Page 21 of Hollowed

He didn’t move again until my body adjusted.

Until my hips tilted to take him deeper.

Until I said,

“Yes.”

It was the first word I gave him freely.

And it broke something in him.

He groaned. Low. Controlled. But not distant. Not detached. He sounded like a man praying through his teeth. Like he knew he wasn’t just inside me—he was inside something holy.

He began to move.

Slow at first. A rhythm more reverent than erotic. His eyes stayed on mine. His body hovered. But his hips claimed.

Every thrust felt like worship.

Like he was driving his vow deeper into my marrow.

I didn’t cry.

I moaned. Quietly. Like each sound was permission.

His hands gripped my wrists. Not hard. Just enough to anchor me.

I felt the chapel around us fall away.

The stone didn’t bite anymore.

The fire didn’t burn.

All that existed was this. Him.The vow.

He leaned down.

Pressed his lips to my throat.

“Mine,” he said.

I arched beneath him.

“Say it,” he demanded.

“Yours,” I whispered.

“Louder.”

“Yours.”

He slammed into me. Once. Hard. Deep.

And I gasped.

It wasn’t pain.

It was recognition.

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