Cars clogged the curb in front of my parents’ house.

“Two o’clock,” Rohan said. “We’re being glared at.”

Mrs. Jepson’s curtains twitched, but not before we caught a glimpse of her trademark floral apron.

I nudged Ace. “Twenty bucks says she finally has an aneurysm about the cars blocking her curb.”

Ari snorted. “She’s been promising that for years. We’re not that lucky.”

The cedar and stained glass front door was ajar. We stepped inside, a loud hum of chatter and Céline Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” swamping us, and were immediately approached by a caterer bearing a tray of champagne.

“Why yes, thanks.” I helped myself to a flute. Ari, Rohan, and I clinked glasses. “Get Dad off music duty.”

Ari grabbed one more champagne flute. “On it.”

Two other servers circulated with hors d’oeuvres. I examined their offerings before committing to the order of appetizer consumption.

“Your birthday dinner is catered?” Rohan said.

“But of course.” My parents always used the same caterers. Their cheesy zucchini mini quiche were a special treat and I helped myself to two. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

“For what?”

“So many things.” I laughed bitterly. “Just remember that I have no expectations of you playing nice with my family.”

“How bad could this be?”

“It’s like being disemboweled. You expect it’ll be bad, but until you’ve experienced it you can’t actually fathom its awful depths.” I ran my hands down his arms. “I appreciate you being here.”

“Sparky, be it demons or family members, I’ve got your back.”

I exhaled. “Okay. Game time.” I dragged him through the foyer, down the hallway past the grids of framed family photos, and into the living room, opened for this momentous occasion.

The crush of people helped a bit with the room’s general soullessness, though most of them wore black, so they kind of blended into the black-and-white brocade wallpaper.

One of the caterers cleared away the drinks and empty small plates strewn over the modular coffee table.

“Whoa.” Rohan slowed as the packed room turned and stared at our entrance.

“Wait for it,” I muttered. “Blue rinse on your nine.”

“Nava!” A tiny freight train of a woman with a blue-tinted perm barreled toward us. She air-kissed my cheek, bestowing birthday greetings, and then turned her gossip-attuned eye on Rohan. “Are you one of the security boys that Nava does secretarial work for?”

I choked on my quiche.

Rohan patted my back with one hand while extending his other to shake. “Rohan. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Ellen Tannery. I’m Associate Dean of Dov’s Law Department.”

I wiped my mouth with the cocktail napkin. “Rohan’s my boyfriend.”

“Really?” Another women turned with a prim sniff. Awesome, my mom’s aunt Alexia had arrived. Ro got full credit for only giving the mildest startled blink at her overly made-up face with her botoxed forehead that wouldn’t move with a dynamite blast to the face, and her collagen-injected lips that she swore were merely “good genes.”

The Michael Bolton song playing cut out, replaced by Ed Sheeran’s “Shape of You.” Praise unto Ari.

Alexia waved at Rohan with an asparagus tip. “This handsome young man is really your boyfriend?”

“Will wonders never cease?” I said in a tight voice.

Thus began the Parade of Making Nice, involving Rohan and I circulating from group to group while I smiled through a litany of backhanded insults on my professional status from my parents’ faculty friends and blatant disbelief on my love life from my family members. No, that’s not fair. There were family members that combined both, like my half-deaf great uncle Moishe, holding court in Dad’s recliner, who repeated his slights in a voice only slightly quieter than a stadium announcer’s.

Ro was shell-shocked by the time we’d navigated the room once. “These people are horrible.”

“Yeah. Come on, Snowflake.” I tugged on his hand. “You’ve done your time. I’m pronouncing you officially freed for good behavior. Leo will have corralled our friends in the TV room. You’ll be safe there.”

I led Rohan past the charcuterie table first so he could load up on protein because his left eyebrow was twitching, generally a sign he was starving. Though it might also have been PTSD. I shoved a small plate into his hands then waved discreetly at Ari, his elbow caught in a death grip by one of mom’s co-workers. He had the same pained expression on his face he always did when she tried to set him up with her douchebag son. I tipped my head to the door to let him know we were making our escape.

