Chapter 10 Jace #2
I let my gaze travel up his form slowly.
His fingers trembled against the carved armrests.
His chest rose with a shaky breath.
“Are—are you here to confess?” he asked.
His eyes darted to the chapel entrance—habit, fear of being overheard—but it was empty. Silent. The only sound was his breathing and the faint crackle of the candles.
I leaned in slightly, just enough that he felt it even if I didn’t touch him. His breath stilled.
“I could… but you look so tired.”
He stared at me in surprise, as if no one had ever bothered to notice his discomfort before. As if it hadn’t occurred to him that he was allowed to be anything other than perfect.
“I-I’m fine,” he murmured.
“You’re exhausted,” I said. “I can see it. You’ve been carrying everyone else’s guilt all night.”
His lips parted. His eyes shone with something startled—like I’d accidentally brushed against a bruise he’d forgotten he had.
Good.
I shifted my knees closer to the foot of the carved seat. His breath caught sharply, almost inaudible.
“You hold all their worries, their shame, their sins.” My voice dropped lower. “Let me take some of the weight.”
His lashes fluttered, confused and flustered, and he tried to remain devout.
“Jace,” he whispered, barely audible, “you said before… that—that the Light tells you… to touch me.”
“Yes,” I breathed. “And it’s telling me now.”
His fingers tightened on the armrests, and his throat bobbed. “I don’t… I don’t know if you should.”
“That’s alright,” I whispered, leaning in just a breath more. “I’ll take care of you. You can blame everything on me.”
He shivered.
I lifted one hand and hovered it just below his knee, close enough for him to feel my warmth but not enough for contact.
“Tell me no,” I said softly. “If you want me to stop.”
He said nothing.
His breath trembled.
His eyes flicked down to my hand, then back to my face.
But he didn’t move away.
I smiled—gentle, worshipful, a lie he wanted to believe—and let my fingertips brush just barely against the fabric of his robe.
He gasped, too loudly.
I hushed him immediately. “Shhh, cherub. It’s alright. It’s only me.”
His lips parted, breath coming shallow.
“Confession,” I said quietly, “is also about release, isn’t it? And you’ve held everything in, haven’t you?”
His voice broke. “Jace…”
“Yes?” I murmured.
“I… I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel.”
“That’s the point,” I said, letting my fingers trace the tiniest, softest path to his knee—so slight it could be imagined. “You don’t have to decide anything tonight.” I looked up at him, letting the moment deepen. “You only have to let me be close to you.”
His eyes fluttered shut as his breathing grew erratic—the quiet, trembling pulls of air told me he was hanging on by instinct, not logic.
Perfect.
I let my hand drift a little lower, brushing his ankle through the draping hem of his robe. His eyes shot open, startled, pupils blown wide.
“Jace—”
“You’re tense,” I murmured. “I can feel it from here.”
He swallowed, unsure, but he didn’t move. That was all I needed.
I let my fingers slip beneath the loose fabric pooled around his feet. His skin was soft, cool from hours spent on stone.
He stiffened immediately.
“Relax,” I whispered, keeping my voice steady. “I’m not doing anything improper. You’re exhausted. I’m just helping.”
His toes curled involuntarily, and his face flushed all the way to the tips of his ears.
“But… my feet…” He shook his head quickly, almost panicked. “What if—”
“It’s okay,” I said softly, cupping his heel in one hand. “You’re so wound up. You never let yourself rest.”
My thumb pressed lightly, gently, into the arch of his foot.
Elior sucked in a breath.
“It’s alright,” I soothed. “Just breathe.”
He did, but it came out more like a whimper, tiny and unguarded.
Good.
I continued to work slow circles into the arch of his foot, each pass making his posture melt a little more despite himself. His shoulders dropped. His fingers unclenched from the armrests.
“I shouldn’t…” he whispered. “It feels—It feels too—”
“Human?” I supplied, kneading a little deeper.
He gasped, cheeks blazing.
“That’s not a sin, Elior. The Light made you human. It made your body. And you’ve been sitting here for hours listening to everyone else unburden themselves.” I slid my touch up to where his ankle met the bone, massaging in gentle motions. “You deserve a moment too.”
His head tilted back slightly, lips parted, eyes fluttering shut again as if something inside him was unraveling too quickly for him to catch.
“You’re shaking,” I murmured.
“I-I’m not,” he breathed, which would’ve been more convincing if his voice didn’t break on the last syllable.
I smiled. “Let me take care of you,” I said, softer than anything I’d ever said in my life. “Just for tonight.”
His toes curled again, and he made another helpless little sound that shot straight through me.
