“Yes!” Illias bit out. “Yes, please,don’t stop.”
Cantrell reared back and delivered his hardest blow yet. Illias howled, body tensing from the impact, but he remained perfectly in place. Each swing after drew a different noise. A different swear. Every sound went straight to Cantrell’s aching cock. He wanted to know if Illias was affected in the same manner. If he was twitching and leaking within the confines of his jockstrap.Cantrell thought about reaching between those thick, muscular thighs and seeing for himself.
“Are you going to come from this like you said you would?” He ran his nails across Illias’ red, battered ass, drawing a broken, wrecked cry from him. “Fall apart beneath the palm of my hand like the good little saint I know you can be?”
“God, yes.” Illias pushed against Cantrell’s hand. “Please, just keep going.”
Cantrell drew back his hand and swung, hitting the crease of Illias’ thigh and ass. The pitiful noise it drew only served to encourage Cantrell to do it again. So, he did. Over and over to both sides until he was certain that there would be nice, pretty bruises that would hurt to sit on.
“Fuck!” Illias screamed, voice hoarse and barely audible.
Cantrell watched in rapture as Illias fell apart as his orgasm crashed over him. His legs trembled, his head tossed back. The look of pure bliss spread across his features. Cantrell pushed his lower half against Illias, the skin warm through the thin slacks of his uniform, and groaned softly at the pressure against his aching cock. One hand still knotted in Illias’ hair, Cantrell held Illias in place and thrusted against him, drawing pained whines.Let me have this. Cantrell’s breath grew rabid.God, please, just let me have this. He gripped Illias’ hips.It’s only touching. With a rough jerk of his hips, Cantrell came, a whisperedfuckfalling from his lips.
He took an unsteady step back, dizzy over what he had done and the guilt that rushed to the surface. Cantrell ran his fingers through his hair, scolding himself for being concerned with his own thoughts before he was concerned about Illias’s wellbeing. He moved to his side and tugged at the knot of the blindfold until it fell to the desk. Illias blinked against the lights, quickly hiding his face in the crook of his elbow. Cantrell laid a gentle hand on Illias’ shoulder.
“You can let go,” Cantrell said, feeling the tension in Illias’ shoulder. “You did well.”
Illias released the edge of the desk then flexed his fingers a few times before he pushed himself up, revealing his tearstained face.
“You’re crying.” Cantrell’s voice was soft, yet Illias still flinched.
“I’m okay,” he said, wiping at his face with the back of his hand.
“Illias, it’s perf—”
“I said I’m okay,” he sniped, but his voice, hoarse and dry, wavered and he swallowed. “I’m okay,” he repeated, softly.
Cantrell cupped Illias’ face, brushing a thumb across his cheeks to wipe away the tears. “You were perfect. You did so well for me.”
Illias melted into the touch and grabbed his wrist. He closed his eyes, leaned into Cantrell’s palm.Please, God, Cantrell prayed,let me have him.
Illias opened his eyes then whispered, “Stay?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Illias
“Thy word have I hid in mine heart, that I might not sin against thee.”
- Psalms 119:11 KJV
After taking a quick shower to cool down and clean up, Illias went to the living room, fully prepared to find it empty since previous partners rarely stayed when asked. Surprised to see the priest still there, Illias froze at the end of the hallway. Cantrell stood in front of the TV stand crammed with CDs, board and card games, and a few photos. He picked up one frame in particular that made Illias’ chest ache. A popsicle frame that was covered in faded marker doodles that held a photograph of his mom, Henry, and himself when he was just a kid. The first Mother’s Day gift that he made by himself at Sunday school. Times were simpler back then. Henry wasn’t home as much. Wasn’t angry all the time.
Illias ignored that budding lump in his throat and said, “I was a cute kid, wasn’t I?”
Cantrell jumped, making Illias smile a little. Cantrell sat the photo back on the shelf before turning towards Illias. A soft blush coated Cantrell’s face as his eyes dropped to Illias’ bare chest. “See something you like?” Illias winked then went to the kitchen.
“That teasing of yours sure is persistent,” Cantrell responded dryly.
Illias snorted then glanced over his shoulder. “Takes more than one spanking to get me in line, I’m afraid.”
“So I’m learning.”.
Illias returned to the living room with his own cup of water and went over to the couch. He slowly lowered himself down, overexaggerating his wince once his bottom made contact with the cushion. Cantrell hovered by the TV stand for a moment, fixing his gaze on the posters that decorated the back wall. A silence fell between them, stiff and awkward after what had happened not even ten minutes prior. Illias shifted on the couch in an attempt to get comfortable, but it only served to agitate his bruised ass.
“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath, the pain no longer fun but uncomfortable.
Cantrell’s gaze examined him for a long moment, then he sat at the other end of the couch and patted his thigh. “Lie down.”
