Mr and Mrs (9 page)

“
O
ne
, two, three, four…”

“Dad, why are you counting?”

I grit my teeth because Noah is sitting beside me and I don’t want to cause a scene. We’re at MJ’s soccer game and I don’t want to embarrass her.

“Nothing, son,” I say to Noah through a clenched jaw. Instead, I watch carefully as MJ’s coach talks to Molly on the sidelines, leaning in a little too closely for my liking. He’s always smiling at her, acting all friendly, but today it’s getting obnoxious. He’s leaning in and laughing at everything she says, and it’s pissing me the fuck off.

MJ’s our almost-five-year-old daughter, named after Molly. We started calling her Molly Junior when she was born, and MJ just sort of stuck. She’s currently on the field deciding between picking flowers and tackling the other kids, but she’s having a blast.

The only problem seems to be coming from her over-friendly coach.

Molly mentioned in passing the other day that the coach sends a lot of emails and it was a little annoying to her. When I logged on to see Molly’s emails, I noticed that she was the only recipient of the emails. Molly kept blowing it off, saying he was just trying to help MJ focus.

I started watching him around her and making an effort to always be by Molly’s side whenever the games were going on. I trust my wife, and I know that she would never cross a line, but this motherfucker needs to watch himself.

He reaches out and places his hand on her upper arm, giving it a squeeze, and I glare at them when I see it happen. I’m up off the bench before I know it.

I see Molly take a step back at the contact, and that enrages me further. She doesn’t like anyone touching her but me. And neither do I. I’m the only one who gets to touch her, even in the most casual way. She’s mine. In every fucking sense of the word.

“Touch my wife again and you’ll be writing letters to your mom with your toes.”

His look of shock on his face should be comical, but I’m seeing too much red to appreciate it. I feel Molly put her hand on my lower back, and I relax a little, but the anger is still boiling inside of me.

“Excuse me, Mr. Tanner. I didn’t mean to offend—”

“Keep your hands, and your email, to yourself.”

Another man comes up from the sidelines and steps in front of the coach, getting between us.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d step back from my husband before there’s a scene these children don’t need to witness,” the man says.

I look over his shoulder to the coach, who’s now blushing violently.

“Phillip,” Molly says from behind me, “this is Brad and his husband, Ron. They invited us over for a cookout this weekend. I was just telling him that we’d love to attend.”

I’m unable to say anything, so I just nod. I feel Molly peek around me and wave to Brad and Ron.

“We’d love to get the kids together if you’re still interested. Let us know.”

Before I can apologize or say a single word, Molly is pulling me back into the stands with Noah.

“Well, that went great,” she says, letting out a little sigh.

“He shouldn’t touch you,” is all I’m able to grumble as Noah and Molly fall into fits of laughter.

She leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek and all’s right with my world. How is it that this woman can give me exactly what I need, exactly when I need it?

Wrapping my arms around her, we watch the rest of MJ’s game and I offer a wave of apology to her coach after the game. He may not have wanted my Molly, but I’m not taking any chances. She’s mine until the end of time, and I’ll make sure no one and nothing stands in my way.

N
oelle's voice
has captivated Alex, and she's become his greatest obsession. Since he hired her to read audiobooks, listening to her is the only thing that makes his lonely world bearable. Thank God she's never seen him. His scars would only scare her away.  

Alex has starred in every fantasy Noelle's had since she first heard his voice over the phone, and reading erotica samples to him only fuels her desire. Listening to him on the other end of the phone is the best part of her day, and she's willing to do anything to please him. 

On Christmas Eve a storm comes through, sending Noelle in search of her reclusive boss. Once she's at his cabin with no place to go, there's only one way to keep warm.

W
arning
: This is the sweetest, cheesiest, most Christmassy book ever! It's filled with late-night confessions, dirty deeds, and a lifetime of love. If you love this time of year, I've got some cheer for you!

“‘
P
lease
,” she begged. “I need to feel you inside me now. It’s been too long.” Annabelle pleaded with Sam before taking matters into her own hands, grabbing his hard cock and guiding it to her wet pussy. Wanting to make them whole once again, to never be apart from the only man she’d ever loved. Would ever love.

“I’ll give you what you want. Just give me what I want,” Sam demanded, pulling back just a little from her, the head of his cock barely touching her opening. She knew what he wanted, and she was sick of fighting these feelings. She’d find a way to make them work, no matter how different their worlds were.

“I love you. Only you.” She gave him the words he wanted because they were true. She knew it down to her soul.

Samuel thrust home into her welcoming body, his hard cock just as hungry for her as he was.”

