Page 31 of Hollowed

It was about not losing it.

Me.

Us.

Whatever vow we’d just sealed in sweat and bruises.

He shifted slowly, reluctantly, pulling out with a groan so low it vibrated through me. I collapsed forward, chest to stone, arms limp. His cum leaked from me in a slow, sacred spill, and I didn’t try to stop it.

I wanted to be marked.

I wanted to be ruined.

He moved beside me, not speaking. Just breathing. His body still tense, still coiled like he didn’t know if he could stop himself from taking me again.

I turned my head.

Watched him.

His jaw was clenched. His throat worked around something unsaid. His hand was fisted against the stone.

I reached for him.

He didn’t flinch.

But his eyes met mine, and they were no longer void.

They were burning.

“Tell me,” I whispered.

He shook his head.

“You have to.”

“No,” he said. Voice rough. “Because if I speak it, it becomes real.”

“I want it real.”

“You don’t understand what that means.”

I crawled closer. My body screamed at me, raw and aching, but I moved anyway. I climbed into his lap, straddled him, wrapped my arms around his neck.

He didn’t touch me.

He let me come to him.

I pressed my forehead to his.

“I know what you are,” I said.

He didn’t answer.

“I know what you were made to do. I know what they took from you. I know you think this was about hollowing me.”

He closed his eyes.

“But it wasn’t,” I whispered. “It was about making space. For you.”

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