Epilogue
TIMOTHY
The leather of the chair creaked under my grip as I tried, truly tried, to maintain some semblance of composure.
The Wolf Town Club stretched beneath the balcony in a wash of colored lights, heat, and bodies. Music pulsed through the floor and into my ribs, steady and relentless, matching the rising tension in my body far too accurately.
I kept my gaze trained outward. Down at the dancers.
The bar. The gods lingering on the periphery, watching me the way lesser predators watch a lion at a watering hole.
They were deferential. In the weeks since defeating Seth, they had all been filtering into Sinopolis to show their deference.
Even if they resentfully did so, I knew they were too scared to cross me now.
It benefited them to stay in my favor. To keep the peace.
I should have been assessing them in return. Cataloging alliances. Noting posture and expression. Applying logic to politics.
Instead, all my focus was trained on one thing.
Aaron down below in the VIP box where they couldn’t see, his hands braced on my thighs for balance, bucked with every slow pass of his tongue.
I did everything in my power not to move. My fingers curled around the armrests. Sweat gathered at my lower back. Glowing glyphs tickled the ends of my fingertips as the base of my spine tightened.
“Timothy,” Aaron murmured, amusement coloring the word, “don’t fight it.”
Aaron sucked me down his throat so far, I let out a shout. The bass-heavy music vibrated through the floor, mercifully drowning out my cry as his tongue worked the sensitive underside.
“I am not fighting,” I said, though my voice was strained as several gods below looked up to catch my gaze. My cock throbbed against the roof of his mouth, each pulse threatening my composure.
Aaron’s grip tightened on my hips to hold me still. “You’re trying to sit there and act like the respectable god of the dead while I’m doing this. That counts as fighting.”
I swallowed hard. “I am attempting dignity.”
“Dignity is overrated,” he punctuated the point by taking me to the hilt again, his throat constricting around my swollen head in a way that made pre-come leak from me.
My fingers crushed the leather armrests. My pelvis strained upward involuntarily. My head fell back as pleasure surged through me before I forced myself upright, scanning the club with feigned nonchalance while Aaron's mouth devoured me. I cleared my throat to steady myself.
Aaron’s mouth was a wet vice, insistent and artful, tracing my throbbing length until delirium bloomed behind my eyes. The sense of being picked apart, blood and thread, was nearly as sharp as the pleasure itself. A bead of sweat tickled down my temple.
“Keep going,” I ground out, fingers tunneling through Aaron’s thick hair.
Aaron looked up, mouth slick. His pupils were enormous, the blue nearly swallowed by black, like the night sky sucked into a drain.
“Yes, sir,” he said, and there was no sarcasm, only smug delight.
His hands slid up and bracketed my hips, his mouth working faster now, lips stretched wet and slick, tongue never letting up. The club crowd heaved with sound and pheromones; the air grew close and laden with ozone and lotus. My vision flickered.
We were out in the open. Anyone could come up here and see what was happening.
But it turned out some rules were more fun to break than others.
Every flick of Aaron's tongue sent electric waves cascading across my skin, driving me closer to the edge.
The tension in my body reached a breaking point, and with a final, desperate cry, I came undone.
Pleasure surged through me, white-hot and blinding, as I spilled into Aaron's mouth.
He swallowed every drop, his throat working around me, prolonging the ecstasy until I was shaking and breathless.
The world slowly came back into focus, the music and the lights and the distant murmur of the crowd below.
I looked down at Aaron, his lips slick and swollen, his eyes filled with satisfaction and something softer, something that made my chest ache.
He rose with that infuriating confidence he had earned the right to wield, sliding into the seat next to me in one smooth motion.
I steadied my breath, my hand finding his face with reverence. Leaning over, I kissed him, tasting my essence on his tongue.
“That was incredibly inappropriate,” I chided him without any heat.
“Well, what you did when I woke up was inappropriate.”
I couldn’t help the smirk forming on my face. He woke up with his legs up, me sliding into him, hand fisted around his cock that had hardened in sleep.
He came, fangs deep in me as he drank while I came inside him. A strange circle of life formed between us, though we were both far beyond such things as immortals.
Even as a god, I knew the truth—power could be stolen, worship could vanish, and eternity could unravel faster than a mortal heartbeat. We could lose everything tomorrow.
But as our fingers interlocked, I realized the uncertainty didn’t frighten me anymore. I had spent so long denying myself what I wanted, pretending desire was dangerous.
I’d grown so accustomed to the quiet ache of being alone that I mistook it for equilibrium. It clung to me through lifetimes, through empires, through wars no one remembered but me.
Then Aaron walked into my world, a force of nature that dismantled my loneliness with one reckless smile. Immortality had never promised me connection. It certainly never promised joy. Yet here he was, blood bound to me, steady at my side. I realized now the danger was in waiting.
Nothing about the future was a guarantee, but for the first time in ages, I found myself looking forward to it.
Want to play catch up with Aaron & Miranda at Perkatory?
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