Leo, bless her heart, took one look at Ro and stuffed her highball into his hand. “Start now and keep up a steady intake,” she said. “It’ll make this night go much easier.”

He tossed the drink back. “Can’t we just go fight demons?”

“What do you think we’ve been doing for the past hour?” I grabbed another champagne flute from a passing server and chugged it down.

“Going to greet the parents now?” Leo asked.

I shoved the empty glass in her hand. “Wish me luck.”

I caught my dad sneaking back into the home office, his phone in his hand. He’d dressed up for the occasion, which meant replacing his sweater vest with a plaid button-down shirt that had been ironed to within an inch of its life. “Freeze.”

He stilled mid-reach for the docking system plugged into the house-wide speakers. “You don’t even know what I’m going to play.”

“Steve Miller’s greatest hits.”

He blinked owlishly at me. “Are you psychic?”

“I can see your screen.”

“They’re classics.” He huffed. “Besides, you don’t have time to worry about music. Go talk more with all your guests.”

“Oh, sure.” I planted my hands on my hips. “Should I go slip into my Handmaid’s Tale robe now? Because secretary at a security firm, really, Dad? Uncle Izzy already mansplained how I need to find a nice Jewish boy and get married now that all my dance mishegoss is done with. Haven’t heard that one since last Hanukkah, so it was just swell to be told that if I found the right Executive to work for my M.R.S. was assured.”

“Sweetheart, no one was going to believe the girl who spent the past year racking up temp jobs was hired for any type of actual security position. Be logical.”

I logically wanted to brain him with his phone. I placed my hand on my diaphragm, using a breathing technique from tap to calm the fuck down. “Happy birthday to me.”

“Always. What does a clam do on his birthday?”

I exhaled, rolling back my shoulders and visibly bracing myself for the groaner to come. Dad said so many of the wrong things, but he was the first one with a joke to make light of a situation.

I was my father. Kill me now.

“You ready? Can you take it?” Dad asked.

“I’ve been training. I’m in pretty peak freaking shape. Hit me. What does a clam do on his birthday?”

“He shellabrates. Ba-dum. Tshh.” He mimed hitting a drum set.

“Wow.” I was totally telling that to Ari.

He kissed the side of my head. “Go find your mother. Someone spilled Merlot on her blouse and she’s having a clothing crisis about what to change into.”

We exchanged wry grins. Mom didn’t cope well with on-the-fly decisions.

“Going. Stay away from the music or you’ll remember what magic powers I do have.”

I knocked on my mother’s bedroom door before pushing it open with an “All hail the birthday girl.”

Mom stood in a black pencil skirt and black camisole, a variety of tasteful black blouses arrayed on the bed. She frowned at my blue dress, running a hand over her honey-blonde bob. “Really, Nava. Haven’t you and Ari outgrown that ridiculous show of petulance?” She dropped her hand. “Dear God. What happened to your chin?”

I blushed, cupping my hand over it. I’d thought the ton of concealer I’d used had done the trick since no one else had commented, but Mom had X-ray vision when it came to finding my flaws. “Demon,” I mumbled.

She tsked me. “What’s done is done.”

I kissed her cheek. “Lovely to see you, too, Mom. What’s the problem? Having trouble choosing between black and slightly less black?”

“I had a perfectly good blouse, but your cousin Shauna spilled wine on it.” She fiddled with her tasteful gold chain. “I swear that women has nothing better to do than hold a grudge.”

I flung her closet door open. “Since it’s a party…” In theory. “Here.” I pulled out the brightest shirt I could find: a jade green number with its tags still on.

“Your father bought me that.” She raked a critical eye over it. “I think the color would make me look a bit… desperate.”

“You’re right. If you put it on, everyone would be like ‘cougar it down a notch.’”

She laughed. “You’re the payback my mother warned me about. Go enjoy your party. I’ll be down momentarily.”

