Page 52 of The Idol

“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 wherehis 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.