2. Sam
Chapter 2
Sam
“ O h, fuck yes! I want your big cock inside of me. I want to feel you deep in my belly, feel your cum in my ass, keeping me warm and full. Please put it in me, Alpha. I need it, I need it, I need it ? —”
“Fucking hell, tell them how you really feel…” Sam mumbled, scrunching his nose up as he hit pause in the audio editing software.
The sounds of his pleading were cut off, along with the wet slide of Sam riding a dildo like his life depended on it.
He sighed, rubbing at the ache in his temples. The balance was off between his moans and the lube-covered silicone cock, but last night’s recording session had been fueled by a five-month-old itch he’d been frantic to scratch, rather than a script he’d carefully choreographed and set up.
He hadn’t been in the mood to contemplate the appropriate microphone placement.
He slid the laptop onto the couch next to him, tipped his head back, and closed his eyes, trying to fight off the eye-strain-induced headache. He’d been staring at his computer for way too long today.
Listening to the sound of his own voice never got easier, even now with years of experience creating and editing erotic audio content. Sometimes he still doubted whether what he made was any good. Did he talk too much? Or maybe not enough? Were his moans sexy or weird?
By now, he could reliably predict the comments.
A little over the top, but I’m into it.
It would be hotter if you stopped talking so much.
You should film yourself next time, I want to see you.
Yeeess more of this, please.
Once, on one of his earlier audios, someone had commented that he sounded like the squirrel from Ice Age when he came.
He’d stopped reading the comments for a long time after that.
Sam shook off the thoughts. He’d taught himself early on when he was brand new to the NSFW audio industry, equipped with only the built-in microphone on his iPhone 6, to ignore most of what people said.
For every person who told him to shut up and moan, three more would say they couldn’t get off anymore without his voice in their ear.
Which would always be fucking weird.
It paid the bills though, and made it so that his younger brother Jaime had a relatively good college experience without worrying over where their next meal would come from. After a shitty childhood spent tip-toeing around a drunk and ambivalent father and fending for themselves, it was a goddamn blessing.
Plus Sam enjoyed having something of his own.
He’d kept the exact details of his work a secret from most of the people who knew him, including his brother, but not out of shame. It was just one of the only things that’d ever been his, and only his.
And really, he didn’t want Jaime stumbling across his subscription account by accident. Neither of them would ever recover from the embarrassment.
Opening his eyes, Sam realized it had already gone dark outside, the sun no longer shining in through the curtains.
He’d been editing for longer than he thought.
Pulling his headphones down so they hung around his neck, he stretched his arms over his head, groaning at the stiffness that’d built up in his neck and shoulders.
“Right. That’s dinner.”
Sam talked to himself a lot. It helped with the loneliness.
Growing up, if Jaime wasn’t around, he’d talk to his dog, Alfie. The habit stuck even after he’d passed. Sam couldn’t bring himself to stop saying things out loud, wishing he still had his fluffy companion to pad around the house with.
Standing from the sofa, Sam made his way to the kitchen and pulled something vaguely burrito-shaped from the freezer. After popping it in the microwave, he stood and watched it spin in slow circles through the hazy glass, looking more and more like plastic the longer it cooked.
Yay, another simultaneously frozen and scaldingly hot cheese-filled bread pocket. How delightful.
At least he hadn’t said that out loud. Small wins.
A thump and swoosh at his front door drew his attention away from the depressing meal, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. A quick scan showed both deadbolts were engaged. Good.
Not that deadbolts would keep out the monsters that stalked his nightmares, but still. Maybe it would slow them down.
Sam reached for his phone, the instinct to call someone—to call Silas—coming to him like a habit he couldn’t kick. He stopped himself though, just like he had every other time he’d wanted to call for the last five months.
Those monsters were exactly why he couldn’t call Silas.
Because nothing had changed. Silas was still Silas —still overwhelmingly everything, all warmth and goodness and eagerness to help, with hands that healed and eyes that saw too much.
You should have told me about this, Sammy. I can help. It’s literally what I do for a living. You don’t have to do this alone.
Sam had panicked at Silas’ words.
It was his job to root out people’s nefarious intentions—the stalkers, murderers, thieves, and liars of the world. And the more time Sam allowed himself to spend around Silas, drawn in like a moth to a flame, the more likely he was to realize Sam’s stalker wasn’t a stalker at all, and he was trapped in a web of lies so intricate, there was no escape.
So he’d made a choice standing in front of that piece of shit, Cain. Sam had seen the recognition on his twisted face.
He knows who I am. He knows what I’ve done. He knows.