Duty done, I fled back to the TV room.

Rohan patted the seat next to him and I gratefully sank into his embrace. “You want another drink?” he said.

“Yes, but no. My mom has enough ammunition for tonight.”

Leo sat down on top of me. I sniffed her neck for her Sexy Ruby perfume. “Ooh, smell me, baby.” She draped her arms around my neck and smooched my cheek.

Ro put his hand on my knee. “That’s mine.”

Leo made a raspberry noise. “I pre-date you.” She swung her legs onto his lap. “But if you’re good, I’ll share.”

Rohan winked at her. “I’m very good.”

Leo leaned back against me. “How good? On a scale of one to ten with one being a pleasant foot massage and ten being Ricky Whittle banging me senseless on the glass elevator going up the outside of the CN Tower?”

Ro cough-laughed.

“What?” she said. “TMI?”

“More oddly specific,” he replied.

I tugged on Leo’s hair. “Plus, I’m the only one you’re supposed to objectify tonight.”

“Right.” She mouthed “We’ll talk later” at Ro.

“Can I get you ladies anything?” he said. Leo requested some more goat cheese-stuffed figs and Ro left.

“You didn’t invite Drio?” I asked.

“I did. He said he was too jetlagged.”

Or was he still hurt? I didn’t say anything to Leo because I didn’t want to make her mad and have her drain me dry. I pushed her off me. “Your free trial of my goods has ended. You want me to put out? Sign up. Very attractive lease rates.”

“Eh. I’m gonna shop around.” She hopped up and straightened her silver velvety sundress, her plethora of silver jewelry tinkling. “Wait here.” She skipped off, returning a moment later carrying a large gift.

I ripped open the envelope to find a little kid’s card. A “Now you are 2!” button fell out. Leo had added a “one” in red crayon. That explained the button Ari had pinned to his shirt. Inside the card, she’d written “About time you were my friend again, dummy.” She’d covered one side of the card in heart stickers.

“I love you, Leo.”

She nudged my shoulder. “Love you, too. Open it.”

I tore into the gift. “No way. You remembered.”

Leo and I used to go see movies all the time, often at this odd little mall downtown that most people only went to for either the theater or the Japanese dollar store. But there was also this art gallery featuring a lot of local artists that we’d hang out in while waiting for our movie to start. The art was weird and wonderful, from pastel portraits of cute monsters to vivid paintings involving fractured fairy tale tableaux. My favorite artist was Camilla D’Errico, who painted these doe-eyed anime girls. One had an octopus hanging off her head, another painting featured a unicorn-horned girl emerging from a Technicolor sea.

Leo had bought me one of D’Errico’s framed prints of Neo New York, this Blade Runner-type cityscape. A girl with a hot pink umbrella stood downcast in the midst of the hustle and bustle of the city. I’d always said I’d buy it as soon as I had my own place.

I tackled her in a hug until she proclaimed that I was suffocating her, then I slid the painting behind the sofa so no one spilled anything on it. “Hey, can I ask you a work question?”

She pinned my button on me. “I haven’t heard anything about Candyman.”

“Not that. Ever heard of an oshk?”

Leo laughed. “Where’d you hear that urban legend?”

“Not so legendy. I saw one.”

Leo looked skeptical. “Oshk is the bogeyman of demons. It’s what mommy and daddy demons tell baby demons when they’re bad. Bad in the wrong ways for demons.”

“I never thought about demon parenting,” I said.

“It leaves a lot to be desired.” She scratched her cheek. “Shit. That might explain why some of the demons in town seem to have disappeared.”

“I’d noticed. Eaten?”

“Or took off.”

“Do oshk hurt people?”

“It’s only the one. The oshk is a Unique. But no on the hurting people. Not that I’ve ever heard.”

I hoped this wasn’t a first-time-for-everything scenario.

Citrus perfume teased my senses as a woman pressed into my side. My cousin Yael, my favorite family member after Ari. “Who’s the hottie?”

