Page 28 of Hollowed

Not the pleasure.

The claim.

The way he didn’t take me like he wanted to conquer something—but like I was already his and he was just proving it with every stroke.

I turned toward him. Slowly.

He was on his side, watching. Eyes open. Unblinking.

“You haven’t slept,” I said.

He shook his head.

“Do you ever?”

His voice was low.

“Not since they left me here.”

I swallowed.

“And me?”

“You’re not them.”

There was a tension in his throat when he said it. A catch. Like the truth cost him.

“Then what am I?”

He reached out.

Just his fingertips.

They touched my mouth.

“Mine,” he said.

I didn’t blink.

“Then take me again.”

His hand fell.

“You’re still sore.”

“I want it to hurt.”

He exhaled through his nose.

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I do.”

He didn’t move.

So I did.

I rolled onto my stomach. Shifted my thighs apart. My ass lifted, still covered by the blanket. I didn’t expose myself.

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