Rock god Noah Hart needs inspiration. And he’s choosing me as his muse.

In my darkest days, I came across solace in what of rock star god Noah Hart. He noticed into my heart. And I saw into his. Even though we’d never fulfilled, I felt as though I knew the man behind the music.

I QUICKLY met him.

Noah isn’t a wounded poet.

He’s a jerk.

He’s abrasive, trimming, and guarded as hell. He says folks are selfish. He says we’re just out for ourselves. He refuses to trust. He refuses to let anyone in.

I’m said to be assisting him write a melody. I’m said to be his confidant.

However the only time we connect is when we take to his bed. Noah takes on my own body as skillfully as he takes on the piano. He makes me experience things I’ve by no means dreamed of.

And which includes heartache.

The man behind the music is nothing beats I imagined.

Who specifically is this Noah Hart I’ve met, and what the hell happened to my soulful, intimate poet?

Contains mature themes.