He had no idea what he was giving me.
No idea how much power he was handing over just by letting himself feel this.
“That’s it,” I murmured. “Good boy.”
My hands glided over the delicate bones, the smooth skin, pressing in ways that made him gasp and shiver and try to hide his face behind one trembling hand.
“Jace… this… we shouldn’t…”
“We’re not doing anything wrong,” I said immediately. “You’re tired. I’m helping. There’s nothing wrong with a foot massage.” My thumbs pressed along the tender underside of his foot. “Don’t overthink it. Just relax.”
“I’m trying,” he whispered, voice thin. “I’m trying, Jace, but it feels too—too much—”
I lifted my gaze, watching his expression crumble, watching him struggle against something he didn’t have language for.
“It’s supposed to feel that way,” I said intimately, low enough that it felt like a secret pressed against his skin.
His breath stuttered—half sob, half sigh.
Still, he didn’t pull away.
Elior’s breaths were coming shallow now, little uneven bursts that told me he was right on the edge. I could see the slight bulge of an erection under his robe.
His fingers clutched at the arms of the chair as I kneaded slowly up the line of his arch again. Fucking hell. If this was how he responded to a fucking foot massage, I couldn’t even imagine how he’d react in bed.
“I shouldn’t be—feeling this,” he whimpered, voice cracking at the edges. “It feels… it feels wrong.”
“No,” I murmured, letting my hands slow, gentler now, as if coaxing a frightened bird. “There’s nothing wrong with this. You’re just letting me worship you. That’s all it is.”
I ran my thumb in slow, even strokes over the tension at the base of his toes, watching his whole spine curve with the sensation.
“God, you’re so beautiful.”
His eyes fluttered open—dazed, glassy, as if he were seeing something he wished he didn’t want.
“Jace… please…” he whispered. He didn’t even know what he was asking for.
“Please, what?” I asked softly, leaning forward just enough that he could feel the warmth of my breath. “Tell me.”
He shook his head, overwhelmed, trembling under my hands.
That trembling was everything.
I softened my grip, massaging slower now, more soothingly than coaxing. His shoulders sagged forward, a small, almost broken sound leaving him.
“There you go,” I whispered. “Just let go, cherub.” His breath hitched as he registered what I’d called him.
“I don’t know—” He cut himself off, shame washing over his face so quickly he bowed his head as if hiding from God himself.
I kept my hands steady with deep, reassuring strokes along the arch of his foot.
“You’re safe with me,” I told him. “Nothing bad is happening.”
He exhaled shakily and opened his mouth to say something when the soft groan of hinges suddenly twisted through the chapel.
Elior jolted upright—like an electric shock snapped him back into his body.
I didn’t hesitate.
I slid backward instantly, hands off him, posture neutral, the perfect picture of a congregant finishing a quiet moment of reflection. Elior was still breathless, eyes blown wide, his robe rumpled, his feet curling back against the stone.
I kept my expression mild. Innocent.
The door eased open the rest of the way.
Malachi stepped inside. His gaze flicked between us.
I tucked my hands politely in my lap, bowing my head like someone wrapping up the end of a confession.
“Thank you, Elior,” I said evenly, as if the last several minutes had been nothing but murmured prayers. “I appreciate your guidance tonight. Blessed be the Light.”
Elior swallowed, then forced a strained nod.
I rose smoothly, offering Malachi a respectful bow as I passed him.
He studied my face for too long—calculating, prying—before letting me by.
I kept my stride calm. Controlled.
But inside?
Inside, adrenaline flickered hot and thrilling down my spine.
I’d be back.
I waited until the compound had settled into its heavy, rural silence, until I was sure that I would be alone on my venture to the chapel.
It was a little after two a.m. when I finally slipped out of my room, then out of the dorm, and into the chilly night air.
When I reached the chapel door, I tried the handle and was shocked to find it unlocked.
My jaw tightened.
Malachi trusted his followers too much.
I eased the door open just enough to slip inside, closing it behind me without a sound.
The interior was washed in soft moonlight filtering through the high windows, long stretches of pews cast into alternating bars of shadow and silver. Every step I took echoed faintly, even with my weight distributed carefully.
I found the side door to Elior’s private rooms tucked near the altar.
I reached for the handle, fully expecting resistance.
Instead, it turned freely beneath my fingers.
Really? Jesus. That wasn’t safe.
I stepped inside.
A short hallway unfurled ahead, walls narrow and plain, leading to a compact kitchen with a small table by the wall.
Beyond that was another door—also unlocked.
I pushed it open and slipped into the darkness.