Chapter 32
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.”
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.”
Illias let out a strangled cry, orgasm washing over him in a wave of white heat. He slumped against the couch, head buzzing and legs weak. Cantrell’s movements slowed, then he eased his fingers out of Illias. He whimpered at the sensation of Cantrell leaving him empty.
“You did so well, pet,” Cantrell praised, pressing a kiss to Illias’ spine. “Now, let me take care of you.”
Sitting in a warm bath while Cantrell—dressed in a pair of Illias’ sweatpants and one of his shirts—knelt next to the tub was not what Illias expected when Cantrell offered to take care of him.
He imagined Cantrell joining him in the shower and maybe some additional fun.
Instead, Cantrell helped Illias out of his work clothes.
Ran a hot bath and actually washed his body.
Even listened to step-by-step instructions on how to wash his hair.
Admittedly, Illias didn’t know how to react.
Aftercare wasn’t a foreign concept to him by any means, but this was different.
It went deeper than surface level praise and casual affection; Cantrell listened and cared for him in a way no one else had.
Touched him with a gentle attentiveness that said you’re safe with me.
“Still awake pup?” Cantrell asked, running a washcloth across Illias’ shoulders.
“Mm-hmm,” he hummed on the verge of falling asleep.
“I think it’s time to get out and into bed.” Cantrell squeezed out the rag and laid it across the edge of the tub, then stood and grabbed a fresh towel from the shelf above the toilet. “Pull the plug for me, darling.”
Illias blushed at the new nickname. He pulled the stopper then got to his feet, reaching for Cantrell on instinct.
Illias stepped onto the plush mat and Cantrell began to towel him off.
Once dry, Cantrell wrapped the towel around Illias’ waist and kissed him all too briefly.
Illias leaned forward, wanting another one.
Cantrell smiled, kissing him again. Slow and soft.
Like a lover would. Like how Illias used to imagine Jesus kissing Judas before they, too, were ripped apart.
Cantrell pulled away. “It’s time for bed, darling. ”
“Stay,” Illias whispered, moving to kiss Cantrell for a third time.
“I can’t,” Cantrell mumbled, pressing closer only to pull away.
“You can.” Illias looked into his eyes. “Just be with me tonight.”
Cantrell opened his mouth, then closed it, his eyes reflecting the battle within himself. Illias cupped his cheek. “It’s late,” he reasoned, thumb stroking Cantrell’s cheek. “Come to bed with me. Please.”
“Okay,” Cantrell breathed, turning his head and kissing the palm of Illias’ hand, just as he had done to Cantrell. “Let’s go to bed then.”
Illias smiled and stepped to the side to go around Cantrell.
Grabbed his hand, pulling him along to the bedroom.
Cantrell followed wordlessly, nothing more on his face than a simple tiredness and a smile that made Illias’ heart feel like a wild bird.
He was sure exhaustion was written across his face too, but he hoped Cantrell could see past it.
See how much this meant. To have Cantrell in his home, in his bed, well into the night with the promise of tomorrow.
The unspoken yes, I want you, I think I love you hanging in the air as they curled around each other, limbs tangling beneath the covers.
Sunlight trickled in through the cracked blinds and bathed his face in warmth.
He blinked against the soft light. As he came to, the sinking feeling of being alone rose up through his stomach.
Illias rolled over to find an empty, cold, disheveled space beside him.
Illias knew there was a probability Cantrell would leave at the first sign of daylight, but it didn’t make the pain any less.
Cantrell’s responsibilities came first. The church came first. It always would when pitted against him.
Illias’ chest ached as he laid in bed, staring at the empty space.
Knowing Cantrell would never be able to keep what they had while belonging to the church.
At some point, a decision would have to be made.
An ultimatum proposed. One that Illias already knew the answer to.
Tossing the blankets to the side, Illias forced himself to the edge of the bed. Still half asleep, he reached blindly for his phone, expecting it to be in its usual spot. In its place was a piece of paper. He picked it up and unfolded it.
I’m sorry I left without waking you up. You looked so peaceful sleeping, I didn’t want to disturb you. I hope you don’t mind, but I left wearing the clothes you gave me last night and one of your baseball caps. I’ll bring them back when I see you again. See you soon, darling.
Imagining Cantrell leaving dressed in Illias’ clothes brought a hint of a smile forward.
They had passed the threshold of what their arrangement was supposed to be.
Created something that neither of them could keep, that would hurt more than falling from Heaven when it came to a screeching end.
What if, he stared down at the note, it didn’t have to end?
If I told him, it could change everything.
In the back of his mind, the voice of reason reminded him that Cantrell was, first and foremost, Father Cantrell.
He owed his life to the church. Dedicated years of hard work to keeping Saint Anthony’s from crumbling.
He would always pick Saint Anthony’s—and therefore the church before he picked Illias.
Regardless of how either of them felt, without the church, Cantrell couldn’t keep Saint Anthony’s.
But what if?
What if Saint Anthony’s didn’t belong to Revived Faith?
Mind racing with possibilities, Illias tucked the note away in the nightstand drawer for safe keeping.
He noticed his phone next to the wall and grabbed it off the charger.