“I would also hate for your growing pack to be held accountable for your meddling,” Cain had said.
A threat flung at Silas, yes, but underneath it… a threat for Sam, too.
So Sam had shoved Silas away, hating himself a little more with each word out of his own mouth. He’d barely been able to look at Silas when he’d said he didn’t want help, didn’t want him.
Sam was a liar. He’d told many in the last year and a half, but what he’d said to Silas that day was among the worst of his offenses.
He startled at the sound of the microwave beeping, alerting him that dinner was ready. He set the lava-hot burrito-ish meal on the coffee table, cutting it into pieces in an attempt to cool it to an edible temperature before he died of old age.
While he waited, he pulled up the app connected to his doorbell camera. It was cheap—one of the ones that wouldn’t even record and store video clips, only capturing a live feed. He couldn’t afford anything more high-tech than that anymore.
He certainly couldn’t afford an around-the-clock bodyguard.
Sam breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing his empty porch through the black-and-white night-shift camera feed. The only movement outside came from the crispy, dried-up remains of a lonesome potted plant swaying in the breeze.
He’d bought the cheerful flowering thing last spring on a trip to the garden center at Jaime’s encouragement, knowing full well he’d probably end up forgetting to water it and kill it well before the cold would. Sam had said as much, but Jaime’s enthusiasm was infectious as always, so he’d caved.
He’d been right, of course. It hadn’t even made it through July, but Sam was still glad he’d bought it. He collected those bright, happy moments with his brother—tucked them close to his heart and hoarded them like he was afraid every new shiny memory would be the last Jaime wanted to make with him.
Sam hadn’t been able to face him for most of last year.
He’d assumed he was the one hurt by staying away, and if he looked too closely at that he’d probably been punishing himself, but when he’d finally seen the wounded look in Jaime’s eyes he’d realized how much pain his absence had caused.
He was terrified that he’d never be able to mend what he’d broken.
They were trying, though. Their phone calls and lunch conversations were stilted, but it was better than it had been. Sam told himself that was all he could hope for, because if Jaime ever found out their reconciliation had been founded on even more lies… no.
He wouldn’t. He couldn’t—Sam wouldn’t allow it.
That was why it was better for everyone if Sam stayed away from Silas and kept Jaime at arm's length, only showing him what he wanted to see—the happy, carefree moments they could share together.
Not wanting to think about it anymore, he picked through bites of burrito, avoiding the large chunks of something that looked vaguely like chicken but chewed like rubber, and scrolled through social media.
A drop-down notification alerted him to a new text, and upon opening the message, he was startled by a very risqué photo of his closest friend and online mutual, Lana, featuring an alarming amount of cleavage.
Lana
Thoughts?
Engagement on last week’s audio was shit, I need something eye-catching.
Sam
Wtf, warn a guy first. I could have been in public.
But, hot.
Please. You barely go outside.
Rude. True, but rude.
And hot like, “Hmm, hot,” or hot like, “I’m gonna subscribe to see what else is going on there,” hot?
Sam huffed a laugh.
Hot like if I were into boobs I’d be smashing that top tier button and grabbing the bedside lotion bottle.
Perfect. Thanks, sweetie.
Sam studied the picture again. She was splayed out on a bed, naked below the waist with her legs angled so you couldn’t see what she was doing, but the look of pleasure on her face and the placement of her hand between her thighs was… suggestive. Across the top in bold letters she’d written, “ I need to come… want to listen in ?”
The whole thing was a celebration of her soft, full figure, and it was objectively gorgeous. Lana knew her angles and marketing well—she’d be reeling in new subscribers with that teaser.
If Sam ever decided he was comfortable sharing photos or videos of himself, he’d ask her for pointers. He’d done well enough without it, though, and found it was important for his well-being to maintain a level of privacy.
Lana was one of Sam’s very first industry friends when he was new to NSFW voice acting. They’d both started accounts around the same time, and even though they’d never met in person they’d grown close as they navigated the murky waters of social media algorithms.
Her friendship had been a lifeline through many of Sam’s darkest days.
After cleaning up his dishes Sam sat back on the couch, deciding he’d clip down the portion of audio he’d listened to earlier into a teaser. It was right when things were starting to get interesting, and would be sure to lure listeners in to “ Subscribe for over 200 full-length audio clips!”
When the teaser was ready to post, Sam took a few minutes to scroll through some of his older titles before picking a new one.