I pushed aside her explosive corkscrew curls that I’d envied most of my life to kiss her cheek. “Which one?”

All three of us looked at Ro, Ari, and Kane, chatting in a corner. Rephrase. Ro was chatting with them both. Ari and Kane were standing stiffly in the same general vicinity.

“Start with the one Ari is obviously desperate for.”

Leo laughed and stood up. “Good to see you again, Yael.”

My cousin beamed up at her. “You too, pipsqueak.”

Leo went to join the guys while I examined my cousin. “How do you make middle-age look so hot?”

“I’m thirty-three, asshole.” She ran a hand over the gray tank dress she wore. “Also, I have good genes.”

I shuddered. “You better hope you didn’t inherit those, because you’ll be playing tetherball with that rack of yours when you hit fifty. Where’s the monster?”

“With the sperm donor.” Her expression darkened at the mention of her ex.

“I bet you have photos.”

Yael pulled out her phone so fast, she almost brained me with her elbow. She scrolled through each of the hundred photos of her seven-year-old daughter, complete with detailed explanation of what Rachel was doing in each one.

I lasted for about eighteen photos before smothering myself with a pillow.

She pulled the phone away. “You made it through about four photos longer this time. Wow, you’re all mature and shit.” She elbowed me. “Now spill.”

That was all the prompting I needed to give up the gossip between Ari and Kane. Yael knew the truth about what Ari and I did, had known even before he’d hidden out at her place to avoid a repeat of another demon getting to him before his powers had become active.

She rubbed her hands together. “I’m going to make him miserable. But first I plan on interrogating your boyfriend. The one you failed to mention you were dating.”

“Ari. That rat.”

My brother must have heard us because he smirked and raised his glass in cheers.

Yael stood up, and I scrambled to my feet. “What would it take to keep you away from him?”

She’d terrified Cole with her inquisition. Granted he was young and nowhere near as arrogant as Snowflake, but I didn’t want Rohan to freak out.

She stroked her chin. “You really like him, don’t you?”

“No shit, considering I’m dating him.”

“More than that. Okay. I’ll stand down. For now.” She broke into an evil cackle.

“You’ll also give me my present.”

Her cackle got eviler, but she handed me a small gift bag.

I peered inside. “Smutty fridge magnet poetry. How thoughtful.”

“Since you’ll soon be old enough to have sex for the first time,” she said. I snorted. “I’m imparting the sage wisdom of how important communication in the bedroom is.”

I flipped the box over to check out the example tiles. “‘Body spank want wet.’ Yes, I anticipate this facilitating mature and reflective conversations around intimacy.”

We cracked up.

My mother entered in one of the black blouses to announce that dinner had been laid out in the dining room. The green one would have really lit her up. Why did I bother? The laughter died on my lips.

Yael nudged me. “Not worth it.”

“Damn straight.” I pasted a smile on my face.

The meal went by without incident. Since it was a buffet, people were free to eat anywhere, so I loaded up my plate and went back into the TV room.

I’d been stopped by more people wanting to say hello, so I was the last one back. Someone had arranged the seating into a loose circle around the coffee table. I took the last empty chair between Leo and Rohan. Yael sat sandwiched between Kane and Ari on the sofa.

“You know.” Kane stabbed at a piece of rotini in pesto-artichoke sauce. “You two being born today makes a lot of sense.”

I swallowed my grilled salmon. It was covered in a mustard-maple syrup vinaigrette I was considering getting a dipping bowl full of, next go around. “Why? Because we’re Geminis and twins?”

“Laaaame,” Leo said.

“No, smarty pants.” Kane smirked. “Because every Gemini I’ve ever known has been stubborn as hell.”

“So true! These two especially.” Yael scooped up some roasted fingerling potatoes. “The stories I could tell.” Which of course she did, though thankfully they were the tame ones.

Ro caught my eye during the tale of me at age six telling my dad that I “rejected his rational opinion in favor of my own.” “I find that so hard to believe,” he said.

