A week into his penance, Illias couldn’t even think straight. The first few days came and went with ease. He was used to casual denial from time to time to make his release a little sweeter the next time he had alone time. However, by Sunday, every muscle was tense, every nerve shot from how tightly wound he was. He was overly sensitive to touch and almost buckled when Jasmine snapped the bar rag against his ass as a joke. It was pathetic how bad he needed it. How he craved it like an animal in heat.
Pressing his hands against the smooth tile of the shower, he hung his head beneath the icy stream of water in an attempt to clear his head. He couldn’t keep going like this, desperate and needy for release. He needed to talk to Cantrell, beg him to lift the penance if necessary. Anything to get permission to relieve the ache between his thighs.
His phone chimed and buzzed from the bathroom counter, drawing his attention to the fact he had promised he would go to Saint Anthony’s again with Charity. He turned off the faucet and grabbed a towel before going to pick out an outfit. Knowing he may end up covered in filth, he settled for a DIY-bleachedband t-shirt and sweatpants that he didn’t care much about. His phone chimed again as he finished pulling on his boots.
Maybe he’ll be there again, Illias thought as he headed out to Charity’s car.I could get him by himself and convince him to lift my penance…somehow. Charity greeted him with a smile when he got in and launched into the latest professor drama she had. Illias listened quietly all the way to the shelter. However, the minute Charity parked, Illias was more than ready to put his pent-up energy to good use. Not bothering to wait for her, he hurried inside and went straight for the supplies closet. To his delight, Cantrell stood in the center of the small space, back to the door.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Illias said, causing Cantrell to jump. “Looks like you’re not the only one who can sneak up on people.”
“Very funny.” Cantrell turned to face him. “How are you, Illias?”
Illias hated the formality Cantrell used when he thought they weren’t alone. “About that.” Illias glanced both ways down the hallway then stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “I need to talk to you about this whole penance thing.”
“Oh?” Cantrell crossed his arms. “Not a glutton for punishment after all?”
“Not this particular punishment, no.” Illias stepped forward, shortening the distance between them. “If I’m being honest, I don’t know if I’ll survive until next Tuesday.”
“Is that so?”
Illias caught a hint of pride in Cantrell’s voice.He’s getting off on this, the bastard. “Please Father, have mercy.” Illias stepped closer, walking his fingers up Cantrell’s chest. “I’ve been sogoodsince Saturday.”
Cantrell grabbed Illias’ hand but didn’t push him away. “Beg all you want, but your penance won’t be lifted until next Tuesday.”
“Father, please.”
“No, and that’s final.” Cantrell released Illias’ hand to grip his chin instead, pulling it down so that they were eye to eye. “If you’re good for the rest for your penance, perhaps I’ll consider lifting it when you come to confess.”
Illias knees weakened and his stomach flipped. “Yes sir.”
“Try again.”
“YesFather.”
“Good boy.”
Illias bit back a whine and prayed Cantrell didn’t notice how hard the praise made him. Cantrell released Illias’ chin, then stepped around him and left the closet without another word. Caught between feeling rejected and painfully aroused, Illias snatched the tool bag from the shelf while grumbling bitterly under his breath one more fucking week.
Chapter Thirteen
Cantrell
“My flesh and my heart faileth: but God is the strength of my heart, and my portion for ever.”
- Psalms 73:26 KJV
In the beginning years of priesthood, the weekday silence drove Cantrell mad. He would buzz around the church doing menial tasks or organize and reorganize the storage room. Anything that kept himself busy.An idle mind is the Devil’s playground, his seminary teacher once told him. Back then, he agreed full heartedly, but with age, he was grateful for the lulls in activity. He was able to sit for a while and indulge in a book, or handle business for Saint Anthony’s. Somedays, he allowed himself to slip out to the rectory to make a cup of Earl Grey tea. However, after his run-in with Illias that morning, making a cup of tea wouldn’t keep his mind from becoming a playground for the Devil. If the Devil was a six-foot cocky brat with tattoos.
Cantrell huffed out a breath at the thought of Illias being theDevil. An absolutely ridiculous notion. The Devil took on many forms, but man was not one. No matter how tempting Illias was, he was no Devil. If anything, he was a testament to God’s artistry. Skin the same shade as precious brown topaz and a sturdy, muscular build that would look beautiful wrapped in red rope.
Face warming in a mixture of shame and arousal, Cantrell set aside the book he was attempting to read and stood.A cold splash of water will set me straight. He headed towards the narthex where the bathrooms were. As he walked through the entryway, the doors of the church opened. White sunlight poured in through the crack, temporarily blinding Cantrell. The door closed with a soft thud and there stood Illias; hair haphazardly pulled back with a few loose strands framing his face, skin coated in a thin sheen of sweat, and smelling of a hard day's work.
“I didn’t expect to see you again today.” Cantrell laced his fingers behind his back. “Are you seeking confession or have you come for another purpose?”
Illias’ eyes flickered over Cantrell’s shoulder briefly before settling on him. “I can’t wait until next Tuesday.”
A deprived pride twisted through him, morphing his position into something more blasphemous than sacred. “I’ll ask again.” He tilted his head back. “Are you seeking confession or have you come for another purpose?”
“I’ve…come to confess, Father.” Illias shifted his weight, looking off to the side as he rubbed his neck. “But only if you’ll allow it.”
