Page 30 of Hollow Heart

In the end, it ended up just being Issax in the issue, and there was no full money shot. Just a bunch of images of him lying naked with his guitar covering his dick.

It was still a pretty hot spread, though, at the time.

I know Ishouldn’t.But honestly, anyone in the biz knows if it’s on the Internet, it’s meant to be seen right?

I mean, for God’s sake, it’s in a popular magazine, not on PornHub.

I click the link, if only to look at the cover.

The cover, which, like Issax had done, has Felix standing, legs apart with a bright candy-apple red guitar hiding his junk.

I chuckle a little at the fact that apparently after thirty years, the magazine is reusing the same shit.

Guess some things stand the test of time.

My gaze trails over his knuckles, up his arms. While both his arms are covered in tattoos, I can see the hint of something curling from around his hips.

His haughty gaze stares at me through the computer, and accidentally, I click the arrow. Fumbling to click back, the computer loads before it can register my stupid, thick fingers, and before I know it, the air is knocked out of my fucking lungs.

It’s like a train wreck, and I can’t look away.

Felix’s long, lithe body covers my screen, and the first thought—perhaps theonlythought in my brain at the moment—is that the headline was much more literal than I thought.

Spread out against black satin sheets, his sizabletattooedcock stares at me, and I feel hot as hell.

A tattoo of the infinity symbol stands out at his base, making the long, pronounced veins protruding from it much more noticeable.

He holds his cock in his hand, the veins in his hand in stark contrast to the prominent ones on his rod.

Bright blue eyes gaze out at me from beneath golden strands of messy hair, his mouth parted, skin glistening, no doubt from the oil slathered over him.

“Holy fuck,” I curse under my breath as his song-like groans fill my ears from a song I’ve heard before.

Carnage.

Felix sings about total destruction, about loving someone so terribly, so raw that all there is is devastation in its wake.

His raspy vocals and whisper-song groans mixed with his haughty look and his hard cock in his hand...

My own cockthrobs.

I hurriedly click off of the photo, but fate must be playing a cruel joke on me.

Because the next photo that pops up has Felix in a chair, legs spread as he arches his back and holds his rigid length up to showcase a sliver of silver penetrating his flesh just beneath the spot where his scrotum meets his shaft.

A fucking lorum piercing.

I swallow harshly, remembering when Issax—high as shit—went and got a fucking Prince Albert.

Though I can say without a doubt, the tiny bar that accents Felix’s skin isn’t a bad look for him.

My cock twitches in my pants uncomfortably. I slide my hand beneath my pants, if only to adjust myself, but it’s no use.

Felix’s spread, the memory of Issax and Marci and my glory days...

I know there’s only one way to quiet the monster, so I don’t think twice.

I shift my pants and boxers down enough that I can free my swollen cock.

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