Can I Tell You Something? (Snowbound Secrets, #1)

by Holly June Smith

One man catches my eye as he walks towards me, a dazzling smile spread across his clean-shaven face. A girl could do well for herself in a place like this. A girl with confidence and charisma, that is. I’m cursed to flush beetroot red and look down at my feet until he passes me by.

A story writes itself in my mind. Seducing someone on a plane and hooking up in the cramped bathroom. Or maybe making a fellow passenger come with my fingers hidden underneath a blanket on a night flight with the lights dipped low. I bet my listeners would be into that one.

“What’s your sister like? Is she hot?” Obviously, I’ve been wondering if I’m about to be shacked up with a forbidden cutie for two weeks.

“Bro, don’t you fucking dare hit on my sister.”

“Does Hannah have a boyfriend?”

“Not as far as I’m aware. And she doesn’t need one either.” He turns towards me. “I mean it, hands off my sister. There’ll be plenty of other ski bunnies around if you want to get your dick sucked.”

To put it bluntly, twice a week I set up my microphone, take off my pants, tell dirty stories, and jerk off. And it turns out there are many people willing to pay for the pleasure of listening to me moan.

I fish my headphones and sleep mask out of my bag. “Shut up and finish your rum.”

Don’t judge me. After a long day at work there’s nothing better than a self administered O and falling asleep basking in the afterglow with a man who’ll never leave you, hurt you, or do you wrong. Why would you bother with a real man when you could have an audio one talk you through pretty much any fantasy scenario you can think of?

“So tell us about you Cameron, what do you do?” Dad asks once we’ve all loaded our plates with steaming piles of carbonara.

“I’m a sound tech at the same studio as Ryan, and I do some voice acting on the side.” I nearly choke on my water.

Surely he’s not going to do that kind of audio work here? My thighs press together at the thought of him speaking his filthy words in this very house. The visual of him sitting on the chaise, my favourite spot, with his hand in his underwear, floods my mind. I squeak, then cover it by clearing my throat.

“So, Hannah,” Cameron says, leaning closer. “What time do you want me?”

The vision of her when we first arrived is seared into my brain. Messy bun, a pink crease in her cheek from where she’d been sleeping, her top slipped off her shoulder just enough to expose her collarbone. Light brown eyes with long lashes, and her huge, bright smile that, unfortunately for me, was meant for her brother. She didn’t even notice me until their dad said hi.

I get a good look at her when she walks to the kitchen, her pert ass and short shorts drawing my gaze before she rounds the corner. She has the kind of thighs you want to use for a pillow. Eyes you want to get lost in, soft dark hair that looks perfect for stroking while you hold her tight. What the fuck is wrong with me?

I start in the obvious place, Ryan’s Instagram account. His social media is purely for work purposes, unlike mine, which I use to promote my Mac’n’Please audio work and grow my listener base. He doesn’t even follow me, the prick. Said he didn’t want to be associated with such filth. I should remind him that said filth paid for our asses to fly here business class. I scroll through his followers list, and there she is. Hannah Richmond, with a public profile. Jackpot. If I was feeling a little more bold, I’d hit follow. Except… that button doesn’t say ‘follow’. It says ‘follow back’. Then it hits me, the knot I already had in my stomach twisting tighter. My best friend may not follow my audio erotica voice acting account, but his sister does.

Oh God. Oh, fuck, no.

Frantic, I grab my phone from my bedside, open Instagram, navigate to his profile and click into our message history. It’s an embarrassingly one-sided conversation that goes back months and months. I scramble to delete everything,—how the fuck do you delete DMs?—then I watch in horror as a four letter word appears at the bottom of my screen. Seen.

Holy shit.

I never come harder than when listening to your voice.

She’s not pissed at me, she’s in shock. She would never in a million years have imagined I’d turn up here at her house. I now know three things. Hannah knows exactly who I am. She’s got a dirty, dirty mouth. And my one rule is about to be pushed to the limit.

Cameron knows I know who he is. Not only that, he knows I’ve listened to his audios, and that I’ve gotten off to them. And he knows because I was dumb enough to message him directly and tell him. I want to slap past Hannah around the head. What kind of lawyer leaves a paper trail like that?

“Morning Hannah,”

He dips his head and lowers his voice. “Can I tell you something?”

My response to those five words is Pavlovian and full-bodied. I pinch my lips together just in time to catch a small squeak and turn to check nobody heard him. Those are the words he uses in his confessions series, the audios where it’s just him spilling his darkest, dirtiest desires.

“You dating anyone?” he pries, and I roll my eyes. I definitely don’t want to talk about this in front of Mac, sorry, Cameron.

Ryan and I have never kept secrets from each other, and though he knows I typically make smart choices, he’s been witness to my extremely bad choices and the resulting crappy break-ups. He’s protective in a way that I appreciate, a person to confide in without being overbearing. Telling him I’m not dating right now because nobody can top his best friend is clearly not an option.

“I find it hard to believe you haven’t been snapped up,” Cameron says, grunting as Ryan del...

“Quit hitting on my...

“I’m not, man. I’m just saying she seems really nice.” He gestures casually towards me and I stare out of the window and keep my ...

In my dreams he’d start at breakfast, with oral on the kitchen counter, then stop right before I came and tell me it’s time to go shop for groceries. In the car he’d tell me to touch myself on the drive but ‘don’t you dare come. If you come, I’ll fuck you where everyone can see who your orgasms belong to.’

“Tell me about you then.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“That’s a pretty broad range of subjects.”

“Ok,” he says, tapping his lip. “Let’s start with… favourite ...

“Let’s start with… favourite ice-cream flavour?” “Pistachio.” “Classy, I like...

“Pista...

“Classy, I like it. Favouri...

“All of them. They each have their...

“I’m down with inclusivity. Movie...

“We should get back to skiing while the weather is on our side.”

“Wait.” Cameron grabs my wrist and pulls me back towards him. “One last question. I’m dying to know.” Hours pass as I wait for him to stop staring at my mouth and ask what he is apparently so desperate to find out about me. “What do you like to listen to?”

No, no, no. Please don’t be this bold. We were doing so well. Can’t we just pretend we’re having a nice day on the mountain and there isn’t this big unspoken secret between us?

“W...

“Come...

“What do you like to fill your ears with when you’re alone at night, Hannah?”

His voice is rich, so laced with seduction that I’d sway backwards if he weren’t keeping me upright. His eyes are on my mouth again, and my lips are about to form the word ‘you’, when I catch myself and pull out of his grip. “Let’s go.”

“Fair enough. Do I need your keys for the house?”

“No, there’s a keypad on the door. I’ll message you the code so you don’t have to memorise it.”