Page 70 of Hollow

He searches my face, looking for the trick, theangle. Finding none. He looks lost for a second, leaving him looking almost vulnerable.

“Then what are we doing?” he asks

Briar steps forward hesitantly, her gaze moving between us. “Maybe… maybe we’re figuring it out.”

Flint looks at her, really looks at her, seeing her standing here between us, in this place that holds so much of our wreckage. He runs a hand over his face, breathing hard. “Fuck.” It’s not a curse, more like a surrender.

A fragile truce settles over the small space. The tension hasn’t disappeared, but it’s shifted, become something else. Shared history, shared guilt, shared… desire. It hangs in the air, thick and undeniable.

“Upstairs,” I say. It’s not a question. He knows exactly what that means.

Flint jerks his head in a nod, and Briar looks from me to Flint and back again, understanding—or maybe acceptance—in her eyes.

I lead the way, starting up the narrow, spiraling metal staircase. Each step echoes in the confined shaft. Flint follows close behind me, Briar behind him. The air grows colder, damper as we climb, the smell of salt and metal intensifying.

We don’t speak. There’s nothing left to say down here.

Higher and higher we go, the landings small platforms offering glimpses of the churning sea through narrow slit windows. Eventually, we reachthe top, pushing through a small hatch into the lantern room.

Glass surrounds us on all sides, offering a dizzying panorama of the cliffs, the turbulent ocean stretching to the horizon, and the vast, indifferent sky. The huge lamp mechanism sits in the center, a complex structure of brass and glass, lenses angled to throw light miles out to sea. The wind rattles the panes, and the cries of gulls are sharp and close.

We stand there for a moment, the three of us, caught in the strange, clear light filtering through the glass.

Flint moves first. He doesn’t look at me, but reaches for Briar, his hand finding hers. She doesn’t pull away. Then, his eyes meet mine over her head, a question there, dark and complicated.

I close the distance, standing beside them. My hand finds Briar’s other hand. We form a triangle, bound by proximity, by shared secrets, by the fucked-up gravity pulling us together.

Briar looks between us, her breath catching. She brings our hands together, linking Flint’s and mine with hers in the middle. A circuit closes. Electricity sparks.

Flint leans in, his mouth finding Briar’s neck, kissing the pulse point just below her ear. She tilts her head, a soft sound escaping her lips. I bring my hand to her waist, pulling her back against me, feeling the warmth of her through her clothes.

She turns her head slightly, her lips finding minein a kiss that tastes of salt and desperation. It’s hesitant at first, then deepens as Flint circles his arm around her waist, pulling her against him too, pressing her between us.

He slides his hand under her sweater to find skin while I fumble open the buttons of her coat. The wind whips around the glass enclosure, a wild soundtrack to the heat building between us. Hastily, we shed clothes, discard them on the cold metal floor grating. Skin meets skin, cool air raising goosebumps despite the friction.

Flint kisses down Briar’s collarbone, his touch proprietary, possessive. I watch them, watch her response, feeling a surge of something dark and possessive myself. I pull her more firmly against me, sliding my hand down her back and pressing her hips into mine.

Chapter 23

Briar

There’s a moment when time stretches, the world as fragile and clear as the glass around us. Then everything collapses inward, heat and skin and mouths and need.

Flint trails his hand along my stomach, a line of fire against the cool air. His touch is urgent, claiming. Damiano is behind me, pulling me back, pulling me in, lost breaths and rough restless hands.

I’m pinned between them, the force of it overwhelming. It feels dangerous and reckless, like something that could burn through all three of us, leave nothing but ashes.

I kiss Flint, tasting everything we’ve broken, everything we still might be. He groans into it, a sound of frustration and surrender. Damiano grips my hips tighter, possessive, matching Flint’s fierceness with his own.

We sink to the floor, clothes beneath us, coldmetal pressing into my skin. The storm inside us builds, growing stronger, faster, frantic. I gasp as Flint moves his mouth down my body, leaving marks like declarations. Damiano’s lips find my neck, softer, more desperate. I arch against both of them, lost in the tangle of limbs, hands, the sharp clarity of sensation.

It’s everything at once, too much and not enough, the lighthouse spinning around us.

I don’t know whose name I cry out, maybe both, maybe neither, as the world shatters and we go under together.

Two cocks. But only one of me.

I don’t know where to start, but luckily Flint does. He lowers my head to his dick, pressing it past my lips as he leans forward and kisses Damiano.

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