Controlled by His Voice Box Set (Erotic Romance)

Controlled by His Voice

Box Set

By

Skylar Cross

Copyright 2014 D2Rev Publishing / Skylar Cross

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

All characters depicted in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Controlled by His Voice

By

Skylar Cross

Chapter 1

There it was again. Just two words in the middle of a blank piece of paper taped to one side of a vestibule, sandwiched between a “Sublet Available Feb 1” ad and a “Guitar Lessons by Rick” ad:
Submission training.

That’s it. That's all it said. Two words. Two stupid little words. No pictures. No colors. Black ink on plain white paper. Times New Roman, maybe 16-point.

At the bottom of the paper, like the other ads, there were scissor-cut tear-off strips with just a phone number. Ten of them. Also Times New Roman, but probably 12-point.

The sublet and guitar lessons were missing a few tear-off phone numbers, but all of these were still intact. I had seen the ad three times now, three days in a row. No takers. Not surprised.

My finger grazed one of the tear-off strips and flicked it.
Stop that!
I said to my finger.
What are you thinking?!

I put one foot ahead of the other, dragging my naughty digit out of the vestibule of the old building and back onto Elm Street. As I walked to class, I noticed that today there seemed to be more couples in Davis Square than usual. Lots of hand-holding. Kissing. Arms around shoulders.

If my boyfriend Jake were walking with me, he would be acting just like one of these guys… all lovey-dovey Mr. Public Displays of Affection.

I had planned on stopping for a coffee but changed my mind. My stomach was rolling and I was oddly nervous but not quite sure why.

Perhaps it was the knowledge that this was the first week of my final semester at college. Graduation was a stone’s throw away.

I don’t mind. In fact, I’m looking forward to getting the hell out of here and finally starting my life.

I have no regrets about the past four years. I did it all. Partied hard. Had lots of sex with a handful of studs, including one professor. Earned top grades and proved to myself and the world that I’m quite smart. Found a great boyfriend who is now a first-year associate attorney at a huge downtown Boston law firm.

Having a meteorology degree will open a few doors, but I know my looks will open even more. I hate to say it, because it sounds conceited, but I’m hot and I know it. Once I finish my audition video and email it to a handful of TV stations, I’ll have a job in days, if not hours, later.

Of course Jake wants me to stay in Boston. And why not? I like Boston. I enjoy the academic crowd, the history, the starkly different seasons.

But I haven’t told Jake that not only will I be sending audition videos to Boston, Providence, Worcester, and New Hampshire stations... but also Sarasota, Houston, and Sacramento.

He won’t like that.

In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s getting ready to pop the question. A girl knows. The signs have been there. The long loving looks. The talk about saving up to buy a house. Odd little hints to my friends.

And why wouldn’t I marry Jake? He’s great-looking, muscular, charming, nice, kind, loving, and sweet. He does everything for me.

I should want to marry Jake, right?

Right?

Shit, why am I even asking that question? If he asks, of course I’ll say yes. We’ll have a happy life in a suburban house with a porch and a big front yard with criss-cross lawnmower marks. And our kids will be beautiful.

So why are two words taped to a vestibule driving me crazy?

Maybe it's the book.

You know the one.

Like every other female in America, I’ve read it. And its two sequels. Admit it. You read it too. The one that has taken BDSM from the dark realm of fetish conventions to open conversations at Starbucks. I swear I can’t go one day without seeing its many-shaded gray cover in the hands of a twenty-something woman, rabidly flipping pages while riding the T.

While intrigued by the story of the billionaire who lures a college girl into the world of dominance and submission, I found much of it repulsive. There were parts that made me laugh out loud and slam the book shut, vowing to never open it again.

But I finished it anyway. I had to. And then the two sequels.

What was it? Curiosity? I’m not sure what kept me reading. I've never even considered getting into a BDSM relationship, not even a slightly kinky one. I’ve always been a normal girl who likes normal sex with normal guys.

So why can’t I get my mind off this stupid ad?

Maybe I should just call. Wouldn’t it be fun just to find out who’s on the other end? I wouldn’t have to say anything. I could just hang up, right?

But then he… I assume it’s a he… would have my number. Shit, that’s no good. Then I’ll probably be getting calls from perverts.

