But he meantI need you like the ocean needs the moon. I need you like the world needs the sun. Like Judas needs Jesus. Selfishly.
“I know.” Cantrell kissed him briefly. “I know.”
“Please,” he whispered, tightening his grip on Cantrell’s shirt as if letting go meant he would leave, meant it would be the end. “Let me show you how much I need you.”Let me show you how much I love you the only way I know how.
“Tell me.” Cantrell unlaced their fingers to cup Illias’ cheek again, this time tracing his bottom lip with a thumb. “Before you show me.”
Illias’ cheeks warmed, and his stomach swirled. “I need you so bad it hurts,” he admitted, pushing through the fear of sounding desperate. “Like I can’t breathe without you. All I want to do is be with you.” He tilted his head to the side, breaking Cantrell’s hold on him, then kissed Cantrell’s neck. “Service you.” Illias kissed right below Cantrell’s ear. “Worship you,” he whispered.
“Christ,” Cantrell groaned, hips jerking against Illias’. “Worship me?”
“Yes,” Illias agreed, before Cantrell’s words were cold in the air. “I’d get on my knees and crawl to you if asked. Kiss your feet. Anything.”
“Fuck,” Cantrell breathed. “I—”
“Illias!” Jasmine’s voice floated into the night air like an owl's screech. “I see you in the shadows across the lot! Get your ass back inside, you dog!”
Illias whined, dropping his head backwards. “I’ll be back in two minutes!” he shouted, figuring it best to cut it short rather than run the risk of Jasmine leaving the bar unintended.
“I’ll meet you at your place,” Cantrell said. “Where do you keep the key?”
Illias fought back a satisfied grin as he looked at Cantrell again. “Beneath the broken gnome next to the stairs. I’ve got another…hour, hour fifteen before we close?” he estimated. “Think you can stay up for me?”
“Anything for you.” Cantrell stole a quick kiss. “Don’t keep me waiting.”
“I won’t,” Illias responded with a cheesy smile.
“Good boy. I’ll see you soon.”
Illias peeled himself away from Cantrell and headed back to the bar, looking over his shoulder before opening the door. He watched Cantrell’s car sputter to life, taillights burning red. As Cantrell began to back up, Illias walked into the bar, ready to finish the night so he could go home. As he rounded the corner of the entry, Jasmine lobbed his bar rag at him, waggling her fingers and clicking her tongue at him. He held up the rag. “What the fuck, Jasmine?”
“You lil sinner you!” she said. Illias’ blood went cold. “I saw you out there getting frisky in public.Scandalous. I like it.”
Relief flooded through him.She doesn’t know, he thought as he went to wash his hands at the bar sink.Thank God. She doesn’t know.
Chapter Thirty-One
Cantrell
“My soul breaketh for the longing that it hath unto thy judgments at all times.”
- Psalms 119:20 KJV
Illias’ home was quiet without him there, yet somehow Cantrell didn’t feel nearly as cold as he did in the quietness of the rectory. There was a natural warmth to a place that was lived in, not simply inhabited. Decorated with the very essence of what it means to be human. Items that were loved, photos of cherished moments, objects that held memories. All the things the rectory lacked. Things Cantrell missed.
His room at the rectory was mostly bare save for a few personal items he was allowed to keep. Ones he could not bear to part with. Hung on his wall were two pictures: one of him and his mother before her eyes grew tired, and one of him and Father Davidson before Cantrell became a priest. Sat on his desk, nextto a small lamp, was a straight razor shaving kit gifted to him by an old friend. Folded and laid across the foot of his bed, a knitted throw blanket that was frayed along the edges; made by one of the women at the shelter and given to him during his first year working there as a priest. Hidden between the pages of a well-worn Latin book, the napkin Illias scribbled his number and address on. So few items he held close.
Cantrell noticed a new frame on Illias’ bookshelf. Shaped like a cloud and holding a picture of Illias with Charity. They stood behind the garden beds, faces dewy with sweat and smiles nearly as bright as the sun.Even fewer people, he thought, longing for that closeness again. Wishing he had not destroyed bridges with friends from his youth. Praying that one day he would be brave enough to try to reconnect. Apologize properly for the way he treated them.One day, he thought while he pulled a non-titled leather-bound book from the shelf.One day.
He settled into the recliner, crossing his ankle over his knee. He cracked open the book to the first page and found,This album belongs to,withIllias R. Kollerwritten on the line below. Cantrell flipped to the next page.Warning! Exclusively for select audienceswas written neatly in Illias’ handwriting. Curiosity getting the better of Cantrell, he turned the page.
Two black-and-white photos of Illias were taped on the following page. In one, Illias was posed and tied intricately in shibari rope. The dark rope crisscrossed his body, accenting the small dip of his waist and the swell of his pecs. The second photo revealed the aftermath of the first. Deep divots that mimicked the braid of the rope marked Illias’ body. Cantrell tried to recall the last time he did a proper tie, but his mind only conjured thoughts of Illias in red rope.
On the next few pages were more black-and-white photos, most of which included Illias in some sort of bondage situation. Carefully posed and bound. Some blindfolded, others gagged.Every photo Cantrell looked at made him more and more anxious for Illias to get home, his slacks growing uncomfortable with each flip of the page. Eventually, bondage photos gave way to more precarious ones. Ones with Illias face down, ass up, spreader bar holding his legs apart. Cock hanging between his thighs. Cantrell slipped a hand between the album and his lap, palming himself while he continued through the pages.
“Enjoying my album, Father?” Illias’ smug voice pierced through the sounds of Cantrell’s heavy breathing.
Cantrell fumbled the album, face scorching. He cleared his throat. Adjusted his glasses. Avoided looking directly at Illias. Humiliated at the fact he was caught even though it was by the very reason he had started to. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
