They say the body has memory.

I didn’t believe that until I started waking up soaked in sweat and c*m, my heart racing, my fingers trembling, my lips parted as if I’d been whispering his name in sleep.

But I never even knew his real name.

I remember his voice though, how it curled around me like smoke, soft and deep, commanding yet kind, dark and dangerous.

He never touched me. Never laid a hand on me. But I came so hard, I cried.

Now, every night, I crave it. That voice. That whisper that made my knees weak. That sin I never thought I’d want.

I thought I was straight. Now, I’m not even sure I’m sane.

And I think I’d ruin myself just to hear it again.

For 25 years, Zayn lived in a world of straight expectations, dating girls, chasing pleasure that always ended in silence and frustration. Sex was a routine, not release. Until one bored night, chasing a thrill, he said yes to something different.

A man in a club offered him more than money, he offered a secret, a night of satisfaction like he’d never known. But when Zayn entered that hotel room, he didn’t expect him, the rich, cold, dangerously alluring heir of a conservative empire, whose father publicly condemns everything he hides in the dark.

What started as a one-night experiment turned into a dangerous addiction. Without a single touch, Zayn was broken open, undone, and made to scream, cry, and beg, only through sound.

Now, even back home, Zayn trembles when he hears his voice in dreams, in memory, in madness. His sheets are always wet. His nights are restless. His body wants more.

And the worst part?

He's starting to want him, too.


18+ WARNING 
This story contains explicit male-male content, intense erotic scenes, and psychological seduction.
If you're not ready for a world where a voice can break you, proceed cautiously.

Read at your discretion.

I pulled myself from my thoughts and opened the door.


Dean stood there, hands in his pockets, wearing that same half-serious, half-playful look he always did.


"Hey," I said, stepping aside. He pushed past me, carrying himself with that same entitled air.


I shook my head. "No. I just got back this morning and he wasn't here."


Dean gave a small nod. "Good. Then I'll go straight to the point. Can we talk?"


"Sure," I said, leading him into the living room.


We sat across from each other, silence thick for a moment before he leaned forward.


"You said you just came back this morning?"


Dean exhaled, studying me. "So… how long has this been going on between you two?"


He didn't speak right away. His silence pressed on me harder than any question. Finally, he asked, "How did you even meet him?"


Chapter 67 - Chapter 67: Claim What’s Yours