Throughout the night, I came undone to his voice.
Moaning. Trembling. Screaming.
All from nothing but a voice.
I'd never spilled that much in my life.
And when there was nothing left to give… I passed out.
When I opened my eyes the next morning, the room was quiet.
The velvet walls. The faint scent of leather.
But he was gone.
All that remained was a small card on the bedside table.
A black card.
Gold-embossed lettering. No name. No message. Just a note scribbled in flawless handwriting:
> "The money inside should cover your night."
I stared at it… and then laughed bitterly to myself.
"Who said I needed your money?" I muttered, glancing around the empty room.
"I have my own."
But there was no one to hear me.
And that's when I realized something else.
I didn't even know his name.
Or where he came from.
Only his voice… the one that ruined me.
And somehow, that made me want him even more.
I got up, dressed slowly, still feeling sore not in my body, but in my chest.
A quiet ache that pulsed behind my ribs.
I wasn't supposed to care. It was just one night.
But I cared.
Before leaving the hotel, I stopped at the front desk, trying to act casual.
"Um… the guest who was in Room 1707 with me last night. Do you know his name?"
The concierge's expression didn't change.
"I'm sorry, sir. We're not allowed to share client identities. However, since you're well and nothing was reported, you're free to check out."
I frowned. "Can you at least tell him I want to see him again? Or give him a message?"
He gave a polite nod. "If you leave something with us…" Somehow, it will get to him."
Somehow.
That's when it hit me.
That man wasn't just anybody.
And I'd spent the night screaming his name without even knowing it.
I drove myself home, hands steady on the wheel, but my mind spinning. After everything that happened last night, I needed to refocus.
I took a moment to gather myself before getting ready for the day.
I owned a restaurant, famous, stylish, and frequented by some of the city's wealthiest. I wasn't a billionaire, no, but I was doing just fine on my own. I had my own house, my own car, and I could spend however I wanted without answering to anyone.
The day moved fast.
Orders flew in. Laughter from regulars. The clink of wine glasses and soft jazz playing from the speakers. I tried to focus on it all, but deep down... I couldn't stop thinking about him.
Not even his face. Just… his voice.
By the time I closed up and left work, the need to hear it again had consumed me. I didn't even think twice... I drove straight back to that bar. It's the same one from last night. I scanned the crowd the second I walked in.
He wasn't there.
Neither was the man in the sharp suit who brought me to him.
I waited. I asked around. I described him to a few of the bartenders and bouncers.
Tall. Clean-cut. It was expensive but low-key. Voice like silk wrapped around sin.
They just blinked at me like I was crazy.
"Sorry, bro, haven't seen anyone like that," one of them said, shaking his head.
I stepped outside, breath fogging in the night air. "Did I imagine him?" I whispered to myself.
I'd never believed in ghosts… but for a moment, I truly questioned if I'd heard the voice of one. My chest tensed with something between confusion and craving. I couldn't make sense of any of it.
By the time I got home, I was seconds away from giving up, convinced I'd lost my mind.
I flopped onto the couch and grabbed the remote.
"Maybe I just need to distract myself."
I turned on the TV. The news channel came on automatically. Some live show. I was about to flip it off when I heard the anchor's voice.
"Today, the highly respected billionaire, Mr. Rogan Draeven is finally introducing his son to the public…"
I paused.
What?
Rogan Draeven.
The man practically worshipped in this city was wealthy, powerful, religious to the bone, and aggressively homophobic. He was the type of man the LGBTQ+ community hated, but society… well, they loved him like a god.
And this was the first time he was showing his son?
Interesting.
I leaned forward, arms folded.
I'd always been curious about his son. The one he always praised as the "purest soul," the heir to his wealth and legacy. Nobody had ever seen him, not even in tabloids.
The anchor's voice continued.
"Please welcome, for the very first time, the CEO of Draeven Holdings, Mr. Evric Draeven."
Applause erupted on the screen.
Then he walked out.
My heart nearly stopped.
I shot to my feet, blinking hard.
"No way…" I whispered.
That was him.
That was the man with the voice.
The man who'd made me fall apart without a single touch.
Evric Draeven.
I sat down stunned. How could it be? How could the son of Rogan Draeven, the man who preached against everything he'd just done to me.. be him?
I stared at the screen, watching Evric stand beside his father. They looked alike… but they couldn't have been more different.
Suddenly, the whole night felt heavier.
I tried to piece everything together. Is this really the man they call pure? The same man whose father openly despises people like him those who love the same gender?
I sat there alone, mind racing, trying to make sense out of it all. But no matter how I turned it in my head, it didn't add up.
Evric Draeven was untouchable.
And his father, Rogan? He might wear the mask of a kind, respected man, but I knew better. For every good man around him, there were just as many dangerous ones, loyal only to power and control.
I whispered to myself, "This is dangerous." I need to let it go.
And just like that, I convinced myself to forget him.
I stood up, walked to the bathroom, and stepped into the shower. I let the hot water run over me, hoping it would wash away the storm in my chest.
After my shower, I lay on the bed, damp hair soaking into the pillow. I stared at the ceiling, trying to clear my mind, but it was useless. His voice kept playing over and over in my head, low, smooth, sinful. I didn't even realize when sleep finally took me.
But it wasn't peaceful.
It started with a whisper.
"You want me, don't you?"
His voice crawled into my dream, warm breath brushing the shell of my ear, like he was right there beside me. I couldn't see him. I didn't need to. Just his voice deep, rich, intoxicating, wrapped around my senses like silk.
"I know what you feel when I talk to you... here."
A hand... his hand slid down my bare chest in the dark of the dream, tracing every inch like he owned me. I gasped, arching into the touch. It wasn't just a dream. It felt real. Too real. His fingers were slow, teasing, igniting everything inside me.
My skin burned with need.
His voice thickened, raspier, whispering filth into my ear. "Let yourself feel it. Don't fight it."
My hips moved on their own. The sheets were twisted around my thighs. My breathing hitched, soft moans escaping my lips. Every word he said seemed to stroke something deeper until I was grinding helplessly against the mattress, chasing something I didn't even want to admit I craved.
I didn't see his face.
Only felt him.
His voice.
His breath.
His heart.
The dream blurred between pleasure and delirium. I was drunk on him, completely gone. I moaned his name before I even realized it, breathy and desperate. I couldn't stop. Couldn't wake up.
And then... release.
Everything tensed, exploded, and shattered in the dark.
My eyes flew open.
I was panting, chest rising and falling like I'd just run a marathon. Sweat clung to my skin. My boxers were soaked. I blinked, trying to process what had just happened.
The room was quiet. I reached for my phone.
12:37 AM.
Midnight.
I sat up slowly, hand trembling as I touched my abdomen, then pulled the sheet off me. Shit. I was completely wet. Not just with sweat. With... that.
My heart raced as I whispered to myself, "I'm in trouble."
I've never had a dream like that. Never felt anything like that.
And his voice... his voice was still echoing inside me. Like it had carved itself into my soul.
Into my end.