Made Men Books Novels & Stories

Curiosity was eating at her. With an effort, she made herself focus on the other titles. He had books on negotiating, battle tactics, history, agriculture…boring. Didn’t the man read any fiction? There was a book on stained glass that looked mildly interesting, but she kept scanning the shelves, hoping for something more enticing. Her search was rewarded. There, right in the middle of his shelves at eye level, was an entire shelf of books devoted to lovemaking. Wiley’s eyes boggled as she read the titles: An Illustrated Guide to the Sensual Arts. A Woman’s Climax. Emotional Need and the Sensual Virgin. There were dozens of titles.

Chapter 3 I stood in the centre of all the books in the library, my fingers trembling as I flipped through another ancient history book, the pages brittle under my touch. The ink bled in places, the words looked smudged with how old they looked, but the message was clear…royalty must marry royalty. Always. Without exception.

“He hides behind a screen, and it faded quite opaque. I used to think he’d outgrow it.” Evan looked up. “You’ve never talked to me about him like that.” “You were in love with him,” Daniel said, dipping his bread in his soup, with his left forearm resting on the table. “And I respected that. Even when he didn’t.” “Why'd you invite me here?” “I invite all of Liam’s exes here,” Daniel said, swirling his soup with a spoon. “Safe to say that none of them who came here—” he paused to meet Evan's expecting gaze, “—ever left the same.”

"We come to the public and we pretend as if we are saints sent from heaven but no and no we weren't saints and we seek the implementation of the gay bill acts. Let men marry men, it's a matter of choice.” “The acts bill put an end to women breaking the heart of man. Falling in love just because he is wealthy. Rushing to the marriage registry and after a few months breaking the news of divorce to the entire world." “Making a penury woman to become a billionaire in a twinkle of an eye. We men aren't fools anymore. We want to work hard as we have always done and marry ourselves." " A man can take care of a man and we are not interested in the damned pussy at the center leg of a woman.”

He leaned back against the counter, flipping the cover open. On the first page, written in bold, uneven handwriting, were the words: “A Secret Collection of Male Confessions.” Adam let out a quiet breath, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Confessions?” he murmured. “What kind of confessions…” He turned the page. The handwriting inside was rougher, heavier, different from one section to the next, like multiple voices trapped in ink. Different men. Different stories. His curiosity sharpened. He kept reading.

Because my bosses weren’t normal men—they were predators dressed in Armani. On one hand, there was Mr. Adrian Sterling. Cold. Precise. The kind of man who didn’t just walk into a room, he claimed it. Jet-black hair always slicked back, silver cufflinks glinting, voice low enough to make my thighs clench when he barked orders. He never smiled. Never laughed. But when those icy gray eyes pinned me down in meetings, I felt stripped bare, as if he could see every dirty thought I was trying to bury under my tailored skirt.

“I want to hear exactly what you wrote.” Daniel let out a low whistle. “Damn. You’re into voyeurism now?” “Read, Daniel.” The command, low and unyielding, went straight to his cock. He flipped the book open, skimming the messy handwriting. His smirk slipped. “Fine,” he muttered. “Entry one. Monday night. P**n. Two guys going at it, rough, spit everywhere. Got off in like five minutes.” He glanced up. “Happy?” “Keep going.” Daniel swallowed. “Entry two. Tuesday. Tried to watch something softer. Kissing, slow grinding. Got hard, but halfway through… nothing. Dick just died.” His throat tightened. “Had to switch back to rough stuff to finish.”

“Quiet doesn’t mean unbothered. Just good at hiding it.” We fell into silence. The only sound was distant thunder rumbling above ground. I wondered how long we’d be down here. Minutes stretched. My mind wandered to how close he was. How alone we were. “Tell me something,” I said finally. “Why’d you become a librarian? You don’t seem like the type who likes being stuck behind a desk all day.” Mr. Kane exhaled softly. “Books don’t talk back. They don’t expect small talk. I like the order. And the stories. What about you? History major with a focus on obscure trade? That’s not common.”

IMPORTANT WARNING: This is an MM (Male/Male) Gay Erotica story with extremely explicit and graphic sexual content. If you prefer MF stories and are uncomfortable with gay romance, please skip this book and move to Story 9 in my collection. 18+ ONLY. Liam’s hand still stung from the slap he’d delivered two days ago. The memory burned hotter than the summer night air clinging to his skin. That arrogant bastard at the gallery opening, tall, dark-haired, with a jaw like carved marble and eyes that screamed 'I own everything I touch' had grabbed him by the waist and kissed him like he had every right. No warning. Just lips crashing down, demanding, tasting of expensive whiskey and pure dominance.

My gaze slowly lifted toward him. My jaw nearly dropped open when I saw the man holding a gun. He wore a red long-sleeved polo with the upper buttons left undone, exposing the tattoos crawling across his neck and chest. Even his arms were covered in ink because he had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. His hair was cut clean and short, almost military-style. I still couldn’t fully see his face in the dim light, but his presence alone was overwhelming. “So there are no more women here willing to get paid to touch you, huh? That’s why you’re forcing yourself on someone now?” the man with the gun asked coldly.