I never meant to let those free audiobooks take over my nights. It started with a late scroll through a public domain site, hunting for something to fill the quiet after work. The m/m romance section popped up like an invitation I hadnt realized I was waiting for. I downloaded the first one without thinking, earbuds in, lights low. The narrators voice was deep and unhurried, describing two men circling each other in a rain-soaked city, tension thick enough to taste. By chapter three their clothes were gone and the words turned filthy, every thrust and moan laid out in detail.
My cock hardened fast, straining against my jeans, and I didnt fight it. I shoved my hand down, stroking in time with the audio, confessing out loud to the empty room how badly I wanted to be one of those men, taken apart by another.
The stories kept coming. Night after night I lost myself in them. One book had a mechanic and his customer, grease-stained hands sliding over bare skin, the narrator growling every command. I came hard listening to that one, hips jerking, seed spilling over my fist while the voice kept going, describing the mechanics thick cock pushing deep. Another featured two rivals in a gym, sweat-slick bodies grinding on mats after hours. I replayed the scene so many times the file stuttered. Each time I finished I felt exposed, like the stories knew exactly what I craved and were feeding it back to me.
Then I found the forum attached to the site. Users posted about their favorite narrators, and one name kept repeating: Marcus Hale. His voice was the one that made my stomach flip every time. I left a comment thanking him for a particular scene, something raw about two strangers in a hotel elevator. To my shock he replied the same night. We traded messages, first about the books, then about what turned us on. He admitted he sometimes recorded private versions, just for listeners who wanted more. My pulse hammered when he offered to send me one.
I listened to it alone in my bedroom, door locked. Marcuss voice came through low and intimate, describing exactly what he would do to me if we met: pinning my wrists, licking a slow stripe up my shaft, then sinking into me while I begged. I stroked myself to his words, moaning his name when I came, the wet sound of my hand loud in the dark. It felt like a confession I couldnt take back.
We arranged to meet at a quiet bar downtown. Marcus was taller than I pictured, broad shoulders under a simple black shirt, eyes dark and steady. Conversation started easy, books and voices, but the air thickened fast. His knee brushed mine under the table and neither of us pulled away. By the second drink he leaned in and said, low, I want to hear the sounds you make when its real. My cock twitched at the promise.
We barely made it to his apartment. The door shut and his mouth was on mine, hot and demanding. Clothes came off in a rush. He pushed me onto the bed, straddling my hips, his thick length heavy against my stomach. I reached for him, wrapping my fingers around that hard shaft, feeling the pulse under the skin. Marcus groaned, thrusting into my grip, then shifted lower, taking me into his mouth in one smooth motion. The wet heat of his tongue dragged a broken sound from my throat. He worked me slow and thorough, one hand cupping my balls, the other stroking himself in rhythm.
When he pulled off I was shaking. He rolled me onto my stomach, spreading my cheeks, tongue tracing my hole until I was pushing back against his face. The wet sounds filled the room, filthy and perfect. He slicked himself and pressed in, the stretch burning sweet. Every inch sank deeper while his voice, that same narrator voice, murmured filthy praise in my ear: how tight I felt, how good I sounded taking him. I came first, untouched, spilling across the sheets with a hoarse cry. Marcus followed seconds later, pulsing deep inside me, hips jerking.
We stayed tangled afterward, breathing hard. He reached for his phone and started a new recording, whispering the details of what we had just done so I could listen later. I confessed right there against his chest that the free audiobooks had led me exactly where I needed to be: under him, open and aching, ready for every chapter still to come.
