Page 44 of Palingenesis

“Nothing to see here.”

Climbing down from the statue feels like walking through a crowd naked, but I scramble to do so before someone calls the cops.

Imagine explaining that to law enforcement.

“Sorry, officer, I thought I was saving the town and myself from the evil that lives in the woods.”

I snort and brush my hands off when I land on solid ground, the onlookers rushing away to appear busier than they are.

“Is he really evil, though?” the tiny voice in the back of my mind wonders. I shove it back down, and make my way back to the truck.

Pain shoots across my forehead as I drive into the fading dusk, and I vaguely recall that I probably shouldn’t be behind the wheel before the sensation subsides to a dull ache at the base of my skull.

I rub at it absently, squeezing the muscles to relax them as I pull up to the house.

The drive was a blur, yet another thing done on autopilot, and I curse myself for not paying more attention. Though, it’s hard to focus on anything when my head pounds and the weight of the day, the last few weeks—months?—hangs around my neck like an anvil. It drags me down until I’m collapsing sideways on the mattress in my bedroom, eyes drooping, clothes still intact.

Time passes at a crawl, my thoughts wandering but not settling on any one thing enough to rest, and that’s when I feel it–the low hum of something in the back of my mind.

It sounds vaguely like a voice, one I recognize, calling my name.

Chapter 24

Ilios

He is so pliable when he rests.

Easy to move, to manipulate.

To watch as he slumbers atop the blankets, covered by the useless fabric of his clothes that prevent me from admiring the slopes and angles of his body.

There’s sharp edges and rounded corners, slowly lifting with each of his steady breaths.

It’s like unwrapping a gift, to remove the wrapping so slowly as to not disturb him. And not those silly offerings that the town leaves littering my statue, but one worthy of my admiration.

My patience.

I will not harm him, but I cannot resist the perky roundness of his backside when he leaves it arched out for me like this. He must know what it has done to me.

I would swear that he slumbers like this on purpose. Silently calling to me in slumber, despite his mind’s rejection of me when awakened. His body knows as mine does.

Finally, I peel back the final soft layer of his underclothes, exposing his cheeks to the chilled air of the room. They pebble beneath my touch as I trace over their curves, bunching and warming the skin in my palms.

He groans, a restful sound that plays like music in my ears and I knead him again.

His breath is soft, and he bends one knee, drawing his leg up and spreading himself wide. Smatterings of hair coat his skin, soft to the touch, darkened in spots like the curls on his head. It thickens where his round backside meets at the crease, traveling down his spread legs.

The sight of his puckered hole beckons me, saliva collecting on my tongue.

It’s like I can already taste him, and he’s so, so sweet. An addiction I will willingly partake in until it ruins me.

He has already ruined you.

I nip at the hazy air over my shoulder, teeth snapping audibly, and it dissipates quickly, reforming solidly at my hip.

Then let me be ruined.

Diving between Shannon’s cheeks, I lap at his hole, his salty sweetness sparking along my tongue. It elicits a groan of my own, one that must have vibrated his skin perfectly to extract such a delicious whimper from his throat.