Page 39 of Hollowed

“I don’t know who I am if you’re not taking me.”

The words broke something between us.

Not the tension.

The control.

His breath caught. His hand rose. Not to touch me. To press to his own mouth.

Like he wanted to swallow the sound of me.

“I want more,” I whispered. “But not because I’m afraid. Not because I need to be ruined. Because I want to belong to the man who watched me burn and still said I was worth saving.”

He reached for me.

Slow. Careful. Like I was flame now. Not ash.

His fingers brushed my cheek.

“Then vow it,” he said.

I nodded.

I unfolded. Rose to my knees.

I placed my hands over his chest.

And I said it.

“I vow not to run. Not even from the quiet.”

His eyes closed.

“I vow to stay, even when I’m not being touched.”

His breath broke.

“I vow to want you. In silence. In stillness. In the ache.”

And when his eyes opened again, I saw it.

Not hunger.

Not possession.

Worship.

“Then we begin again,” he said.

And I knelt.

Not to submit.

To be chosen.

Again.

He didn’t touch me after I vowed.

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