Page 85 of The Sin Eater

He comes first, with a yell loud enough to put my pretty little scream to shame. I can’t get too het up over it because my own climax smashes through me, a wave of pleasure so deep I may never surface.

When I do, I’m belly to belly with Damon, nuzzling his throat, his arms wrapped around me like he never wants to let go. We lay there breathing together until his cock slides out of me and my cum starts to itch where it’s stuck between us.

With a happy sigh, I sit up, shivering a little at the loss of his heat. His expression warms me, especially when he asks, “This is real, right? We’re a thing now.”

I put my hand over his heart. “Yup. We are definitely a thing.”

His eyes close, but his smile doesn’t fade. “Good.”

I get a warm cloth to clean us up, then snuggle in next to him, using his shoulder as a pillow. The mattress is just wide enough for both of us and yeah, there are clothes hanging overhead so it’s less than ideal. My last conscious thought before sleep takes me is that I might have to look for a bigger apartment.

As long as Damon is there, any place will be okay.

Epilogue

Ezra

Six months later

June in Seattle is its own beast. Some days are clearly summer-adjacent. Others deserve it when we call them Juneuary. After three years in this town, nothing surprises me, though I’m amused by people who dress for the calendar rather than the actual weather.

Shorts and a tee when it’s 50 degrees? You do you, boo.

Today is definitely a Juneuary day, though it’s warmer than the last time we visited the Carnival. That’s where we’re headed again, although this time I’m driving Dorothy May.

Micah heard from Jett that the carnival would be back in town this weekend, so my first stop is a block off East Aloha St, near Volunteer Park. Micah rents a small studio, and today his husband Anders is with him. I double-park out front of his incongruously modern building and send a text to let them know I’ve arrived.

Anders comes out first. He’s at least as big as Damon, maybe taller, and kinda shaggy, with reddish-brown curls and the permanent shadow of a beard. Micah’s right behind him, hair doing a full-Elvis and his smile wide. They’re both dressed inblack, both looking sexy and dangerous, and only Micah comes around the car to get in the back seat.

Anders stands there, arms crossed, gaze narrow. I roll down the window and ask, “What’s wrong?”

“You’re driving a classic.” He says it suspiciously, as if I somehow broke into a museum and came out with a Model T.

“I’m driving Dorothy May. Get in or get left behind.” I roll the window up and glance at Micah in the rearview.

He’s cracking up. “He’s kind of old school.”

“I guess.”

I put the car in reverse without taking my foot off the brake. Anders must hear the soft clunk when the gears change, because he does get in. “What year is this thing?”

“Sixty-seven.”

“You’re driving a nineteen sixty-seven Camaro?”

“Yup, and now you’re riding in it,” I say, at the same time as Micah says, “I told you he had a cool car.”

“No, but, this is a fucking classic.” Anders’ eyes are wide and he’s rubbing his palms over the seats. “Leather and everything.”

“V-8 engine and the original Nantucket Blue paint job, too.” I might be a little smug. “Only the best for Dorothy May.”

I pull out into traffic, pretending to ignore the whispers from the back seat.

“His car’s name is Dorothy May?”

“Yes, now stop being a dick and enjoy the ride.”

That makes me laugh all the way down 10thAvenue. I forgo the freeway and cut along the top of Eastlake to get to the U District, answering Anders’s questions about where I got the car and when. “I inherited her from my grandmother and, regardless of her actual worth, she’s my most valuable possession.”