Unlocking it, he went to his contacts and clicked on the one name he never thought he would be calling first thing in the morning. He held his breath as the phone rang.
“Hello?” Henry’s sleep-heavy voice grunted.
“Hey, sorry about calling so early, but, um, do you think that you and Mom can meet me for breakfast?” Illias blurted out before he could talk himself out of it.
Illias’ body froze when Henry didn’t respond right away. Then he let out a short, breathy laugh as if he couldn’t believe Illias asked. Frankly, Illias couldn’t believe he was asking either. “Yeah…yeah, of course,” Henry said, elevating the budding panic in Illias’ core. “Where at?”
“Same cafe as last time,” Illias answered. “Meet there in thirty?”
“We’ll see you then.”
“Awesome. See you then.”
When Illias arrived at the cafe, there were only four other people inside besides his parents.
Illias figured that it would be quiet given the time of day, but he didn’t expect it to be empty.
However, he was thankful for the quiet. It meant that he could speak with his parents in peace.
Before joining his parents, he went to the counter to grab something light for breakfast. While he wasn’t exactly hungry, he knew it would be best to have something on his stomach when he talked to Cantrell.
Equipped with a small hazelnut coffee and a cinnamon cake muffin, Illias headed over to his parents.
“Morning,” he greeted, setting his breakfast on the table. “How are you?” he asked his mom, kissing her on the cheek then sitting down.
“I’m good. What about you, hon? You’re never up this early, is everything okay?”
Illias drummed his fingers against the paper cup of his coffee. “Sort of. I, um, I started seeing someone,” he admitted as his leg began to bounce. “I have been for a while now, but things have gotten a little more serious? I guess?”
“Oh hon, that’s wonderful,” his mom smiled, but it was cautious and didn’t meet her eyes. “When will we get to meet him?”
“Um,” he chuckled slightly. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth as he figured out what to say. How to explain the situation. That he was seeing their priest, of all people.
“If you don’t want me to meet him yet,” Henry spoke up. “I understand that. But I would like to be able to one day.”
An odd feeling surged through Illias that tightened his chest and filled his body with a static like heat.
“It’s a little more…” he paused, staring down at his coffee.
“Complicated. Than that.” He fought with the truth versus telling a version of the truth.
“He works at Saint Anthony’s and if the church finds out that we’re together he wouldn’t be able to keep doing what he does for the shelter.
And he does great work there, I mean, he dedicates his life to the shelter.
I don’t want him to lose that because of me.
” He tongued his cheek, resisting the urge to cry.
“But I don’t want to lose him either,” he said softly, afraid his voice would crack.
“Saint Anthony’s is under Revived Faith, isn’t it?” Henry inquired. Illias nodded, not trusting his voice. “And you volunteer there as well?” Again, Illias nodded, picking his head up to look at Henry. “How would you describe the state of the shelter?”
“Poor,” Illias answered. “They barely provide the shelter with a budget that covers necessities.”
“I have been toying with the idea of opening a nonprofit.” Henry crossed his arms. “The legal team at my office can draft up the paperwork to switch ownership of the shelter from the church to an independent nonprofit.”
“How do we get the church to let go of Saint Anthony’s, though?” Illias asked, finally relieving the burning question from his mind.
“Easy,” Henry replied, slipping into business mode at a blink of an eye. “We give them an offer they can’t turn down and a contract already drawn up so they don’t have to do any thinking.”
“You think it will work?” Illias asked, hesitant to get his hopes up for something that may not come to fruition.
Henry picked up his coffee and pointed it towards Illias. “Trust me, I may not have been a good father for twenty-three years—”
Illias snorted, and Lauren smacked his arm. “Illias,” she scolded.
“Sorry, sorry. That was wrong of me,” he said, a slight laugh beneath his words. “Continue.”
Henry cracked a smile. “No, no, you were right to laugh. I said that hoping it would get a smile out of you,” he admitted. “But as I was saying, I’m a good businessman. I can even put you and Charity on the board of directors.”
“Give me one second,” Illias excused himself from the table and went outside. He pulled out his phone then dialed Charity. After a few rings, she picked up. “Hey,” he said, “how would you feel about helping me take Saint Anthony’s?”
“I’m sorry, what?” Charity asked.
Illias sucked in a breath, then quickly ran through Henry’s plan to buy the shelter from the church. The line went quiet for what felt like an eternity before a faint, muffled giggle crackled through the speakers.
“Are you—you’re being serious, aren’t you? Oh my God. Illias Koller is so down bad, he’s trying to buy out the church.” She laughed. “You really will do anything but tell him how you feel, won’t you?”
“Is that a yes?” he asked with a huff.
“Answer me truthfully, and you’ve got my full support.”
“Shoot,” he said, knowing he might regret giving her the opportunity.
“Do you love him?”
The question knocked the air out of his lungs.
He knew that he wanted to be with Cantrell.
Spend as much time with him as possible.
Learn about his past and his dreams for the future.
Wake up next to him. See their belongings next to each other on the bathroom sink.
Be together in public without the fear of being seen together.
Illias looked into the cafe and watched his parents for a moment.
They sat close to one another; hands overlapped on the table.
He wanted nothing more than to do the same with Cantrell.
“Yeah, I do.”