I could get one of those prepaid phones at Walmart for $20 loaded with thirty free minutes and then call. I could even have a conversation with the "trainer" and ask a few questions, my identity completely protected. When I’m done satisfying my curiosity I could just throw the phone away.

But is it worth twenty bucks? Probably not. I have better things to spend my money on.

On the walk back home after class, I passed the vestibule again. I tried not to look but I couldn’t help myself.

And I noticed that one of the tear-off phone numbers was actually torn off! Holy shit! Wow, some whacked-out girl is seriously going to respond to an ad for submission training.
Ha!

At that moment, I felt a tingle in my pussy. I walked a little faster. As I walked, I noticed a flush in my face. I undid my coat hoping the winter air would cool me.

But it was no use. My panties were wet.

What the fuck, Meghan? Really, what the fuck?

"These are delicious!" I said as I ate one of the steamed mussels in a white wine sauce we had ordered as an appetizer.

Jake laughed and plopped one in his mouth.

"Get used to it," he said. "This is how we're going to live when I'm a partner and you're the Channel 5 weather girl."

"Meteorologist, not weather girl.
Asshole.
"

We grinned at each other and took a sip of our Krug champagne. I ate another mussel.

We sat in one of the hotel restaurant’s window tables, looking out at the Public Garden. The temperature had dropped to fifteen degrees outside. The occasional pedestrian who flashed by on Boylston Street was decked out in headgear and scarves.

"I've always wanted to take you here," he said. "All those nights as poor college students walking by and now here we are inside."

Jake's face nearly glowed in the soft light of the restaurant. He looked more handsome than I could ever remember, resplendent in a blue Brooks Brothers suit. Fitting indeed for a young hotshot at one of the oldest and most prestigious law firms in Boston.

He reached over the table and touched my hand. I took another sip of champagne.

"So," I said, "just because you work for Banks, Hardwick, and Cone you think you can afford to eat here every night, huh?"

"I don't just
work
for Banks, Hardwick and Cone but I was recently promoted to associate, my sweet. That's after six months with the firm. Very impressive, wouldn't you say?"

"Hmmm, makes me wonder about the stability of that firm. And that's Ms. Sweet to you, by the way."

"My my, what a liberated woman you are!"

"Yeah, liberated my ass. I'm stuck with you."

This was why I liked Jake so much. We could banter like this all night, tossing witty barbs back and forth culminating in fantastic, even if it is ordinary, sex. I remember how happy I was when I realized he was the complete package. I felt like I had hit the jackpot.

So what's wrong with me now? Why is it when I look at this perfect man sitting across the table from me right now I feel... what? Too complete? Unchallenged?
I took another swig of champagne.

"Dan says you're going to become one of those heartless corporate attorneys," I said. "Or worse yet the ambulance chaser who advertises on the noon news."

"Dan is gay," Jake said.

"He is
not
."

"Yes he is. He just doesn't know it yet."

"That's ridiculous. You just tell yourself that because you can't stand the fact that my best friend is another man."

"Speaking of other men in your life, how's your dad?"

"Better. He's driving the nurses crazy complaining about the food and the TV channels."

I ate another mussel. As I chewed, I noticed Jake's eyes had narrowed. His stare was intense.

"What?" I said.

"I can't wait anymore," he said. "Give me your hand."

Oh shit. No. Please, God, no. Not right now.
I felt a lump form in my throat.

"Why?"

"Just give me your hand." His voice had become velvety and soft.
Double shit. Triple shit.

I reached my hand out and he took it.

"I love you," he said, tilting his head to one side.

"I love you too," I said like I had many times before. But it came out wrong. Flat. A rote reaction.

With his right hand, which had been under the table, he brought out a tiny fuzzy box. It was purple.

He handed it to me and I just stared at it. It seemed to hover there in midair over my fancy plate.

Yep, there it is. My future in a fuzzy little purple box.
Hello, what's in the box? Oh nothing, just my life, that's all.

Time seemed to stand still. I couldn't hear anything. No tinkling of glasses from other restaurant patrons. No chatter from the bar. Everything ceased to exist except for me and this stupid little fuzzy purple box.

And the part that kills me is that I've dreamed of this very moment. It's exactly what I've always wanted. It's happening the way I envisioned it would, even better.

So why do I feel so full of dread?

"Are you going to take it or are you going to make my arm cramp up?" he said.

