Page 45 of Hollow

Maybe it’s because he was there when I needed him—a distraction, a focus—before the terror and loneliness of this thing inside me could swallow me whole. Or maybe it’s just because I want him, simple as that.

He pulls back and thrusts forward again, harder this time. He’s holding back.

“I’m already broken,” I say. “Don’t worry about breaking me more.”

I’m not sure if I mean the words as a challenge or a plea, but they have the desired effect. He groans and shifts his weight, driving into me with a force that makes me gasp.

His mouth finds mine, swallowing my cries as he moves inside me. I rake my nails down his back, overthe tattoos that have already become familiar, pulling him deeper with my legs locked around his waist. I want to keep every part of him there, to capture this night like a photograph in my mind.

My body is both too fragile and too strong for this. I can feel it straining at the seams, but I don’t care. Not now and maybe not ever.

His cock is big. He stretches me, fills me, leaves no room for anything else, not even thinking.

It’s what I need. It’s everything I need.

He starts to grunt with every thrust, like he’s finally forgetting to be careful, and his pace quickens until I know he’s close.

“Briar.” My name comes out between labored breaths and sounds almost like a warning.

He shifts one hand between us, thumb finding my clit and circling it roughly in time with each thrust. Pleasure zips through me as I cry out his name.

His name. Damiano. It sounds so different saying it while his dick is inside me.

“You buried a man for me,” I say, not sure why the need is so strong to do so.

He hesitates, just for a moment, eyes searching mine, almost like he’s trying to see past the words and into my soul.

“I’d do it again.” He thrusts deeper, harder, possessing me completely. My heart slams against my ribs, and I reach for something—anything—thatfeels more real than the chaos we’re both running from.

I bite his shoulder to keep myself from falling apart.

“Harder,” I say. “Fuck me harder.” I need more. I need to burn this night into me, to feel it later when everything else turns cold and dark.

He answers with another low grunt, like he’s trying to fuck me and talk to me all at once. Like he knows it’s pointless either way. His hips swing into mine until I’m choking on pleasure—weightless, thoughtless, everything I want.

Will I regret this tomorrow?

Maybe.

But I killed a man yesterday. What more could I regret?

He presses his thumb against my clit with punishing intensity, and the pressure coils tight in my core. A sound unravels from deep inside me, a crescendo of need and want and yes that ricochets off the walls of this tiny, earthy room.

“Fuck, Briar,” Damiano grits out, head dropping to the crook of my neck as he slams into me. “I’m?—”

He doesn’t finish. He just drives forward with everything he has, splitting me apart in the best possible way until I can’t hold it any longer. I come hard, body arching beneath him like I’m going to fly apart and spin in a million directions. But he’s right there, holding me together with his touch, his weight pinning me to this moment.

I’m so fucking high. High from his tea, and high from the sex that is changing everything between us.

The world bursts white before settling into focus again just in time for me to hear him groan through his own release. He empties into me with a force that seems to rock him to pieces even as he gives them all to me.

I’m not sure who he collapses for—him or me—but it doesn’t matter. We lie tangled together, chests heaving as we try to catch our breath. It should feel awkward now; maybe it will later. But right now it’s perfect and terrifying in the same instant.

He rolls to his side, brushes sweat-damp hair from my forehead with surprising gentleness.

“Are you okay?” There’s hesitation in his question now that wasn’t there when he was fucking me senseless.

I nod, staring up at the cracked ceiling. “Yeah.”

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