Chapter 18 Dorian
“Flee also youthful lusts: but follow righteousness, faith, charity, peace, with them that call on the Lord out of a pure heart.”
—2 Timothy 2:22 KJV
Dorian couldn’t sit still. Every shift behind the bar felt like a countdown he couldn’t see the end of. When would Callahan show up again? When would those steady hands finally pin him down somewhere private and give him what he’d been aching for since the last mark faded? The memory alone made his cock stir—Callahan’s teeth sinking in, the sharp sting blooming into a bruise that lasted days. No one had ever marked him like that before. Hickeys, sure, but nothing that dark, nothing that deliberate. Nothing that screamed mine every time he caught his reflection.
He sliced lemons with more force than necessary, the citrus sting sharp in the air.
“Whatcha daydreaming about, handsome?” Bianca leaned against the prep station, chin in her hand, watching him like she already knew the answer.
“None of your business.”
She groaned dramatically. “God, Dorian, you’ve been so boring lately. Did you finally get a boyfriend or something?”
Or something.
He smirked. “Maybe I’ve found the Lord.”
Maverick snorted without looking up from his paperwork. “You? Found the Lord? I’ll believe it when that nose ring hits the trash.”
“My nose ring has nothing to do with my devotion to God,” Dorian shot back. “But thanks for the input, peanut gallery.”
Bianca planted both hands on his shoulders and gave him a little shake. “Dorian, darling, honeypot, sweetums, apple of my fucking eye—there is no way in hell I’m buying that you turned into some born-again saint overnight and that’s why you stopped flirting with every dick in the zip code.”
He dropped the knife with a clatter and turned to face her, mock-offended. “First of all, I did not flirt with everything with a dick.”
She made a skeptical noise.
“Second, I’m still flirting. My tips prove it.”
Maverick tapped his pen against the ledger and glanced at Bianca. “Kid’s got a point. He’s raking it in.”
“It’s the award-winning smile,” Dorian said, flashing it wide.
A guy at the bar lifted his beer in salute. “He does have a gorgeous smile.”
“Thank you,” Dorian gushed, hand to his chest.
Bianca slapped his shoulder. “Ah! Look what the cat dragged in—Father Callahan! So glad you joined us tonight.”
Dorian damn near choked on his own spit. He coughed into his fist, refusing to look up. Bianca sauntered over to the priest, leaning on the counter like she owned the place.
“Our dear boy Dorian was just telling us he’s found the Lord,” she said sweetly. “Tell us, Father—has he truly found salvation?”
Callahan cleared his throat. “Well… he has been attending Mass regularly since returning to Dunwich, but—”
Dorian’s head snapped up just in time to catch Callahan’s eyes flicking over Bianca’s shoulder, straight to him.
“—he could probably use a few more confessional visits.”
Heat flooded Dorian’s face. He busied himself wiping an already-clean glass, praying no one noticed how hard his heart was hammering.
Callahan moved away from the bar and took the same corner table as their first night—far right, under the single weak bulb that barely lit the scratched wood. Dorian poured the usual iced tea, folded the napkin he’d prepared earlier, and walked over with his shoulders back, hips loose. He knew exactly where Callahan’s gaze went. When he reached the table he bent slow, letting his ass jut just enough, and slid the drink across with the napkin tucked beneath.
Callahan frowned at the napkin, then at him.
“I figured you might need my address,” Dorian murmured, keeping his voice low and teasing, “in case I’m too sick to make it to church for confession.”
Callahan went pale. “I absolutely cannot take that,” he whispered.
Dorian shrugged, smirk firmly in place. “Think about it, Father. You really want someone overhearing what I have to say?”
He tapped the table once and walked away before Maverick could yell at him for flirting with the clergy. Technically he wasn’t wrong.
The rest of the night dragged. Bianca handled the floor, so Dorian stayed trapped behind the bar, stealing glances toward the corner. Callahan never flagged him down—just sat there sipping tea, reading, occasionally looking up and meeting Dorian’s eyes for a heartbeat too long.
Closing time crept closer. Dorian watched Callahan weave through the thinning crowd toward the door. He vaulted the bar flap, grabbed Bianca’s arm as she passed with dirty glasses.
“Quick break. Five minutes.”