With shaky hands, I reached out and took it. I breathed in deeply.
I guess I have to open it, right?

And I did. And there it was. Possibly the most gorgeous ring I've ever seen.

"Oh, Jake," I said. "Jake... it's... it's... wow..."

"Recognize it?"

"Of course I do."

It had been in the window of a jewelry store we had walked by over a year ago. Shit, he's good. He remembered my reaction to it. Like I said, Jake always gets me what I want.

He reached over the table and took the purple box from my hand. He took the ring out and reached out. I put my hand up and he placed the ring on my third finger.

"Meghan Delaney, will you do me the honor of becoming my lawfully wedded wife?"

Like a deer in headlights, I just stared. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. Just stared.

“Meghan,” Jake said.

Then after an even longer silence he said it again.

“I…” I said, “am…”

The world started to lose focus. A welling up of something came from deep within me. At first, I thought it was only the shock, but my body quickly got the message that it was the mussels.

I put my hand over my mouth and held it down, springing up from my chair. Jake leaped to his feet.

“Meghan, are you all right?”

I gave him a hand signal that made no sense because all I could think was
Where is the fucking ladies’ room?

The very observant maître d' noticed my sudden sickness and motioned me toward a corner of the restaurant. He guided me there without touching me, Jake following behind.

I just made it. Down into the toilet went the mussels. So much for fine cuisine tonight.

I stayed there for a few minutes, trying to figure out what just happened. Was it the mussels? Were they rotten? Or is it just me that’s rotten?

I’m getting what I’ve always wanted.
I should be happy, dammit!

I flushed the toilet and went to the mirror. I cleaned off my face and looked at myself.

The door opened and one of the female staff leaned in and said, “Your husband would like to know if you’re okay, ma’am.”

Husband. Holy fucking shit.

“I’m fine,” I tried to say but it came out garbled. I cleared my throat. “Tell him I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Good, I will. Is there anything you need?”

“No, I’ll be out in a minute.”

I wiped my face, re-applied my makeup, checked myself one more time, and went back out. Jake was right there.

“Darling, are you all right?” he said.

Darling?
Really? What is this, a Cary Grant movie?

“I’m fine,” I said. “It was the mussels, I’m sure. Jake, would you mind at all if we just went home? I'm so sorry.”

“Certainly, my love. And there's nothing to be sorry about.”

As we walked across the room, the maître d' met us halfway.

“Is everything all right?” he said.

“Yes,” Jake said, “but my fiancée isn't feeling well. We must be leaving.”

Fiancée? Already?

“I’ll have your car brought up,” said the maître d'. “And the appetizers have been removed from your bill.”

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” said Jake as he handed him his Platinum card. I’m sure it wasn’t the mussels.”

“I insist, sir.”

“Well, thank you.”

We stood there in a silent awkwardness waiting for the valet. Jake signed the credit card receipt and left a generous tip, I’m sure. Once our car appeared, the maître d' pushed the door open and smiled as we went out.

Jake held the door open as I got in the car. Before he could shut the door, a voice shouted, “Wait! You forgot something!”

I looked up to see our waiter holding the little purple box.

“Oh, thank you,” said Jake as he took it and handed it to me.

I took it and said thank you to the back of the waiter, already half inside again. I was afraid to open the box to make sure the ring was still inside, unsure that I might trigger some more mussel upchuck. But I did and it was.

Jake drove me home in near-silence, asking me several more times if I was okay. I assured him the same number of times.

Once we reached my apartment, he went around and opened the door for me but I was already out. He stood there in an awkward stare, his breath visible in the cold, his crisp white shirt in stark contrast to his black overcoat in the glow of the streetlights.

“Well…” he said. “Get some rest and you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Yes,” I said and turned. He grabbed me and kissed me. “So you like vomit breath?”

“You are so beautiful I would lick it all off you.”

“That’s kind of sick, Jake.”

“Yeah, I realized it while it was halfway out of my mouth.”

We both laughed. I touched his arm.
I really do love him,
I thought to myself. As a person. As a good human being. And as a… what? What am I trying to say?

“Well,” he said, “good night, future Mrs. Ashton.”

I felt the rolling from my gut again. I didn’t want to scare him, so I just gave him a quick hug. I ran up the stairs, opened my door, leaped into the bathroom, and all remaining traces of appetizer left my body in an upward stream.