In the last installment of The Confessional
In the first installment of The Confessional
Work was torture. My mind kept dragging me back to the church, to that locked office, to being on my knees and the thick, velvet weight of Lorenzoâs cock sliding past my lips.
That first rectory tasteâlicking him clean after he spilled to my nameâhad been nothing compared to last night in his office.
I could still feel the ache in my jaw, the pulse against my tongue, the hot flood of his release when heâd emptied himself down my throat while I mumbled the Lordâs Prayer around him.
Grunting. Suckling.
Worshipping the new center of my universe.
No longer just serving the Lord.
Serving him.
I hoisted another bundle of roofing tiles onto my shoulder, muscles straining under the weight, and carried them to the hoist platform.
We were re-roofing a tidy Victoria house todayâgingerbread trim, soft sage siding, the kind of place I usually notice, cataloging its charm.
Today? Nothing registered.
My head was full of him. The low command in his voice, the way his fingers had framed my skull like a benediction while he fucked my face with liturgical rhythm.
âYou doing all right today, Matteo?â Garyâs arm landed heavy around my shouldersâfriendly, steady, concerned. My boss had a soft spot for me; I reminded him of his deceased son.
I blinked hard, forcing focus. âYeah. Just ⌠a lot on my mind. Sorry if Iâm slowing us down.â
âYouâre moving like youâre underwater, kid. Pick it up a bitâweâve got to wrap by Thursday in time for Easter weekend.â
I nodded, throat tight. âItâs just church stuff on my mind.â
Garyâs brow lifted. âFather Lorenzo holding up okay with the other priests away?â
Lorenzo wasnât just holding up. He was thriving in his solitudeâsetting himself up as my sole point of gravity. The man I needed to command me.
The one I ached to please, to fill, to empty myself for.
âHeâs ⌠blessed,â I managed. âGuided by the Spirit. Bringing comfort to everyone who needs it.â I cleared my throat. âHeâs managing well on his own. Praise be.â
Gary clapped my shoulder. âGood. Donât let church stuff drag you under. Hustle, yeah?â
I grabbed the next bundle and moved faster, letting the repetitive motion dull the edges.
The rest of the afternoon blurredâlift, carry, stack, repeatâwhile Lorenzo crowded every corner of my brain. His taste. His scent.
The way heâd called me âgood boyâ when I swallowed every drop.
By the time I got home, I was wreckedâsweat-soaked shirt clinging to my back, muscles aching, cock half-hard just from the memory of him. I steadied myself against the hallway wall when I heard his voice drifting from the kitchen. Deep, smooth, rumbling like distant thunder.
He was here. Visiting our parents like nothing had changed.
I ducked my head in so Mom wouldnât scold me later for being rude. The sight of him, broad shoulders filling the chair, long legs stretched under the table, white collar stark against tanned skin, nearly buckled my knees. He turned, caught my eye, and smiled, warmâbrotherly.
Innocent.
As though I hadnât choked on his cock last night.
As though I hadnât swallowed his cum while reciting scripture.
âHey, Matteo.â He rose, crossed the room in two strides, and pulled me into a hug. His body pressed closeâsolid, warm, carrying the aroma of soap and the spring heat. His mouth found my ear.
âYou smell exactly as you should,â he whispered, breath hot against my skin, voice low and warm. âSweaty ⌠and so full of the same longing I feel.â
I clung to him so I wouldnât collapse, fingers digging into the back of his shirt. My cock jerked hard against my jeans.
He pulled back, voice carrying normally again. âAfter dinner, I was hoping you could help me with something at the church. I need your ⌠unique expertise.â
The praise hit like a caress. I had satisfied him. He wanted me again.
My chest hummed with dark pleasure.
âYes, Father,â I said softly, head dipping in instinctive reverence.
He ruffled my hairâaffectionate, possessiveâthen let his fingers linger a moment longer, thumb brushing my temple gently.
âGo shower.â
I jogged upstairs, stripped in my room, then stepped under the scalding spray. The water pounded my shoulders, but all I could think about was him downstairs, calm, composed, chatting with our parents, while I stood naked above him, cock thickening at the thought of him
I ran a soapy hand down my chest, pinching a nipple until it stung, then lowerâover the freshly shaved skin of my groin, my balls, the smooth length of my thighs.
Iâd taken the razor to everything last night. Arms, legs, chest, groin. Bare. Vulnerable. Pure for him. Ready to be marked, used, and owned.
My palm wrapped around my cockâslow, deliberate. One long stroke. It throbbed in response, leaking steadily. I could edge myself right here, chase the brink, spill for him in secret.
But I stopped. Hand falling away. Breath ragged.
My pleasure belonged to him now. He would decide whenâor ifâI came.