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

by Holly June Smith

The wide, natural smile that’s 80% boyish charm, and 20% ‘I’m going to ruin you.’

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?

Ryan seriously downplayed his sister. I mean sure, it would have been weird as fuck if he said ‘Yeah she’s gorgeous, knock yourself out’, but he could have warned me. Gorgeous doesn’t even begin to describe her. She’s breathtaking.

My best friend may not follow my audio erotica voice acting account, but his sister does.

Why couldn’t he be a normal fuckboy who posts pictures from parties like everyone else our age? I could have harnessed the power of social media and figured out his roommate’s identity ages ago.

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.

He is the master of edging and I love to imagine him teasing me all day long, building me up, and stopping every time I get close. 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.’ I’d be his good girl, always doing as I’m told. Back home we’d unpack, and while preparing lunch he’d touch me constantly, but never where I need him most. We’d shower together, and he’d stroke his cock until he came in his hand, but he’d never let me touch him, and he wouldn’t let me touch myself either. In the evening, we’d go out for dinner and drinks. He’d pin me to the wall before we left the house, drop to his knees, rake his nails up underneath my skirt, and tug my underwear to the floor. He’d give me one slow lick, and my fingers would dig into his hair as my hips pushed against his face. But he’d push me back, and stand, laughing as he’d loop my damp knickers over his thumb, pull on the elastic and catapult them up the stairs. ‘You won’t need these,’ he’d whisper, and I’d almost come on the spot. He’d tease me all night. Fingers on my thigh. Taunts in my ear. It would be torture, but I’d love it. The anticipation, the longing, the knowledge deep down that he would fuck me eventually, but I’d have to be good and patient just a little ...

There’s no attractive way to approach a man while wearing ski boots.

I’m tempted to save my number under Mac just to really get under her skin, but the poor woman might spontaneously combust or burst into tears. “There you go. Now you can reach me whenever you need me.”

What I really want to ask is if she listened to the audio I uploaded yesterday, but I only had to take one look at her sipping her coffee on the chaise this morning, and I knew she had. So Taylor Swift it is. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she laughs, wiggling her hips as she gets comfy in the chair. “One does not simply have a favourite Taylor Swift song. It changes day by day and mood by mood.” “Do you have a favourite audio of mine?” Oops. There goes my resistance. “What did you say?”

Everyone went to great lengths making it a magical time, but Christmas, like life I guess, loses a little of its sparkle once you get older.

And then they’re gone, leaving the two of us alone. Part of me is grateful I don’t have to watch what I say in front of my brother anymore. The other part is terrified that without his buffer, I might start saying things I regret and never stop talking.

Personally, my plan is to try to keep my shit together and not mount Cameron every chance I get.

I’ve only slept with a handful of men, and one was, in hindsight, so selfish in the bedroom I’m not sure he touched my clit once in the time we were together. I’ve never asked for anything in my life, and I’ve only ever had sex in a bed. That’s probably Cameron’s fifth favourite place to do it.

what will he think of me when he finds out I don’t know what I’m doing? What would he even want with someone like me?

He’s always preferred his food be delivered as directly to his mouth as possible. Doesn’t care where it comes from or how it was made.

I’m not lying. I am doing well, but even when I was at my lowest point, I constantly tried to convince my parents I was OK. When I couldn’t get out of bed, when the thought of going to classes broke me out in a cold sweat. When it seemed like my only option was dropping out of university, or transferring to another school. When I cried all day, every day, I still said I was fine.

To have one man cheat on you is awful, but when it happens twice, well, then your brain is liable to convince you that you’re not worth much.

“Today we feast. If your trousers aren’t elasticated, you may want to change.” He hooks his thumb into his waistband and stretches it out for emphasis.

“My parents are both dentists, so one is always on call and has to leave and deal with some emergency. Usually someone who’d had their teeth knocked out in a family argument.

As if the only time I’m going to get her to myself is in a boiling hot cupboard under the stairs.

I’m struck with a vision of my future. My shoes, her shoes, and a bunch of little ones, all in a row.