Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Cantrell
“Blessed is the man that endureth temptation: for when he is tried, he shall receive the crown of life, which the Lord hath promised to them that love him.”
Cantrell knew better than to expect Illias after Mass on Sunday and didn’t have high expectations to see him on Monday.
However, come Tuesday, Cantrell grew antsy with hope and a small ounce of guilt that perhaps he pushed Illias too far last week.
In an attempt to distract himself, Cantrell prepared for Wednesday Mass, tended to the few parishioners that came in, and even restocked the sacristy with wafers and grape juice.
Once he completed those few tasks, he found himself idle once more.
With nothing to occupy his thoughts, Sunday Mass crawled to the forefront of his mind.
He had searched the congregation in hopes of seeing Illias among the crowd, praying that perhaps he was just out of sight when Cantrell didn’t spot him.
However, Illias wasn’t present at communion and Cantrell feared he had gone too far.
When church ended, he, in spite of his better judgement, searched out Charity before she left.
Acting in pure selfishness, Cantrell asked her to deliver a note to Illias.
He told himself it was to assure Illias that Revived Faith was still a place he could come for worship and guidance.
Even wrote on the note what days each priest had, so that if Illias decided to seek the rite of confession he could choose who he’d prefer to speak with.
Cantrell couldn’t deny that he prayed that Illias would choose to come on Tuesday.
Imagining Illias going to Rier, confessing to him the sins Cantrell had grown to enjoy, filled Cantrell with jealousy.
Rier didn’t deserve to hear Illias’ confessions, to know what secrets he kept hidden from the world and chose to reveal to Cantrell.
The older priest wouldn’t understand Illias’ turmoil with his family the way Cantrell would.
He wouldn’t fall from his path like I have though, Cantrell thought.
Shame contorted jealousy from beast to mouse.
“Father Cantrell.”
“Mother of God.” Cantrell flinched. He crossed himself quickly and turned. His heart leapt into his throat. “Illias,” he forced out then cleared his throat. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Don’t worry Father, I won’t tell anyone you used blasphemy,” he teased with an obscene wink.
“Thank you,” Cantrell said tersely. “How may I help you?”
Illias held up the bottom half of the pamphlet Cantrell used to scribble his note on. “I got your note and last time I checked, it’s Tuesday.”
Heat crept up Cantrell’s neck. “I take it you’ve come to confess then.”
“I think this confession should be more…private, don’t you, Father?”
His penance. Cantrell’s ears burned. How could I forget so easily? “Right, of course, follow me to my office upstairs.”
Thankful to have his back to Illias, Cantrell attempted to compose himself while they walked.
Most days it took forever to climb the flight of stairs that led to the second floor, but today they only took a minute at most. Cantrell’s hand trembled as he opened the door, revealing his rather plain and cramped office.
A standard oak desk sat in the middle of the room with an old computer chair on one side and two obnoxiously stuffed chairs on the other.
Two pictures hung on the wall: one of the bishop handing the keys to Saint Anthony over to Cantrell, and the other was a simple photo of Saint Anthony’s when it first opened.
The picture had been on the wall for so long the paint beneath it was still soft cream.
Illias walked into the office then Cantrell stepped in and closed the door, locking it with a resounding click.
Channeling the man he used to be, Cantrell rolled back his shoulders and faced Illias.
“Did you behave?” He took a step forward.
“Did you do as your Father asked of you?” Cantrell backed Illias into his old, wooden desk.
“Yes Father. I haven’t even bothered touching myself since my last confession.”
“Did you suffer?”
“God, yes,” he groaned. “I hate edging, it makes the denial that much worse.”
“You enjoyed it though, didn’t you?” Cantrell used his thumb and pointer finger to grab Illias’ chin, forcing him to tilt his head down. “Being under my control?”
Illias leaned forward and their noses brushed. “I think.” His breath fanned across Cantrell’s lips. “You enjoy seeing me suffer.”
Cantrell’s lip darted out to wet his lips. “It’s hard not to enjoy it. Desperation looks divine on you.”
“Father, it’s not polite to tease like that.” Illias toyed with Cantrell’s rosary. “I’d hate for you to break your vows because of me.”
I’ve already broken them just by being here with you like this. “My vows only keep me from touching,” he lied, not caring how far he pushed what it meant to be celibate.
Illias sat on the edge of the desk, spreading his legs invitingly. “Is that your way of telling me you like watching, Father?”
Cantrell stepped between Illias’ legs. “You’re lucky I don’t bend you over my desk like you wanted me to the first night we spoke.” He planted his hands on the desk beside Illias, careful to maintain a sliver of distance between them. “I advise you to tread carefully.”
“You’re teasing again, Father,” Illias breathed, pupils blown with lust.
“Behave.” Cantrell bent his head to the left, letting his lips ghost over Illias’ skin. “And follow your Father like a good parishioner.”
“Fuck.” Illias’ hand, warm and heavy, covered one of Cantrell’s. “Yes, Father.”
“Good boy. Now tell me what you want.”
Illias bent his head neck to the side, giving Cantrell more space. He ached to sink his teeth into Illias’ neck again. Worry the spot that was long faded until it bloomed purple again.
