All Chapters of Forgive Me: Marked By The Priest: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

“You condemn my passions, yet your eyes betray you—flickering with a hunger that grows harder to ignore.”Ezreal’s POVMorning light crept lazily through the curtains, slicing across the room in pale beams. I sat at my desk, the glow of the surveillance monitor flickering before me. One of the cameras showed the bathroom from last night.And there he was.Baron. The holy priest. The righteous man of God. On his knees on the cold tile floor, one hand gripping the sink, the other wrapped around his cock, stroking himself with frantic, desperate movements.I leaned forward, every detail consuming me. His face was twisted in shame, jaw clenched, eyes wet. He bit down on his lip as though he could bite back the groans spilling out of him. But he couldn’t. His body betrayed him, writhing and aching until he finally came with a strangled groan, spilling his seed across the porcelain like a filthy confession.A slow, triumphant smile spread across my lips.The priest. The man who onc

“Forgive me, Father, for I find solace in the thought of exploring the darkness within you, a mirror to my own.”Ezreal’s POV Business before pleasure. That was the rule I wanted to build my empire on.But lately, I haven't been steadfast in that principle.Still, when Vincent told me that one of our clients had stopped paying his dues, I didn’t hesitate. Discipline had to come first. Mercy had a price, and no one could afford it in my city. Not even me.We left early, before dawn. The city was half asleep, veiled in fog and the smell of rain. Vincent drove in silence, which I appreciated. He knew better than to speak when my mood was black.The drive took an hour. Long enough for my mind to drift… back to the priest I’d left behind.Baron.The man had no idea what he’d done to me.Two days, and I could still feel the ghost of his breath against my skin. Still hear the small, broken sound he’d made when I touched him. I told myself leaving him was the right thing. But truthfu

"Chained as I am, by the very bonds he forged, my essence constricted... a prisoner of his will. Tell me, then, how you dare to touch the hand that holds my fate?” EZRAEL’S POVMy hands were balled into fists, knuckles white with suppressed fury, as I marched toward my study. I didn't have to look back to know Vincent was following me. His presence was a given. As soon as I crossed the threshold, I stopped and turned around, the cold air of the room matching the glacial state of my mood. “Summon them,” I ordered, my ice cold voice a reflection of my anger. “All of them. Every single bodyguard under my roof.”Vincent nodded once, his expression impassive, and vanished as quickly as a shadow in the night. The efficiency of my people was usually a point of pride. Today, it was just a mechanism to feed the fire I needed to extinguish.It took less than five minutes for them to gather. My bodyguards stood in neat, formidable rows in the main hall. There must have been close to sixty

“When I condemned him to prison, I did not foresee the abyss I tied to our souls, an iron fate that clamps us in perpetual night… Forgive Me.”BARON’S POVI woke up to the steady beeping of a heart monitor.White light pressed against my eyelids, sharp and sterile. For a moment, I thought I was dead, maybe in some halfway place between heaven and whatever waited for people like me. But then the pain came. My arms burned. My chest throbbed... I could feel the thin sheets sticking to my skin where small cuts had started to close.I blinked hard, and the room focused into view. A hospital. Cold tiles. IV line. Bandages on my hands.My breath hitched.“What—” My voice cracked, barely a whisper. “What happened?” I asked no one in particular.The last thing I remembered was Ezreal. His hard dick in my mouth. The warmth of his hand on my jaw. The taste of his cum... then nothing. Everything after that was blank.And now this.Was the blood mine or was it someone else's? Judging by the

“Even in his absence I continue to crave his Hell.” BARON’S POVThe morning light bled softly through the curtains, painting the church walls in gold and white. Dust floated through the air like faint whispers, settling over the cracked wooden floor. The church was quiet—too quiet—as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.I sat across from my father, his old wooden desk between us.He looked tired—more so than I’d ever seen him. His gray hair seemed paler, his hands trembling slightly as he poured himself a cup of coffee. I could hear the faint clink of the spoon as he stirred, slow and mechanical.“So,” he said finally, his eyes not meeting mine, “tell me what happened that day.”I hesitated, staring down at my hands. There were still faint marks on my wrists, almost invisible now, but I could feel them—the echo of his touch.“I don’t remember much,” I lied softly. “I was taken, locked somewhere. I didn’t see who it was.”The words tasted bitter as they left my mouth.