Page 87 of Hollow Heart

I might have thought I was, because I lived a mostly straight lifestyle, but the truth is collecting in my hand, running down my slowly deflating cock.

I enjoyed making him come.

For me.

Felix walks back into the room, with a white towel, his bright blue eyes fixating on me where I sit. With a softness that defies everything Felix Hart is known for, he kneels beside me, his gaze holding me still as hegentlytakes my cum-covered hand, cleaning every finger with the towel, and I watch him, unable to speak, or breathe right.

The tenderness in which his long, lithe, tattooed fingers stroke my fingers feels uncharacteristically intimate.

There are no words, just the silent understanding, the delicate touch that shouldn’t even be possible for someone like Felix.

I should feel dirty.

I should feel ashamed, especially as Felix cleans me up.

But I only feel satisfied in a way that resonates deep within my soul, in a way I haven’t felt in a long, long time.

When he’s done, he pulls out his phone from his pocket, disposing of the towel in the guestroom hamper by the bed as I get up, my legs stiff, and I think I actually hear one of my knees crack, but I ignore it. I sound like a box of Rice Krispies most days when I’mnoton my knees for mouthy rockstars.

“Press in ten. We should head out.”

I nod, feeling like a damn flightless bird, as I tuck myself back into my pants, zipping up once more, and head to the bathroom to wash my hands.

I run the water, letting the warmth soothe my skin, glancing at my reflection in the brightly lit mirror.

I’m still the same me I’ve always been, but somehow, I’m different.

How is it that nothing has changed, wheneverythinghas changed?

Felix stands in the doorway, staring at me like he knows everything is different, too.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.

“Sorry for what?” I ask, confused, turning off the water.

Felix holds himself tightly, not looking at me directly. “I pushed you too hard, I should’ve...”

At that moment, I finally understand what is haunting Felix.

The man with an attitude, who fights and causes a scene.

The man who writes lyrics about wanting to be a shark, but being weak.

Felix does know whoheis, but I would bet my house the people he’s loved have shamed him for it, as well as what he likes. What he wants.

God, I’ve been so fortunate to have been married to someone who let me be myself.

Familiar lyrics echo in my brain as I look at him.

My carnage is yours to take.

And take it, I will Felix. All of it.

I pat my semi-dry hands on my thighs as I approach him in the doorway, grabbing him by the hips once more, careful to keep my touch light. I get the feeling that as brash and feisty as Felix is, that it’s mostly just a mask. A wall to protect himself.

I want to be a shark, but I’m fucking weak.

“I’m okay,” I whisper, stroking the side of his hip gently. He shifts under my touch, but I don’t miss how his muscles loosen.

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