“Yes, Sir,” Illias answered, voice rough. He wrapped a hand around Cantrell, stroking him slowly. “But if you’d like, you can replace it.”
“Fuck,” Cantrell groaned, thrusting into Illias’ fist. “I’ll replace every fucking photo in there of you with another man,” he promised. “Nobody gets to have you like this except for me.” He guided Illias’ head forward. Illias parted his lips, maintaining eye contact as he took Cantrell’s cock back into his mouth. “Now, show me how much you worship me and take your fuckingsacrament,” Cantrell rasped out, shoving Illias’ head down and causing him to gag.
Cantrell held Illias in place, using his mouth for pleasure. No longer worried about how quickly he came, but focused on the sight at his feet. Illias teary-eyed with saliva gathering at the corners of his mouth and dripping down his chin. Staying perfectly still while Cantrell fucked his pretty mouth. The epitome of corrupt beauty.
With the end approaching rapidly after years of celibacy, Cantrell let out a near-inaudiblefucking Christand pulled out of Illias’ mouth. Illias sucked in a deep breath then coughed.
“I thought you were going to give me my sacrament,” he taunted, voice hoarse from the rough treatment.
“I am,” Cantrell grunted, wrapping a hand around himself. “Stick out your tongue.”
Illias complied, the edges of his mouth quirking up. Cantrell swore beneath his breath, hips jerking sporadically. “Fuck,” he gritted out, orgasm rushing forward. White hot and blinding.
Strings of cum landed across Illias’ tongue and face, though Cantrell’s hand caught most of it. Illias, without being told, took Cantrell’s hand and brought it closer. Cantrell could only look on, enraptured as Illias licked the seed off his hand like a starving man. “Thank you, Father,” Illias murmured, then kissed Cantrell’s knuckles.
“Good boy,” Cantrell praised. “How are you feeling?” He gently removed his hand and tucked himself away.
“Like I need more.” Illias' pupils were still blown with arousal.
“How do you ask?” Cantrell asked, on the verge of giving Illias whatever he asked for.
“Will you touch me, Father? Please?” Illias shifted forward, straddling Cantrell’s foot. “I’ve been such a good boy. Please, fill me. Please, Father, I want you inside me so fucking bad.”
“God, look at you,” Cantrell breathed, watching Illias grind against his boot. “Begging while you hump my boot. Such a good little pup.”
Illias whined. “Please, I wanna cum on your fingers so bad.”
“Is there lube in your bedroom?” Cantrell knew there had to be, but it was easier to ask than to waste time searching for it.
“Nightstand drawer,” he replied, an eager look in his eyes.
“Strip and bend over the couch for me, pet. I’ll be right back.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Illias
“There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love.”
- 1 John 4:18 KJV
Bent over the arm of the couch, Illias couldn’t see Cantrell return. He heard the familiar pop of the lube bottle opening, though. “Since you begged so nicely for me,” Cantrell began, and Illias gasped when he felt a slick finger against his hole, “I’ll give you a reward.”
“Fuck, please,” Illias whined, pushing his ass back. Cantrell eased a single finger in. Illias’ knuckles turned white from his grip on the edge of the cushion. Cantrell was in him. Illias whimpered, dropping his head to rest on the couch cushion. “More,” he begged, “please.”
A slight burn coursed up Illias’ spine as Cantrell worked another finger in. “You’re doing so well,” Cantrell praised, placing a hand on Illias’ lower back. “Taking my fingers in this tight little hole.”
Illias’ cock twitched uselessly between his body and the couch, his orgasm building slowly with every languid movement of Cantrell’s fingers. “Jesus,” Illias moaned, spreading his legs wider. “Deeper, please.”
“So greedy.” Cantrell tsked, pumping his fingers in and out slowly. He pushed his fingers deep inside Illias, knuckles grinding against his taut rim. “How does this feel, pet?”
“Good,” Illias panted, “so fucking good. Don’t stop.” Fingers brushed against a particular spot he couldn’t reach himself, tightening the coil forming in his stomach. “Oh fuck.”
“Oh? Did I find something, pup?” Cantrell teased, pressing more firmly on that same spot.
“Yes!” Illias cried, pushing back on Cantrell’s fingers. Cantrell quickened his movements. “Yes, please, fuck, I’m going to—fuck—Father—”
“Go on, make a mess for me, pet.”
