Page 62 of Hollowed

He guided me down with both hands. Careful. Unapologetically present. The stone was cold, but his body was not. He knelt between my legs and let them fall open like they’d been waiting.

He didn’t spread me.

He watched me do it.

And then he touched me again.

Ran his fingers from the inside of my thigh to the crease of my hip. Palmed my stomach. Slid lower. Not seeking wetness. Not checking readiness.

Justknowingit.

When he pressed the head of his cock to me, he didn’t thrust. Hewatchedmy face.

Waited.

And I met his eyes.

I let him see every part of me that had starved.

That had ached.

That hadstayed.

And then he pushed.

Not fast.

Not deep.

Justin.

The stretch was tender, deliberate. He paused halfway, eyes still locked on mine, like he didn’t want to miss the way it felt to be let in with permission. With trust. With want.

I gasped softly. And he exhaled.

Then moved deeper.

All the way.

Inside me like he was settling into something that had always been his.

His hand gripped my thigh.

His forehead met mine.

And he began to move.

Not to fuck.

Toremain.

And when I came apart beneath him, trembling, gasping, whispering his name like a second vow?—

He said mine in return.

And I heard it this time.

Not as claim.

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