Cantrell
I’m sorry to hear.
HIM
Come by when I get off to give me the cliffnotes?
Cantrell considered his options, thought of every possible outcome, good and bad. Heart hammering against his ribcage, he typed his response.
Cantrell
Let me know when you get home.
Cantrell waited until sunset to leave the church. Navy blue cloaked the sky by the time he pulled into the small parking lot in front of the townhomes where Illias lived. Everything about the situation screamed bad idea. Told Cantrell to go back to the rectory where he would be safe. He was beyond listening to the voice of reason and made the short walk from his car to Illias’s door. He knocked then seconds later the door opened revealing Illias dressed in sweatpants and a tank top that hugged his torso so tightly that Cantrell could see Illias’ nipple piercings through the fabric. Heat pooled in Cantrell’s abdomen and he quickly averted his eyes as he walked in.
“I appreciate you coming by on such short notice,” Illias said, closing the door. “Can I get you anything?”
Cantrell cleared his throat. “I’m good, thank you.” He sat in the recliner. “But I do hope I’m able to try whatever is in the oven making that wonderful smell.”
Illias beamed. “Cookies, special recipe. They’ll be ready in about five more minutes.”
“You didn’t go through the trouble of—”
“Oh, no, I just like to keep myself busy when I’m ner—” Illias cut himself off, eyes widening.
“Do I make you nervous?” he asked, voice dropping as he tilted his head back just enough to portray a smidge of smugness.
Illias rolled his eyes and scoffed, “No, I get nervous around all hot men.”
“Come here,” Cantrell beckoned.
Cantrell kept his eyes trained on Illias until he stopped in front of the recliner. Cantrell drank in the sight of Illias from head to toe, wishing there was a way to see him this unfiltered, unguarded, more often. “I honestly can’t tell what I like you better in. Sunday best or your regular attire,” Cantrell said, bringing his eyes up to Illias’.
Cantrell reached forward and skimmed his fingers across Illias’ hips. Goosebumps ran down his arms. Cantrell ghosted his fingers around Illias’ waist until his palms rested on the skin just above Illias’ sweatpants. He climbed on top of Cantrell, slotting his knees in between Cantrell’s thighs and the armrests of the chair. Illias placed one hand on the back of the chair and the other on Cantrell’s shoulder, then leaned down so that their faces were centimeters apart. “I know what I’d prefer you in,” Illias said, a devious glint in his eyes.
“And what might that be?” Cantrell’s focus was on Illias’ mouth.
“Nothing,” he whispered.
“Is that so?” Cantrell’s grip tightened on Illias’ waist. “Because I think you quite enjoy my uniform.”
“I can’t deny that your little getup”—Illias’ lips brushed Cantrell’s jaw— “gets me a little hot under the collar,” Illias said and nipped Cantrell’s jaw.
Reflexively, his hips jerked upwards, seeking friction that Illias held just out of reach. Taking matters into his own hands, Cantrell pulled Illias down then ground upwards, drawing a low, throaty groan. The sound was like hot wax dripping down Cantrell’s spine.
“You must be excited to see me.” Illias rocked his hips, drawing a sharp breath from the older man. “At least a part of you is.”
Cantrell guided Illias’ hips, rocking him back and forth slowly. “I’m ecstatic,” Cantrell breathed. “Absolutelythrilled.”
Illias pressed a kiss to Cantrell’s neck then grazed his teeth along Cantrell’s skin, letting out a low, deep moan. Cantrell angled his head to give Illias more access. In this moment, he forgot he was a priest. That he wasn’t supposed to have another man in his lap, grinding against him, friction bringing him agonizingly slow to the edge in the most delectable way.
God may not forgive him for his failures as a priest, but he didn’t care. His body buzzed in a way he hadn’t felt in years, like he was flesh and blood instead of a ghost hiding within the confines of the church. Praying to a God he wasn’t certain was there some days. But Illias? He was. He was alive and breathing and magnetic. He pulled at the stitches that held Cantrell together until he came undone.
Cantrell lifted a hand to Illias’ head, tangling fingers in soft curls. Illias lifted his head from Cantrell’s neck and pressed their foreheads together. Their eyes locked, and they were close enough to share breath. Illias’ lips hovered above Cantrell’s, a temptation that Cantrell couldn’t ignore. Would a kiss be too much? He leaned a little closer. Their lips brushed against each other.He didn’t pull away. His chest tightened.Does that mean—
The oven alarm went off and Illias shot straight up, eyes wild, chest heaving. Cantrell’s head spun. They almost kissed.They almost kissed. He ran his fingers through his hair and took everything in. His hammering heart, the electricity coursing through his body, the beautiful and flustered man sitting in his lap, the smell of chocolate and caramel wafting through the air. It all felt so surreal. A dream that he was bound to wake up from.He placed a tender hand on Illias’ cheek that he leaned into.This isn’t a dream, Cantrell thought, stroking his thumb across Illias’ cheek.This is real. Illias turned his head slightly and pressed a kiss to the center of Cantrell’s palm.
And it’s going to destroy everything.