“I know.” I pushed the plate away, rubbing my full belly. “I’m so easygoing. You’re truly blessed with my low maintenance.”

“For which I give daily thanks.” Ro helped himself to the remaining rib on my plate.

There was a lot of laughter and silly small talk. It was so different from last year when the only person I’d had here for me had been Ari. I didn’t know Rabbi Abrams or any Rasha, not that the hunters had been invited. Even Yael hadn’t come, in the midst of her horrible divorce. Leo and I hadn’t been speaking and there hadn’t been anyone else I was close enough to want to invite.

You couldn’t pay me to go back to that existence.

Finally we got to my favorite part: the cakes. Everyone sang “Happy Birthday” as caterers brought in the desserts: a “balls inside” St. Honoré with the cream puffs both inside the sheet cake as well as on top for Ari and a super deluxe chocolate for me. Each had twenty-two candles because there had to be the one for good luck on each.

“Make a wish,” Leo called out.

I looked at Rohan, closed my eyes, and blew.

“One boyfriend,” Yael said.

I opened my eyes but she wasn’t talking about my cake.

Ari muttered for her to shut up and blew his last candle out. Silly boy. Might as well have waved a red flag in front of a bull, because Yael grinned and said, “Let’s make a list of candidates!”

Rabbi Abrams had snuck in during the singing, so I brought him a slice of the “balls inside” which Mom always made sure was Kosher.

“Thank you for getting me to Dr. Gelman.”

He took a bite with a happy sigh. “You’re welcome.”

I stood there a moment, fidgeting.

“I’m not mad at you, Navela, but this is a sad situation.”

“I know.”

“You will keep me in the loop on all of it from now on, yes?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “Happy birthday. You are a good Rasha.”

I gave him a watery smile and headed into the powder room down the hall in search of tissue.

“Everything good with Rabbi A?” Rohan held out a piece of chocolate cake to me.

I nodded, throwing my damp tissue in the trash. I hadn’t actually cried which was a total win. “I already tried both kinds.”

“Yeah, but you want seconds of the chocolate.”

I really did. We went and sat on the hallway stairs with our legs nudged together, me occasionally feeding him bites since it was a two-person piece. Fine, it was sharing-sized only because I’d already had two pieces and couldn’t plow through this one alone.

I put the empty plate on the stair beside me, braced my elbows on my knees, and dropped my head in my hands.

Rohan rubbed my back. “Talk to me.”

“I want a do-over on today.” I was rubbed raw. I’d woken up and nearly had a heart attack over Rohan making me think he hadn’t given me a gift, I’d seen Dr. Gelman, checked up on Christina and Naomi, and Sienna had told me I was dumb. I’d had more people ask me when I was going to start doing something useful and having kids than I wanted to count. Even the word of the day for today was awful.

Some things were good. Rabbi Abrams believed in me. But my own dad didn’t. No one in my family, except for Ari and Yael, thought I had what it took to actually do something cool with my life. My insides were a jagged jumble and any birthday happiness I’d accrued lay broken and battered on their sharp edges.

My mom walked past, her heels clicking on the tiles. “Nava, why aren’t you mingling?”

I tensed up.

“She needs a break,” Rohan said.

“Your concern is very nice, dear, but Nava can’t just selfishly hide away when all these guests have come to celebrate with her.”

“Be real,” I said. “Four, maybe five of these guests came to celebrate with me, and they’d all understand. The rest came for you and Dad.”

“It’s not fair to your brother to put this all on him.” Her “as usual” was unspoken but very much implied.

“God knows Ari’s feelings must always come first.”

“There’s no dealing with you when you’re like this.”

I straightened up with a snap. “Like what?”

Rohan stopped rubbing my back. “How about we go outside and get some air?”

“No, Ro. I really want to hear her answer. I’ve been putting up with insults all night at this sham of a birthday that has nothing to do with me, because in my entire fucking life it’s never been about me where she’s concerned. So tell me, Mother Dearest, how I should be behaving?”