Needy Brat Bounces on it Until He’s Bred and Leaking | M4M NSFW Audio
It’s Too Big! Feral Fucking From my Alpha | M4M NSFW Audio
He Makes Me Swallow All of It | M4M NSFW Audio
Come with Me… Please? I Need You | M4M NSFW Audio
Eventually, he decided to go with Big Alpha Cock Fills up My Tight Hole and Makes Me Cry | M4M NSFW Audio, and hit post. It was painfully on the nose, but it had all the buzzwords people clicked for and was certainly on theme with his last five months’ worth of content.
His inspiration wasn’t difficult to guess.
Just because he’d set a firm boundary that actually speaking with Silas was a terrible idea, he couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to lose himself beneath all that warm, brawny muscle. Last night Sam had stared at the ceiling for an hour, convincing himself for the thousandth time not to call Silas.
What he’d say, Sam had no idea. He’d just wanted to hear his voice.
Instead, he’d fumbled for the lube he kept in his bedside drawer, perfunctorily prepped himself with a few fingers, and rode the largest dildo he had through the fucking mattress.
He’d made sure to hit record on the audio app on his phone first, though, tossing it on the bed next to him, so that later he could tell himself it’d been for work.
In any other context, the name Alpha skeeved him out, but when he’d thought about Silas while saying it Sam came so hard he was left shaking, face down on the bed with tears running down his cheeks.
And then the post-nut clarity slammed into him.
Five months had passed. Whatever inkling of something that’d been between them, Silas had surely forgotten about it. He’d stopped calling, at least.
It didn’t matter, anyway. Sam would die before he offered up the broken pieces of his heart only to be dropped like a rag-doll the first time Silas caught a whiff of a stranger and realized they were his mate.
Jaime had explained the concept when Sam asked what the deal was between him and Finn. “It’s like soulmates,” he’d said, “except more.”
“More as in, you can’t leave the house without each other? That sounds suffocating,” Sam had responded, wrinkling his nose.
Jaime had laughed. “No, not like that. You’re still an independent person. More like, sometimes I can sense how Finn is feeling. I can tell when he’s close. I’ll always choose him, and he’ll always choose me. Everything makes sense when I’m with him. He’s my person.”
Honestly, Sam would’ve said it sounded made up if he hadn’t seen people turn into animals with his own eyes, or witnessed the way Finn and Jaime were with each other. Their connection was tangible—the wolf had imprinted on his brother like some kind of freaky Twilight -for-grownups mating ritual. Silas had never acted that way with Sam—in fact, he hadn’t had any trouble staying away at all.
Magic was real, it just wasn’t for him. Not after the things he’d done, and not with Silas.
So, Sam kept his fantasies and secrets to himself, and someday he’d pretend like it didn’t make his skin crawl to see Silas happily mated in marital bliss to someone else.
Sam had just shut his laptop for the evening and made his way back into the kitchen to refill his water bottle when he heard a second thump against his front door. A bolt of fear shot down his spine, and Sam held his breath while he listened for any subsequent shuffling from outside.
Pulling up the camera feed again, he still couldn’t see anything out of place, except for a car idling a little ways down the lane.
Peering through the kitchen curtains out back, he only saw the meager pile of wood he used to keep the stove going in the winter. He’d have to remember to get more, soon.
It’d probably been one of the neighbors, or an animal scurrying around outside. Still, Sam couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched.
The buzz of his phone against the kitchen counter startled him, and as if he’d willed him into existence through some invisible thread of connection tying them together, Silas’ name appeared on the caller ID.
Sam sucked in a breath. No. He couldn’t answer. He’d just finished reminding himself why opening that door with Silas was a bad idea. He scooted the phone further back on the counter, as if physically shoving it away would help him maintain his emotional distance.
When the call ended, Sam told himself he was relieved.
The revving of an engine drew his attention back to the front door. What the hell was going on out there?
But just as he was halfway across the small apartment to peer out front through the living room window, his phone rang again.
What were the chances it was someone else, and not Silas calling a second time?
What if something had happened to Jaime?
What if something had happened to Silas?
Sam huffed and returned to the kitchen, hovering over the phone like it was a bomb ready to detonate if he breathed too deeply.
Just as he reached to answer, a beam of light shot through the cracks in his living room curtains, the way headlights sometimes reflected from a passing car.
Sam turned and squinted against the glare. He didn’t have time to think about why the angle of the headlights looked wrong, pointing directly into his windows, or why they were far too bright.
He didn’t have time to answer Silas’ phone call either—the only reason he stood in the kitchen right now, and not at his living room window.
He didn’t have time to think about fate, chance, or how he’d never believed in coincidences before a car crashed through the front of his apartment, blowing his living room apart.