Page 66 of Hollowed

He pressed inside me in one, slow, devastating stroke.

I gasped. My back arched. My wrists pulled against the ribbon, not in protest, but in prayer. The pressure, the fullness, the unbearable rightness of being taken like this—without demand, without punishment. Just kept.

He fucked me clothed. His robes brushed against my thighs. His belt grazed my skin. There was something more obscene in it. More sacred. Like he hadn’t bothered to become a man for this. Like he was still altar, still vow, still the dark thing I’d knelt before and asked to be unmade by.

His hand slid beneath my bound wrists.

Lifted them.

Held them above my head as he moved inside me with brutal grace.

He didn’t speak again.

But I knew.

I felt it in every thrust.

In every pause.

In the way his breath stuttered against my mouth but never kissed it.

He was claiming me again.

Not with pain.

With permanence.

And when I came, it was a quiet thing.

A sob. A gasp. A silence.

And he followed with a groan so low I felt it more than heard it.

He collapsed into me. Not with weight. With trust.

He let go of my wrists. Untied them slowly. Let the ribbon fall away.

And I knew then:

It had never been about keeping me still.

It was about remembering that I chose to be.

And I would choose it again.

Every time.

I didn’t expect him to let me hold him.

Not truly. Not in the way that mattered. I had touched him. Taken him. Worshipped him with my body, with my voice, with the ache between my legs. But this was different.

This was after.

The kind of after where breath doesn’t come so easily. Where bodies remember they are still human, and silence becomes heavy with everything no one is willing to say.

He sat on the floor with his back to the altar, legs stretched, arms braced at his sides. His robes were still half on, the tie loosened but not removed, like he didn’t know if he wanted to stay clothed or bare. Like even now, he was still deciding how much of himself he could survive being seen.

I knelt in front of him.

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