CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 8

DORIAN

I stayed in the confessional after Ezra left.

The wood felt too tight around me. The air too heavy. His voice still echoed, broken and desperate—I thought of your hands. Yours.

My cock was already hard.

I gripped my thigh, forcing myself to breathe. “God,” I whispered, jaw tight. “What the fuck are you doing to me?”

Silence answered back.

I should’ve shut him down earlier. I should’ve cut him off before he spilled everything, but instead, I pushed. I wanted to hear it. I needed to hear it. And now my entire body was burning.

The image wouldn’t leave me. Ezra on his knees. Ezra trembling. Ezra begging.

“Fuck.” I pressed the heel of my hand against my cock through the black fabric of my slacks. It didn’t help. The hardness throbbed.

I shoved the door open and left the booth, my pace quick, steps loud against the stone floor. The church was empty now. Good. No one to see me lose control.

I locked myself in the vestry, slammed the door shut, leaned against it. My breath came ragged.

“Stop thinking about him,” I muttered. “He’s a boy. He’s innocent. You’re his priest.”

My cock strained against my zipper in reply.

I dragged a hand down my face. His kiss. That one accidental kiss, days ago—it had been enough to crawl into my mind and never leave. His mouth was soft. His lips tasted sweet. And now I knew what was hiding in his head.

I thought of you. I thought of you using me.

I should’ve been disgusted. I should’ve been furious. Instead, I was hard as hell, and the only thing running through my head was how it would feel to split him open, to hear him cry my name while I—

“No.” I slammed my palm against the table. “No. You don’t get to think that.”

I paced the room, muttering under my breath like a man possessed.

“You’re a priest. You made vows. You don’t want him. You don’t want him.”

But I did. I wanted him so badly it ached.

My mind betrayed me again. Ezra on my lap. Ezra bent over the pew. Ezra with his curls in my fist while I shoved into his throat.

I groaned and squeezed my cock through my pants. The pressure made my knees weak.

“God, forgive me,” I whispered, head thrown back. “I’m filth. I’m—”

The words cut off when another thought hit me—Ezra’s eyes looking up at me in the confessional, wide, guilty, shining with tears as he confessed.

My cock jerked.

I yanked my hand away, swearing. “Stop. Stop.”

But I couldn’t.

Every filthy thing I’d buried deep down was surfacing now. I wanted to break him. I wanted to hear him beg for mercy. I wanted to mark him until he couldn’t walk without remembering me.

I dropped to my knees, not in prayer, but because my legs couldn’t hold me anymore. I bent forward, forehead to the floor. “Take this away,” I muttered, over and over. “Take it away. Take it away.”

But the hardness stayed.

I sat back on my heels, hand gripping my cock again, tight this time. Precise. I stroked myself through the fabric, groaning low.

“This is wrong,” I hissed, teeth clenched. “This is fucking wrong.”

But I couldn’t stop.

My head fell back. My throat worked with each ragged breath. I imagined him again—Ezra, flushed and ruined, lips swollen from kissing, eyes wet, voice breaking as he begged me to keep going.

“Dorian—please—”

My hips jerked forward helplessly.

The sound of my own voice startled me. I’d moaned. Out loud.

“Fuck.” I gripped harder, faster, chasing the edge. My whole body was trembling now. Sweat gathered at the back of my neck.

Then it hit—the wave of it, sharp and overwhelming. My release burned through me, spilling hot into my clothes. I bit down hard on my own knuckles to keep from groaning too loud.

When it was over, I fell back against the wall, panting.

Shame poured in.

I looked down at the mess I’d made. My collar was still tight around my neck. My hands still trembling.

“God,” I whispered hoarsely. “What am I becoming?”

The silence offered no answer.

I dragged myself to the sink, splashed cold water on my face. My reflection stared back at me. Dark eyes. Tight jaw. A man I barely recognized.

I muttered, “That boy is going to be the end of me.”

And I wasn’t sure I cared.

I stayed in the vestry long after the heat drained out of me. My collar still clung tight to my throat, and my mind wouldn’t stop replaying his voice in the confessional.

I shouldn’t have asked him that question.

