Page 36 of Heart So Hollow

Goosebumps skitter across my back and down my arms as I realize the Bowen that carried me so gently out of the nighttime shadows and up to my room is gone. In his place is something more akin to a beast that’s waiting to be fed. And I’m glad this Bowen decided to come out to play.

He leans down, “Hope you don’t have neighbors tonight,” he whispers as he reaches behind his back and flips the swing bar shut over the door.

Bowen glances over my shoulder and then tips his chin, motioning to the dim room behind me, lit only by the glow of the lamp next to the bed. The corner of my mouth twitches with amusement as I take a step backward, and then another. His eyes remain locked on mine as I move deeper into the room, him following at the same pace until he comes to a stop just in front of me.

He reaches over his shoulders and pulls both his hoodie and t-shirt over his head in one go, revealing a set of shoulders and traps that nearly buckle my knees. His jeans hang low on his hips, but pieces of another tattoo peek out from beneath his black leather belt. Ribbons of ink curl up over each hip before dipping back down out of sight. Another block of black script is tattooed beneath his chest, curving around the right side of his rib cage, but I can’t read it.

When I take another step back, my ass hits the edge of the dresser, “Why did you take me to meet your entire family?” I ask as he comes closer.

A wicked grin creeps across Bowen’s face, “I like to try things on for size before I decide to keep them,” he reaches up and hooks the hem of my t-shirt in his fingers, dragging it up over my head and tossing my hair over one shoulder.

“Do I fit?” I ask, peering up at him.

Bowen plants his hands on the dresser on either side of me, “You fit in with them as soon as you said hello,” then he leans in close, “and I’ve already decided I’m not leaving this room until you fit me. Or do I need to talk sweet to you some more?”

My core clenches, his voice is so intoxicating. It’s irresistibly sweet until it’s too late, and before you know it, you’re totally wrecked.

I reach up and take his chin in the crook of my thumb, “What if I didn’t want you to be sweet to begin with?”

I feel him smile just before his mouth consumes mine, and he tastes just as good as I thought he would. Pressing my hips into the dresser, he tilts my head back, running his mouth over my throat as he unsnaps my grey lace bra. He lets it fall from my arms and pulls me against him, drawing a split-second moan from me as soon as I feel the warmth of his chest against my skin.

“Then you sound like my kind of girl,” Bowen grins before suddenly grabbing my hips and spinning me around to face the mirror.

Before I can pitch forward, he wraps one arm around my torso and slides his other hand over my shorts and down the crease of my hip. I sink back against his chest, dopamine flooding my brain while he leers at my reflection. He presses his cheek against my temple and hooks his thumb in the waistband of my shorts, slowly pulling them down past my hips. As soon as they hit the floor, he grabs the back of my thigh and hikes my knee onto the top of the dresser.

Bowen gazes at my reflection, his hand tracing the same path over my chest and stomach as his eyes. But as soon as I feel his hand come to a stop over my ribcage, I sober and my jaw tightens, knowing exactly what’s drawing his gaze. He gently runs his middle finger over a thin, six-inch scar that runs arrow straight horizontally beneath my left breast.

“What happened to you, baby girl?” he murmurs in my ear.

I silently cringe at his words before telling him what I’ve told everyone else, what I’ve tried to trick myself into believing after repeating it long enough.

“I cut myself on a nail in a fence.”

It’s plausible, at least enough to placate anyone who asks. And it seems to satisfy Bowen.

My breath catches as he leaves my scar and slides his hand down my stomach and between my legs. All I can look at are his black eyes burning a hole in my reflection.

“What are you smiling at,” he smirks when he feels how wet I am, “this goddamn mess you’re making?” That thick drawl of his could lay me out on its own.

My breaths get heavier, giving way to a moan as he runs his fingers back and forth over my slick skin. I feel drunk, every word hitting me like a double shot as I roll my hips against his hand. I’m losing my damn mind with each passing second, feeling my own cum drip down my thigh as he starts circling my clit.

“Faster…” I whimper as I writhe against him.

I can barely see straight. My nails dig into Bowen’s arm clamped so tight around my torso that I can barely breathe. But the tighter he holds me, the more he becomes the drug I want at all costs. That feeling—the one I’ve been trying to suppress—starts clawing its way out; I want to fight against him, but I hope he never lets me go.

“You like that, baby girl?” he murmurs in my ear as the orgasm starts to build.

I draw in a shaky breath and my body tenses, but then, without warning, he stills his hand and lets it fall away from me. My eyes fly open and I see him smiling back at my bewildered reflection, running his tongue along the back of his teeth with amusement.

After a few moments, he leans down, his lips brushing my ear, “Then ask for it nicely,” he whispers.

I should be outraged, but at that moment, Bowen could’ve asked me to go drain the lake by hand and I’d have run off to find a bucket. Instead, I slide my leg off the dresser and slowly turn around. I give him a gentle push in the chest and step around him, my bare feet moving silently across the thin carpet. I crawl onto the bed and turn around, kneeling at the edge, then motion for him to come closer with a curl of my finger.

As soon as Bowen gets close enough, I reach out and hook my fingers over the waist of his jeans, pulling him to me. Suppressing a smile, I start unbuckling his belt. I’m going to find out what he has tattooed where no one can see…

When I pop the button and the zipper on his jeans free, he reaches up with both hands and runs his fingers up my neck and into my hair. I hesitate, curling at the feel of his fingertips on my scalp as he combs his fingers over the base of my skull. Letting out a breath, my fingers hook over both his jeans and boxer briefs, tugging them down over his hips in one impatient motion.

Jesus fucking Christ.

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