Pokemon Audiobook Novels & Stories

I wasn’t even sure if he’d gotten everything settled with his frat brothers when he drove me to the airport in the morning. I tried to let those thoughts fade away while on my flight home. I put in my earbuds and decided to listen to one of the smutty werewolf audio books Hana has gotten me hooked on, Alpha Gray by CJ Primer, with Theo and Maddie as narrators. The book is HOT, and Theo’s voice… yeah, it makes for an enjoyable two-and-a-half-hour flight. I love how he changes his voice when speaking for each Alpha. Hana told me they’ve done the narration for the rest of the series, and I can’t wait to listen.

And no doubt, have hot dreams about it. It’s another book suggestion from her. I’ve just finished the last one she recommended, and honestly, I shouldn’t dive into another. Once I start reading, I lose myself completely. But this time, she’s telling me to listen to it. Audiobook. That’s new. Before I even realize what I’m doing, I click the link she sent, and in a matter of seconds, the book is purchased and playing through my home speakers. I settle back in bed, letting the narrator’s deep voice wash over me, and within moments, I realize Lucy’s sent me a stalker romance. Great.

“We improvise it live.” Pauly handed her a slim, battered paperback—Mockingbird, cover worn, pages gutted to hold a wafer-thin transceiver and a micro-SD slot. “Your new copy. Same weight as the real one. Press the title twice if you’re burned; it wipes your last three hours and plays an audiobook. Press the author twice and it pings us with location.” She slid the book into her tote without looking. “And if I press the spine?” “It complains about being objectified,” Pauly said.

The taste of his lips feels acidic, like battery acid. Stop! In my head, I scream. Instead, I push my hands onto his shoulders, and Ahren is suddenly pressed against the wall. The crash of fallen pictures around him is drowned out by the music. All I can hear is my pounding heart and my heavy, labored breath. My breathing sounds hollow and emanates from the depths of my chest, like the low growl of a chainsaw. He rises to his feet, staring at the hole in the wall with astonishment, a single question dominating his thoughts: How on earth did petite Alora throw a 233-pound man? I share the same query but am too consumed by anger to ponder it for long.