The stall door swung shut behind Illias with a deafening bang that echoed throughout the bathroom. Cantrell winced, waiting to hear rushing footsteps. All he heard was the pounding of his own heart.
“It’s okay.” Illias locked the stall door and leaned against it. “No one’s here.”
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Cantrell said, yet he still closed the miniscule gap between him and Illias. “We could get caught in here.”And it will ruin me. “It’s too much of a risk.”
“No riskier than the confessional,” Illias refuted. Memories of Illias pleasuring himself in the confessional rushed forward, stirring the embers of lust in Cantrell’s gut into a fire. “But,” Illias started, loosely wrapping his arms around Cantrell’s neck. “I can tell there’s something wrong. Was it Rier again?”
“It was,” Cantrell revealed, not wanting to hide the truth from Illias. “He knows, and he’s given me until the end of the day to make a decision. Toreevaluate my priorities.” He dropped his chin, lowering his eyes to the ground between them. “I…I don’t want to lose you, but I can’t leave Saint Anthony’s in the hands of Rier.”
Illias shifted against the door. “If I told you I had an idea about how you could keep Saint Anthony’s…would that help?”
“What do you mean?” Cantrell asked, looking at Illias.
“I talked to Henry before coming here. He’s offered to help establish Saint Anthony’s as a non-profit. Even talked about being interested inphilanthropy.” Illias rolled his eyes. “He’s at the office now, working on getting the paperwork together.”
Cantrell stared with his mouth agape. “You…” He let out a breathy laugh. “I can’t—Illias—” He struggled to find the words to explain the tidal wave of emotions rolling through him. Tears gathered again in the corners of his eyes at the thought of Saint Anthony’s no longer being at the whims of a church that cared only for appearances. Of standing on its own and being what it was always meant to be. “I can’t believe you would do that for me,” he said at last, voice watery. “You have no idea what that means to me.”
Illias pushed off the door, pressing himself against Cantrell. “Saint Anthony’s is important to both of us. But I know that you have a special connection to it.”
With that simple sentiment, Cantrell knew that he loved Illias more than he ever loved the church. “I—” Once again, the words caught in his throat.
Not knowing what else to do, what to say, Cantrell kissed Illias. Pressed him against the bathroom stall. Poured every unspoken word into a single action that they both understood. Illias nipped at Cantrell’s bottom lip then swiped his tongue across it, asking permission. Cantrell parted his lips to allow for the exploration of each other’s mouths. Body warming up, head growing dizzy with desire. Cantrell gripped Illias’ waist, pulling their hips together. Felt Illias’ hardness against his own. Illias moaned into Cantrell’s mouth, grinding against him. Illias pulled away from the kiss first, lips—damp and shiny with spit—parted and eyes hungry, then rested his head against the stall door.
“That look is back,” he noted, a slight smirk rising. “Still hungry, Sir?”
“Starving,” Cantrell breathed, ready to finally sink his teeth into a life he sorely missed. He slipped a hand behind Illias and grabbed his ass, causing him to jump. “Turn around for me, pet.”
“Is that how you ask for what you want?” Illias tilted his head to the side. “If you want something, you need to ask properly.”
Cantrell brought his less dominant hand up from Illias’ hip and placed it across his neck. Felt the subtle movement of Illias’ Adam's apple against the palm of his hand. “Be a good boy for me, pup,” Cantrell said softly, holding Illias’ neck in a way that partially restricted his breathing. “Turn around—” He stopped himself short when he caught the faint sound of the doors creaking open. “Change of plans,” he whispered, listening to the footsteps go past the bathroom. He released Illias’ neck. “Today is your day off, yes?”
“Yes Sir,” he whispered back.
“I want you to go home and send me a picture of all your toys,” Cantrell said, then cupped Illias’ cheek. “Will you be a good boy and do that for me?”
Illias blushed and nodded. “Yes Sir.”
“Such a good pup,” Cantrell praised. He brushed his thumb over Illias’ cheek. Contemplated how the conversation with Rier was about to go.
“Are you going to be okay?” Illias asked, worry written across his features.
“I’ll be fine,” Cantrell assured, though he wasn’t so certain himself. “I’ll let you know when I’m on my way.”
“Okay.”
Illias kissed Cantrell all too briefly then unlocked the stall. They maneuvered awkwardly in the small space, allowing Illias to open the door. Leaving the bathroom, careful not to make much noise, Cantrell walked ahead of Illias to check for Rier. He checked in the nave and saw no one, so he motioned for Illias to follow. Cantrell led the way to the doors, praying Rier would remain wherever he was. Illias opened one of the large oak doors and paused halfway through.
“Are you sure everything will be okay?” Illias turned. “If you lose Saint Anthony’s because of me…”
Cantrell, against his better judgement, stepped closer to Illias and tucked a piece of hair behind his ear then rested a hand on his cheek. “Everything will be fine, I promise.”
Illias pressed a quick kiss to the center of Cantrell’s palm. “I—”
Sharp, echoing footsteps approached from the nave, cutting Illias off. Rier’s voice bounced off the high ceilings, reverberating through the cold air, “So, you’ve chosen damnation after all.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Illias
