At the mention of Toma’s name, Jericho noticeably swallowed, and his face pinked. “I see. May I go talk to him?”
No. Yes. No.Fuck. I didn’t want any other man to get too close to Phoenix, but I trusted Jericho with my life. He might brag about his job, but he was damned good at it, too.
“Just don’t scare him,” I said, with a firm voice, which earned me a chuckle.
Jericho left me there, and all I could do was observe as he made his way over to Phoenix, who’d stopped what he was doing to stare at him. My heart thumped hard when Phoenix tensed, but it didn’t take long before the stress drained out of him and he visibly relaxed. No doubt Jericho told him that he was my best friend. Whatever Jericho was telling Phoenix had him quiet, saying little, but when he did open his mouth to speak, Jericho grinned.
I hated standing here and not over there hearing what was being discussed, but Jericho wasn’t there for long. He walked back to me about five minutes later, while Phoenix gave me a slight smile and continued to work again.
“Well?” I asked, trying not to sound eager. Clearing my throat, I tugged on my clerical collar slightly. “What do you think about him?”
“Honestly?” He grinned wickedly. “He’s adorable. Maybe I should make him my boy.”
I glared when he cackled. “You’re a bottom, and he is, too. I think. That doesn’t matter, be serious. This man has been abused, Jericho.”
“Don’t want to talk about sexual preferences, huh?” he teased. When I continued to glare at him, he laughed harder. Once he finally had his obnoxiousness under control, he slapped my arm. “My opinion is that he’s a pleaser. It seems like he has a bit of a service kink, too. That’s self-explanatory.”
“A what?” I blinked at him.
His grin widened. “He’s a pleaser, the type of person who is most happy when he can make someone else happy. He’s a natural submissive. Most likely he’s someone whose contentment lies in submitting to his Daddy. Theycanbe easily abused because they’ve been conditioned, by nature, nurture, or choice, to trust their Dom and his or her intentions. But there is a difference between BDSM and abuse.”
“I know,” I whispered. “I wasn’t in the lifestyle, but I know how it works.”
“I had to say it. Nothing annoys me more than people who claim BDSM is abuse. It’s a consensual sex practice, even if there is no intercourse involved.” Jericho made that face he usually did when something irritated him, nose scrunched up and his mouth twisted in displeasure. “Do you know how many arguments I’ve entered into on the internet with these trolls? Too many. I’m a certified psychologist, and they’re keyboard warriors who sit in their underwear and suck their thumbs while asking for breast milk from their mamma at the age of forty.” He huffed and crossed his arms. “Actually, that’s a kink.” He scratched his chin and stared at the ceiling before shrugging.
I clicked my fingers in front of his face to catch his attention. He was hyperfocused when he went on these tangents. “Concentrate. We’re talking about Phoenix, not internet trolls.”
He shook his head. “Right. So, like most abused people, Phoenix would believe it’s his fault. He didn’t tell me anything important, we didn’t even approach the topic of abuse. Actually, we talked about the clothing drive, but I know his personality type. Pleasers are prone to negative self-talk when things go wrong. His ex-Daddy wouldn’t have needed to point a finger at Phoenix for him to blame himself for whatever made his ex-Daddy mad.”
“So, what do I do?” I asked, glancing at Phoenix as Sister Joan passed him the final pile of clothes to hang.
“Being his Daddy isn’t an option? You would get a sweet deal because he wants to make your life easier and love you.” Jericho smirked when I glanced at him sharply. He knew the answer to that. “Fine, my suggestion would be—”
“Not counseling,” I interrupted.
Jericho huffed. “Why ask for my opinion, then? Everyone needs counseling in their life, Gian. Evenpriests. God can’t solve everything.”
“What about Toma? Does he need it?” Guilt lumped in my throat when he gave me a hurt expression.
“Yeah, even he needs it, but he’s the last one you’ll see in a psychologist’s office.” He shook his head. “We’re not talking about him, though. Phoenix needs to build up his confidence again. He needs to live in a safe space with someone who can encourage him to grow and be happy.”
“I can’t provide that,” I said, crossing my arms.
“Why not? You’re a priest. It’s your duty to help God’s children and lead them in the right direction.” The corner of his mouth curved smugly.
He got me there. I shook my head. “Because I can’t help everyone.”
“This guy fell into your lap for a reason. He needs your help.” Jericho turned fully toward me, face softening. “Let him serve you, even for a little while. It won’t hurt, and you don’t need to have sex with him. He’ll cook, clean, anything to make you happy.”
“And then what? I send him on his way?” It didn’t feel right. A part of me felt responsible for Phoenix now, and I already knew that if I kept him around for as long as Jericho thought I should, I probably wouldn’t want to give him up. It’d been a long time since I had someone living so close to me.
“With help, yes. The goal is to help him become less codependent and encourage him to make his own choice to move on to someone who is a better fit.” He poked my arm. “I’m the professional with this, listen to me. I know a group for those involved in BDSM who’ve been taken advantage of or abused. There are Doms and subs. I think he should attend, even one session, to meet people like himself. He might even find a Daddy there.”
A disgusting taste gathered at the back of my throat, and I didn’t even try to begin to analyze it. I’d known Phoenix for less than a day. He wasn’t mine to keep because I was only helping him.
“That sounds great. Text the details.”
He grinned, proud of himself. Patting me on the shoulder, he said, “All right, I’d better go check on Malachi and see if he will forgive me.”
