Page 35 of Hollow Heart

The light is bright, almost blinding as I saunter toward it. The closer I get, the warmer I feel.

When I finally reach it, I can see that the stage is not empty.

There sits Duncan, jeans strained against his thick thighs, microphone between his legs. My gaze settles on his knuckles, on the way he holds the mic. The spotlight casts shadows on his face and he grips the handle of the mic, his dark gaze burning into mine.

I’m frozen in place as he opens his mouth, captivated by the one man show.

I get lost in his deep, growl of a voice, in the curve of his delicious bicep, in the prowess in which hecommandsmy attention as he sings.

The steady beat of drums echo in the darkness as he sings. Somewhere in my psyche I know I’m dreaming, the musicechoing in my brain likely the result ofHollow Pointebinge, but it’s strangely soothing.

I approach Duncan, slipping between the open space between his thighs, the microphone disappearing.

His dark gaze flashes to my lips as I set my hands on his thighs, feeling the thickness of the muscle there.

I’m well aware that my placement puts me front and center, and I have the understanding that if I wanted to let this man devour me, he could.

He could swallow me up whole and I wouldn’t be able to resist such an escape.

“I’ll take this lovin’ on the run,” I sing along with him, as our voices tangle together in a dark, unchained melody.

“Your carnage is mine to take,” he croons, the syllables causing my damn cock to twitch.

I slide my hands up and down his thighs, gripping them tightly as I stare up at him from under my lashes.

“I’m a loose canon, and you’re a loaded gun,” I whisper, my lips only inches away from his scruffy beard.

My gaze falls on his lips, on the sliver of silver pierced through his bottom lip. The man before me isn’t the Duncan McKay I know, but yet he is.

He’s some cerebral amalgamation of past and present, and uncertain future.

“Yes, you are,” he growls out, his hands sliding around my waist, holding me in place as he gazes down at me with an intensity that is both unnerving, and dare I say, intoxicating.

And as his words settle on me, as his large hands settle along my sides, holding me in place, I think I am more than fucking doomed.

“You’re early,”Lou snaps as he shuts the studio door.

He isn’t wrong. I’m not usually an early riser by any means, especially on studio days, but after falling asleep at damn near nine pm last night, and that weird fucking dream, I feel strangely... revived.

Which was why I decided to go for a ride on my bike, which I haven’t done in months. Sully despised my bike, not because he hated motorcycles, but because he said with all the money I have, I could have afforded anewbike. That I didn’tneedthe bike I clung to like a baby blanket.

Even now, his words make my blood boil. I bought the damn thing with my first paycheck from the record company. I didn’t have a driver’s license yet, since I got signed only ten days after my sixteenth birthday.

“Yeah, well, I wanted to go for a ride. Beat the traffic, you know,” I chirp as I continue to tune my guitar.

Lou raises an eyebrow. “Palo and Co. won’t be in until nine,” he says nonchalantly.

I nod as I strum out a test, making sure everything is good to go for my warm ups.

So, I’ve got an hour until Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumbass show up. Good to know.

I grunt my understanding as he leaves me in the studio and I put my headphones in.

I strum out the beginning strings ofLoose Cannonsince I can’t seem to get it out of my mind.

I relax, plucking away at the strings, following along with his words that echo in my psyche, remembering the pattern until we hit the part with the major guitar solo.

Which is not as difficult for me as it should be, being as I grew up glued to my guitar. Friends weren’t something I had a lot of, and most of my time was spent in my room jamming out or sending queries to agents.

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