass.
Illias leaned across the bar, pretending to wipe it clean so he was close enough he could feel the heat radiating off Cantrell. “Why is that, Father? Afraid you might squeeze next time?”
Cantrell choked on his drink. He coughed a few times, placing a hand over his chest. “Fuck,” the ragged curse from his mouth only worsened the growing arousal that swirled within Illias’ core.
“I’m afraid your vows prevent that from happening. If only though, if only.”
“How has your penance been?” Cantrell shot back. Illias stiffened, caught off guard. “Behave.” Chills went down Illias’ arms. “For the rest of your penance. I’d hate to extend it.”
“But—”
The warning look Cantrell gave made Illias squirm but he closed his mouth. He still had far too much time left to his penance and didn’t want to risk adding more to it.