I shouldn’t have listened.

I shouldn’t have wanted.

My jaw locked. “You’re a priest, Dorian. You don’t fall like this.”

But I already was falling.

I shoved open the vestry door and walked out, my footsteps echoing in the empty church. The air smelled of candle wax and old wood. It should’ve been comforting, but it felt like a cage tonight.

I paced the nave, each step sharp against the marble floor.

“You’re supposed to guide him,” I muttered under my breath. “Not fucking corrupt him.”

I turned down the aisle, running a hand over the backs of the pews. Smooth wood, polished by decades of hands. My voice grew louder in the empty space.

“He’s just a boy.” I stopped walking. My teeth ground together. “He’s just a boy.”

But the word didn’t sit right. Ezra wasn’t a child. He was a man, twenty-two, old enough to know what desire was. Old enough to want. And God help me, he wanted me.

“Stop it,” I snapped at myself, and my voice bounced back off the walls. “You don’t think that. You don’t even say that.”

I dragged in a long breath, then started moving again, taking laps around the church. Up the center aisle. Around the pulpit. Past the pews. Again. Again.

Each step was supposed to burn the thoughts out of me. Supposed to ground me. But my body betrayed me. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. Ezra in his robe. Ezra’s flushed face. Ezra whispering my name when he thought no one could hear.

“God,” I muttered, running my fingers through my hair. “You really gave me this test, didn’t you?”

I stopped in front of the altar. Bowed my head. Tried to pray.

“Keep me steady. Keep me clean. Don’t let me fall.”

My voice cracked on the last word.

I stayed like that for a while. Minutes. Maybe hours. It was hard to tell.

When I finally lifted my head, I knew I couldn’t stay in this building any longer. Not tonight.

I walked through the side door and out into the night air. Cool. Crisp. Quiet. The sky was a dark stretch, dotted with stars that barely pierced the city’s glow.

My house sat just near the church compound—a small, stone house with ivy on the walls and a garden too well-kept for a man who didn’t have time for it. Someone in the parish tended it for me. Roses, herbs, a little fountain. It looked… peaceful. Beautiful, even.

I unlocked the door and stepped inside. The place smelled faintly of wood and old books. My furniture was simple. Dark leather chair. Small desk. Shelves of theology.

I closed the door behind me, leaned against it, and let out a sharp laugh. Bitter.

“Small, beautiful house,” I muttered. “And a rotten man inside it.”

I tossed my collar onto the desk and pulled at the buttons of my shirt until the fabric hung loose. My body still felt wired, restless.

I poured water into a glass and drank it down in one go. My throat ached. My chest too.

I sat in the chair by the window, elbows on my knees. Stared out at the garden.

“You’re not supposed to think of him like that,” I whispered.

But the thought crept in anyway—Ezra in my garden, his curls lit by sunlight, his voice filling the air.

I gritted my teeth. “Stop it.”

The knock of my own voice in the silence was too loud. I dropped my head into my hands.

I didn’t hear the footsteps until it was too late.

“Father Vale?”

I lifted my head. One of the older priests—Barnes—stood there, peering in.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

My mouth tightened. I straightened in the chair. “Yes. I was just… thinking.”

Barnes nodded slowly. He stepped inside, his hands clasped behind his back. “You seemed unsettled tonight. More than usual.”

“I’m fine,” I said, too quickly.

He studied me. “Fine.” His voice was low. He gave me a long look. “You know, Dorian, solitude can be dangerous for men like us. Our vows weigh heavier when no one is watching.”

My chest clenched. “I know.”

“Stay strong,” he said. He touched my shoulder briefly. “The youth need discipline. Not men who falter.”

My throat burned. “I understand.”

Barnes gave me a small nod. “Good night, then.”

“Good night.”

When the door closed again, I let out a sharp breath. My hands curled into fists.

He had no idea how close I already was to faltering.

I pushed up from the chair and walked another lap around my little house. Kitchen. Living room. Hallway. Circle back. Over and over. My mind wouldn’t stop.

“You won’t fall,” I told myself. “You can’t.”

But deep down, I knew the truth. I already had.