“I’m not going to make a scene in front of your guests, no matter how much you want me to. I apologize for my difficult daughter, Rohan, but it was nice to see you again.” She turned away. “Now I need to speak with the caterers.”

“For fuck’s sake, Mom, I’m not being difficult. You’re being a bitch.”

She flinched like I’d slapped her. “I’m sorry you feel that way.” She strode off, holding a hand up to Ari, who’d arrived.

I muttered a curse, curling in on myself.

“You want to go after her?” Rohan said.

“No point right now,” Ari said.

I spread my arms wide. “Lay it on me, bro. I’m a horrible daughter.”

Ari nudged my foot. “No, you’re not. It’s been a long time coming. Take her home?” he asked.

Rohan nodded.

“Happy birthday, Nee,” Ari said, over his shoulder, already heading back into the fray. “There’s no one I’d rather share it with. Even if your sense of timing sucks.”

* * *

Rohan hung Leo’s gift up for me. It looked perfect against the raspberry walls that he’d helped me paint. Now I had the Gregory Hines tap dancing photo on one side of my bed and this print on the other. I’d also tacked up photos of the important people in my life: Leo and me glammed up for a night out, Ari and I at our favorite gelato place, Ms. Clara with a plate of cookies in one hand and her dominatrix whip in the other, Baruch and Rabbi Abrams drinking tea at a café in Jerusalem together, and Kane and Ari mugging with a basketball. Then there were the selfies of Ro and me: us in Prague, here in Vancouver beat up and triumphant throwing devil horns after a nasty demon kill in Stanley Park, and laying on his car at dusk with our best rock star faces on. Ro wore an unbelievably arrogant smirk that made me laugh every time I looked at it, while I’d affected my best sultry pout. I’d get a photo of Drio now that he was back from Rome and stick that up, too.

Rohan tucked me into bed. He wore my “Tap Dancers Need Wood” shirt that was too tight and short on him, fussing over me as he plumped up pillows to go behind my back.

He was amazing.

“I have one more gift for you,” he said.

I traced the line of his abs down to his waistband. “Is it R-rated?”

He picked up the acoustic guitar he’d brought in, his hand curved possessively around it, rummaging through the pocket of his shorts for a pick. He had dozens of them scattered about his room, but he pulled out this matte purple one that, according to his fan boards, was his favorite type.

“Did you write a new song?” I’d recently heard the finished version of the theme song for “Hard Knock Strife” and he was writing music again but, even though he was always willing to play for me while I danced, it was either Fugue State Five songs or covers. He hadn’t let me hear any other new songs.

Ro put his finger to his lips to shush me and I folded my hands in my lap like a good little listener.

“It’s called ‘Slay.’” Head bent, a lock of hair falling forward, Rohan’s first notes were as rich as aged whiskey. The opening melody wove around me, low and clear.

Sucker-punched by a cherub wrapped tight in barb wire

You skirted the shadows

taught me how to soar higher

It started a game

stand one night on its head

My fallen angel’s my home

stack our days end to end

Words poured out of him, his eyes on mine weaving a spell, a story of us, that I wrapped myself in snugger than any blanket. He kept one foot planted on the floor, keeping time, the other bent to support the weight of the guitar.

I listed toward him, drawn in by the warm pull of his smile. My blood heated to a slow drift and my heart kept time with the bass.

His strumming kicked up, his heel driving the rhythm and his voice ringing out for the chorus.

Slay all your demons

I’ll slay all of mine

Light up the darkness

you’re my bottom line

Let’s slay all our demons

I’ll lay down my knives

For you, I’ll lay down my knives

Why don’t you slay?

Come on, just slay,

You know I’ve been slain.

Rohan danced his pick over his knuckles, swallowed, and pursed his lips. “It’s pretty rough. I mean, I haven’t been writing for a while and I might need to edit some parts, but that’s pretty usual and–what?”

My boyfriend had written a song for me. The best song in the history of all mankind.