“You know what I want already. You just like hearing me say it.”
“Confess your sins and be freed from your penance.”
Illias groaned softly, fingers curling around Cantrell’s hand. He sensed it was a grounding method and chose not to say anything.
“I want you to control me, Father. Tell me how to please you.”
Cantrell’s resolve—what little remained—nearly snapped. “So eager,” he hummed, tone pleased and amused. “I want you to touch yourself like you do when you’re thinking of me.”
He straightened then took a small step back without moving his hands. Illias shifted further onto the desk then slid one hand beneath his sweatpants. “Like this?”
“Slowly.” Cantrell placed his free hand on the clothed part of Illias’ hip. “What else do you do when you're on your own?”
Illias lifted the hem of his shirt and brought it to his mouth, revealing strong muscles covered in dark coarse hair, silver piercings that adorned both nipples, and the wide variety of tattoos that littered his skin.
He ran his hand across his chest and toyed with the metal nipple rings.
Illias moaned into his shirt, eyelids fluttering in pleasure.
Cantrell watched Illias tug and twist the silver loops.
“Good,” Cantrell rasped out. “Now take yourself out for me.”
Illias pushed down his sweatpants until he sprang free.
He wrapped his hand around himself and stroked slowly, teasingly.
Cantrell’s cock strained within the confines of his slacks.
His desperation grew as he watched Illias continue to play with his piercings while stroking his cock.
Swallowing the desire to replace Illias’ hand, Cantrell inched his hand up and stroked the exposed skin above Illias’ waistband.
“You’re doing so good for me,” he praised, rubbing circles on Illias’ skin. “You’re going to tease yourself for me until I tell you to stop, and you’re not allowed to come until I tell you.”
Illias whined, looking at Cantrell through half-lidded eyes.
Cantrell cocked his head to the side. “Did you expect a penance to be enjoyable?”
Illias shook his head then dropped his shirt. “No, Father. But please, let me finish. Let me make a mess of myself for you.” Illias moved quicker. “Please, Father.”
“No, you’re going to be a good boy for me and stop when I tell you.”
“God,” Illias moaned. “Please, I’m already so close.”
He flicked his thumb over his cock, noises growing louder. Cantrell removed his rosary and pressed the wooden beads to Illias’ mouth. “Open,” he commanded. Illias opened his mouth, letting Cantrell shove the rosary into it. “Now stop.”
Illias whined around the beads but paused his movements.
Cantrell’s heart hammered as he strained his hearing.
While he couldn’t hear anything, he couldn’t trust that they wouldn’t be interrupted and he refused to take such a risk.
Swallowing, Cantrell inched closer, leaving Illias with just enough space to move his hand.
“I wonder what you could say if you could speak,” Cantrell spoke softly, only loud enough for Illias to hear.
“Would you ask me to touch you? Beg me?”
He nodded with a pitiful look in his eyes.
Cantrell committed it to memory for when he was alone and it was late into the night.
Illias’ eyes dropped to his hand still wrapped around his leaking cock.
Cantrell couldn’t stop the smirk that rose.
Illias huffed out of his nose but didn’t attempt to spit the beads out.
“You haven’t touched yourself since our last meeting, have you?”
Illias made a noise somewhere between a whimper and a groan.
“You haven’t. You’ve been so desperate for my words, my voice, you’ve waited until today.” Pride and lust combined in a dangerous fire that consumed Cantrell. “Who knew someone like you, so cocky and confident, would want to submit to a man like me.”
Illias’ cheeks darkened.
“Stroke yourself for me.” Cantrell placed his other hand on Illias’ hip. “I want you to come like this. Make a mess of yourself while I’m standing in front of you, watching you fall apart after just a few minutes.”
A muffled shout met Cantrell’s ear and Illias curled forward, dropping his head onto Cantrell’s shoulder.
Illias’ shoulders trembled as his orgasm ran through him.
Cantrell stood still, allowing them to sit in the moment.
The smell of musk and sweat thick in the air.
Illias’ heavy breathing. Illias sat up, chest still heaving.
Cantrell gingerly removed the spit-shined rosary from Illias’ mouth then tucked a piece of stray hair behind his ear.
“You did so well. Let me get you a tissue.”
Cantrell pocketed the rosary then walked around the desk towards the bookshelf that spanned the wall.
He plucked a few tissues from a soft pink box and brought them over to Illias, gesturing gently to the hand covered in seed.
With a mumbled thank you, Illias took the tissue and cleaned himself.
Cantrell hovered a few inches away, unsure of what to do with himself.
If offering care or affection would be appropriate.
No, that would only complicate an already difficult situation, he decided, despite how wrong it felt.
Illias tossed the tissues into the small bin by the desk then got to his feet to straighten his clothes. Cantrell cleared his throat, shifting his weight. “I think, going forward, it would be best if we maintain a degree of…distance between us,” Cantrell said. “For both of our sakes.”
Illias pressed his lips together, nodding stiffly. “Right, yeah, of course.” He blew a breath through his nose. “I’ll, uh, see you around then.”
Before Cantrell could get another word in, Illias left his office. Frowning, Cantrell dropped himself in his office chair. God save me, what am I doing?