Page 80 of Hollowed

The robe fell like ash from his shoulders. Heavy with memory. With myth.

He let me.

That was the vow.

He let me see all of him.

The scars. The shadows. The weight he carried in silence.

I climbed into his lap.

Straddled him.

My bound hands brushed his chest. His breath faltered.

My pussy throbbed, slick and swollen, aching for him.

I ground against him, and he gasped.

I reached between us, undid his belt.

Pulled the fabric down his hips.

His cock sprang free, thick and hot, flushed with want.

Still, he didn’t guide me.

He just watched.

“You want to?”

“No,” I said. “Ineedto.”

I sank down on him in one long, slow slide.

His mouth opened.

No sound came out.

Because I had taken it from him.

I rode him slow. Reverent. My wrists bound. My mouth parted.

He watched me like he was watching scripture unfold.

I fucked him like I was claiming every vow he never spoke.

His head fell back.

His hands gripped the edge of the altar.

And when he came, it wasn’t a roar.

It was aprayer.

I followed.

Trembling.Wrecked.

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