Pressing my palms against the mattress, I rose up and kissed him. “I love it.”

He set the guitar down. “You needed your own song. For the new album.” He tossed the pick on the nightstand. “I wouldn’t even be writing again if it wasn’t for you.”

I kissed him again, more insistent, pouring every feeling I was too overwhelmed to voice into it. He pulled away, breathless and laughing, and from the tender look he shone on me, he’d understood.

“Sing it again?”

His pleased growl shot electric sparks through my blood. But the smile he bestowed on me? It wasn’t some sexy wattage or the deadly-deserved arrogance of his hunter smirk that got me hot and wet. No, this one, warm and intimate and a bit shy to fully emerge, swelled me up with light and air and a bittersweet ache like there was this amazing thing if I could only stretch my fingertips one more millimeter to grab it tight.

I couldn’t contain it, so I molded it into something I could handle. I got onto my knees, fingering the hem of Ro’s T-shirt. “Keep singing.” I tugged it over his head, pitching it carelessly at the foot of the bed.

His eyes darkened but he started the song again, a capella.

I snapped the button on his shorts and Ro’s voice wavered. I raised an eyebrow and he grinned his apology, singing the chorus in a steadier voice, even as I pulled out his cock, stroking it, luxuriating in the feel of it swelling.

I reached over to the night-table, got the bottle of water-based lube and pressed it into Ro’s hands. He was about to stop singing when I shook my head and took out Snake Clitspin, my S-shaped vibe. He smiled and oiled the toy up just at the chorus.

The song ended right as I hit the “on” button and Snake hummed.

Ro reached for me but I wagged a finger at him. “Uh-uh. Keep singing. Mood music. But no touching.”

“Come on–”

I sucked his erection into my mouth.

Ro bucked off the bed and burst into song. “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.” Not in my top ten bow-chica-wow-wow songs, but rolling off his tongue, his voice a low growl and the corner of his mouth quirked in a knowing smile, it was positively pornographic.

I squirmed, his answering smirk ruined by the flush on his cheeks and the white-knuckled grip he had on the sheets.

A better musical choice was his rendition of Maroon 5’s “Harder to Breathe” accompanied by me on dick and vibe. Ro’s breathing was growing harsh, but champ that he was he kept singing, albeit a bit more growly than usual, his eyes darting between his blowjob of the century–I wasn’t even using my magic on him, I was just that good–and my writhing, getting myself off on Snake almost as much as on what I was doing to Ro.

By Britney’s “Slave to You,” he was snapping his hips in time to the music, his erection in my mouth impossibly hard. He strained to stay in control enough to do as I’d asked and keep singing. Keep his hands curled in tight fists so he wouldn’t touch me, his voice wavering as he tried to follow my dictate.

With a word I could unleash it all, let the storm of his passions devour me. The knowledge was heady to the point that my wanton moans threatened to drown him out. I rocked Snake inside me in rhythmic pulses; my fingers and toes tingled from the fat coils of pleasure rippling through me. I vibrated, strung taut.

We didn’t even make through the first chorus of “Wicked Games” by The Weeknd. Ro sang these filthy lyrics in a ringing voice and I came hard. It sent Ro over the edge, his body bucking, all pretense of singing abandoned.

He mumbled a string of Hindi curses, sprawled against the pillows.

I rode the aftershocks coursing through my body, then mustered up the energy to turn Snake off. The room smelled of sex, drenched in musky good times.

“Your blow jobs are the fucking bomb,” he said. I laughed and he nudged my shoulder with his knee. “Happy birthday, Sparky.”

I crawled up the length of his body, sliding blankets over us both. The incandescent glow of the firefly lights tapped up around my ceiling made the room softer, warmer. Rohan’s chest pressed against my back and my breathing came easier, my heartbeat slowing to match his. “Thanks for making it happy.”

He tucked a kiss into the nape of my neck, stretched to switch off the light, and then settled back against me with one arm holding me close. “Always,” he said.

And right before I fell asleep, I thought that sounded pretty good.