Page 35 of Hollowed

Because I wasn’t running.

I never would.

“You didn’t hold back,” I whispered.

He didn’t look at me.

“You didn’t ask me to.”

“You liked it.”

“That doesn’t mean it was safe.”

I sat up. My thighs trembled. My pussy ached. My lungs stretched around his name even when I didn’t speak it.

“I don’t want safe.”

He turned.

His face was drawn, mouth hard, eyes ruined.

“What do you want, then?”

I crawled to him.

Slow.

Deliberate.

I settled in his lap, naked, raw, shameless.

“I want what you left inside me,” I said. “The part you think you can fuck out of me and still walk away clean.”

He didn’t move.

His hands hovered at my waist.

“You want my need.”

“No,” I said. “I want the part of you that broke when I didn’t break.”

His throat worked.

He gripped my hips and pressed his forehead to my sternum. Not reverent. Not weak.

Wrecked.

“I was supposed to hollow you,” he whispered. “That was the vow. The only purpose I had left.”

I cupped his jaw, forced his gaze up.

“You did.”

His mouth trembled.

“Then why does it feel like salvation?”

“Because it is.”

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