Page 82 of Hollow Heart

Just like Sully.

Just like every other man in my damn life.

I lead us into the room, opening my mouth to ask him what’s up, but I don’t get the words out.

Because the moment the door slams shut, my back is pressed against it, and Duncan’s lips are on mine, his hand settling at my throat, squeezing with the lightest of pressure, but warm to the touch.

The moment he kisses me, I melt into him like a fucking puddle in a damn swoony rom-com.

His metal clashes with mine as our tongues dance together.

When he breaks away, his amber gaze is full of fire, his lips glisten, swollen from our kiss.

A hundred emotions fester beneath my boiling surface, from excitement to happiness, to anger and anxiety.

Because as much as I want to continue this shadowy makeout, I also want more, and the feeling is as shocking as it is new.

For the last seven years, I’ve taken whatever I could get, wherever I could get it.

I’ve never once felt like Ideservedmore than what I’d had.

But as I look at Duncan McKay, feel his body pressed against mine, hand still resting on my throat, I realize I want to be more than just a hookup, for once.

I want to be more than just another man’s experimental phase.

Because clearly, that worked so well with the last one.

“Is this why you came?” I hiss, my walls going up as my heart starts to harden, protecting itself once more. I push back against him, escaping his hold.

Duncan catches his breath. “What?”

“To fuck with me some more? Lead me on to think you want me, and then just push me away? Take me up into the bedrooms and get me all worked up then leave me hard and wanting, only to parade me around in public and pretend we’re just bandmates. That this is just a job.” The words come of their own accord, and I can’t stop them. It’s like the dam has finally been broken, and years worth of pain surges forth.

I know it’s not all about Duncan.

But he’s here, and he broke me.

So, I suppose this is it. It’s sink or swim, and I am tired of fucking treading water.

I don’t want to drown anymore in the Black Sea.

“Is that what you think of me?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowed. For a moment, the pain registers on his face, but it is soon replaced by something else, something I am much more familiar with.

Anger.

“That I’m some cruel asshole who wants to hurt you?”

“What I think ofyouhas nothing to do with this,” I hiss. I turn away from him, heading for the door.

He grabs me by my wrist, his grip tight and warm, and I hate how it makes my blood rush, how his nails digging into my skin makes my damn cock throb.

“Felix...” His tone is not accusatory, but it is a warning.

I shake him off, hating the feeling of emptiness that sweeps over me because he is no longer touching me.

“Felix, please, just hear me out, okay?” Duncan’s voice is strained.

“Why? So you can spout more philosophical shit to me and make me want to be a better fucking person and then lead me on, only to tell me you don’t want this...” The words are like knives as I speak them, as I try to shove the anger, the pain, and the overwhelming need to cry down into the pits of my stomach, but it’s no use.

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