“If you’re not back, I’m sending Maverick.”
He rolled his eyes and plunged into the crowd. At the door he misjudged the step, toe catching the threshold. He stumbled forward—straight into Callahan’s quiet laugh.
“Hey,” Dorian said, straightening, cheeks hot.
“Impatient, are we?” Callahan’s eyebrow arched, but there was a glint in his eye that wasn’t entirely priestly.
“Just a little.” Loud laughter erupted inside. Dorian grabbed Callahan’s wrist without thinking and tugged him around the corner into the alley just as a group spilled out the front door. They didn’t even glance their way.
Callahan exhaled. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” Dorian’s pulse was racing. “I figured you wouldn’t want to be seen with me.” He winced. “Shit, I didn’t mean—”
“The mark you left is gone,” he said quickly, steering them away from the awkwardness.
Callahan stepped closer. “And?”
Dorian’s back met brick. Callahan’s knuckles brushed his cheek—cool fingers against flushed skin. Dorian leaned into the touch without permission.
“Please.”
“You haven’t asked for anything yet,” Callahan said softly. “You have to ask before you beg.”
Dorian swallowed. “Will you mark me again? It’s all I’ve thought about since it faded.”
Callahan closed the last bit of distance. “Is that so?”
“It showed everyone I flirted with that I belong to someone.”
Callahan’s hand slid to Dorian’s jaw, tilting his head roughly to the side. “You want to be claimed by your priest?”
The words sent fire straight to Dorian’s cock. “Please, Father.”
Callahan’s mouth found the soft skin beneath his jaw. Teeth scraped, then bit down hard. Dorian clamped his lips shut to swallow the moan, breathing hard through his nose. Callahan sucked, relentless, until Dorian’s knees threatened to give. When he finally pulled back, he pressed a gentle kiss to the throbbing spot.
“There. A nice dark mark claiming you as mine.”
Dorian’s hips rolled forward involuntarily. “God, please let me take you home.”
“Greedy thing.”
“Please. Haven’t I been good?”
Callahan slid his thigh between Dorian’s legs without warning. The pressure dragged a broken sound from Dorian’s throat.
“You’ve been well-behaved,” Callahan murmured against his neck. “I suppose a small reward is in order.”
Dorian rocked against the firm muscle shamelessly. Callahan pressed harder, pinning him to the wall. Dorian buried his face in the priest’s shoulder, muffling gasps as he chased friction. It didn’t take long—embarrassingly short.
“I’m close,” he whimpered.
“Already?” Callahan’s voice was dark amusement. “Go on, then. Come for me. Make a mess in your underwear so you remember how desperate you are for your priest’s control.”
Dorian’s hips jerked once more and he came hard, biting down on Callahan’s collar to stay quiet. He sagged against the wall, panting, sticky and trembling.
“Good boy,” Callahan whispered, low and satisfied.
Dorian lifted his head, hazy. “Hardly satisfied.”
Callahan stepped back, smoothing his shirt. “Perhaps your next penance will address greed and gluttony.”
“Dorian!” Bianca’s voice rang from the front.
“Yeah?” he croaked.
Her cackle echoed. “Oh, I’m telling Maverick!”
Dorian pushed off the wall, legs unsteady. His gaze dropped to the obvious bulge in Callahan’s slacks. “I could—”
“Go back to work,” Callahan cut in gently. “We shouldn’t linger.”
Dorian sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “When can I see you again?”
Callahan’s expression softened. He pulled the napkin from his pocket. “I’ll let you know.” A pause. “Behave.”
“Yes, Father.”
Dorian slipped back inside just in time to catch a balled-up bar rag to the chest. He snatched it mid-air and glared at Maverick, who sat unimpressed behind the counter.
“Next time we call bullshit,” Maverick said, “come up with a better excuse than the Lord. That neck of yours doesn’t lie.”
Bianca leaned in, eyes gleaming. “So who is he? Tall, dark, and handsome like you?”
Dorian lobbed the rag at her. She ducked; it smacked Maverick square in the face. Laughter rolled down the bar.
Dorian grinned, washing his hands at the sink, the fresh bruise throbbing sweetly against his pulse.
“Oh, believe me,” he said, “no one’s tamed anything.”