From The Sin Eater’s Prince by Keta Diablo
Beneath the candle’s sputtering flame, Andras saw the pulse beat in the hollow of his [Owen’s] throat. Owen’s had slip up his arm, stopping near the ridge of the wound he’d earned fighting Traherne.
The unsteady gasp of the sin eater’s breath fanned his lips, so close now he couldn’t have turned away if a tidal wave capsized the meager abode. A force more powerful than Duw’s thunder heaved between them, and then it was too late for Andras to stop.
Owen’s touch on his arm, the taste of his lips melding with his, sent a jolt of unbearable pleasure rushing through him. The sin eater’s fingers wound their way into the hair at the back of his neck and Owen drew him deeper into the kiss. Andras parted his lips with his tongue, evoking a breathless moan and a defenseless surrender of his body against Owen’s.
His manhood swelled and ached, the surge of blood rushing to the head almost unbearable. God help him. If Owen took it in his mind right now to seek out the hard shaft, Andras’s release would burst forth the instant he touched him.
The kiss deepened, Owen converging on him like a starved beast, his mouth devouring his, his tongue giving back what it took. There was nothing in the world except Owen: no brutal visions, no vampires. He tasted like summer rain and Andras couldn’t see to slake his thirst.