Page 68 of Devil Inside

He leans forward, lowering his head toward our own. He’s coming in for a kiss.

We snap at the air again, gnashing our teeth.

Jordan reels his head back.

We smile.Try again, our grin suggests.Go ahead, we dare you.

“Show me,” he says.

We begin to lift. Our arms push up, our hands tightening their grip around his own, and we sense he knows we are stronger, much stronger, than we appear.

We are no longer bound to the bed. Our bodies abandon the mattress.

We levitate.

“Is this what you want?” we ask.

Jordan’s body falls onto our own. His mouth finds our neck. He leaves us to look at the ceiling, as he continues his sojourn down our body.

We suspend ourselves, him and us. Let him explore. Let him bury his face into our body. Let the walls of flesh crumble between us until there’s nothing left standing.

We collapse to the mattress. Our bodies smash against the bed.

He doesn’t stop. He never stops.

We release Jordan’s hands. His left finds our cheek. His fingers graze the skin. A tender gesture. Even now, he is searching. Searching for something he can never see.

It is all darkness within.

What he hopes to find slithers in the shadows of our bodies, formless. Elemental as water.

We run our hands through his hair. The sable locks slip through our fingers as he continues his descent. We no longer have him in our hands. He has reached our lowest depths, opening our legs.

We feel him kiss us now. The presence of his breath against the inside of our thighs.

He wants to inhale us. Possess us.

Let him in...

Our body relents. Every muscle releases, then tightens again. A sheath of tendon and skin. The compression of it all, the suffocation it creates, an implosion, every cell collapsing, like a dying star. What a black hole it creates. A supernova within ourselves.

Now it is our turn. We grab Jordan’s shoulders and force him back. We don’t wait for permission. He rolls over onto his back and now we are on top, straddling his waist.

We tear through his shirt. It means nothing to us.

We find that topographical map of scar tissue along his chest and set our course across his body. This pilgrimage is ours to make alone.

We want him inside. With us. We bring him in, let him possess us, the very length of his flesh entering and pervading every inch of our body. We sense his presence. It burns.

We do away with the rest of his clothes, then he helps with our own. Layers of flesh, the husks of our former selves, discarded.

Our body breathes.

We remain on top. We chart our journey, running our hands along the length of his scars as we straddle him, poring over this map as we ride, ride, ride.

We push down.

We have come so far, traveled so far, and yet we know now there is so much further to go. We have barely begun our sojourn through Jordan’s soul. There is no distance we can’t cover. Not with his skin. He will guide us through this experience. His injuries chart our course—look at those wounds, the constellations of discolored skin—and we realize it is only through him, his body, his wounds, that we will reach our destination. So we ride on.