The heavy breathing through the phone pulls me from my narration “Mr. Lockwood, are you okay?”

“Alex,” he grunts, sounding irritated with me. “Say it.”

“Alex,” I whisper. He’s been correcting me for months now, but for some reason I always still say ‘Mr. Lockwood.’ It reminds me of who he is—that he isn’t a friend I’m talking to on the phone. He’s a client and nothing more, no matter what my late-night fantasies tell me.

I hear a grunt, then the line goes quiet. I wonder if he’s mad at me, and I inwardly curse myself. I had steady work before I started narrating books for his company, All for You, but with him offering me more and more projects, he’s been my only client for well over two months now. It sounds silly, and I’m sure I can get more projects elsewhere, but I like working for him. He handles things a little differently than most clients I work with, but I like his way. Seems I like a lot of things about Alex, despite knowing very little about him.

The silence hangs in the air as I wait for him to speak again. His words do things to me. Things they shouldn’t. I’ve somehow latched myself onto him recently. Waiting for our daily calls has now become a little bit of an obsession, one I’m sure my mother would tell me was just as unhealthy as my lack of a social life.

“Hmm,” I mumble, trying to break the uncomfortable silence. I can’t bear the tension, but all I hear is his heavy breathing, something that reminds me of the many erotica books I’ve read. The hero would breathlessly pant into the heroine’s ear after a hard round of sex. It’s a sound I’ve never actually heard myself, but I find myself imagining what it would be like if Alex made the sound in my ear, his body on top of me.

“I think that’s enough for today,” he finally says, his deep voice rolling over my skin like a warm rough caress, like it always does when he speaks to me. If anyone one should be narrating a book, it’s Alex. He has a voice like I’ve never heard before, and I’ve heard many in my line of work. Voices that are supposed to be the best aren’t anything special compared to his.

“Okay, Mis— Alex,” I correct myself quickly, once again making myself look like an incompetent fool who can’t remember anything. “I’ll have the Scott book sent over this afternoon. Just a few more touches and it will be finished. Then I’ll start on this new one, if you liked the sample I just did.”

Alex likes to do the samples over the phone and also likes to check in daily on my project status, something that’s not normal with audio work. Almost everything could be done over email, but Alex says he likes to do it this way. For what he’s paying me to voice audiobooks, I’m happy to jump through hoops for the projects. Okay, that’s only partially true. I would jump through the hoops, but our phone calls mean more to me than just work.

Sometimes our calls dip into personal life, mainly about me and my life. Every now and then, I find myself rambling on, and he just listens. Maybe he’s really polite and feels sorry for me for having to carry on conversations with someone who is virtually a stranger. Though he doesn’t feel like a stranger anymore.

“That sounds perfect. I have a lot going on tomorrow, so I want this taken care of tonight and off both our to-do lists,” he says, slipping back into business talk. It’s crazy how he does that. Sometimes I wonder if maybe he has a crazy sex life, because my narrations always seem to run on the dirty side and they never affect him.

I usually end up in a pile of goo when we we’re done, with hard nipples and wet panties. We’d hang up and I’d have my hand down my pants before the line even cleared. It wasn’t narrating the books that turned me on. I’ve been doing romance narrations for years. Normally I did them alone so no one would hear. But somehow, reading aloud to Alex has me beyond turned on. It could be that the pieces he selects for samples are always the dirtiest parts, or it could just be him.

I told myself it was because Alex was playing with me. I thought maybe he even had a little crush on me like I did him, but after time went on, he never seemed affected. He never tried to be more friendly to me like I was with him, and after a while I thought maybe I made it up in my head. My mother always told me I live too much inside myself, and it seemed to have happened again. I’d built something up in my mind that wasn’t really there. Worse, the thought of not having this interaction anymore was terrifying in some weird way.

“Okay. I’ll send the file right over.” I try to keep my tone just as causal as his, but I’m still chewing on the fact that he has a lot going on tomorrow. It’s Christmas, so I should expect him to be busy. All I have planned is a TV dinner and Netflix.

“Have a merry Christmas, Noelle.”

“You too, Alex.” I hit End on the call, promptly wanting to disconnect from him. I drop the phone onto my desk and bring up my emails. I want to go ahead and send the file, but my internet won’t connect. After restarting the modem and my laptop, I make my way over to the window while everything reboots.

It really is a perfect Christmas Eve. Snow has already begun to fall, and the Christmas lights on my tree behind me reflect in the window. It’s as if they’re mocking me. My house is decorated like I’m hosting a Christmas party tomorrow. There isn’t a spot that isn’t covered in some kind of Christmas decoration. Why I do this to myself, I have no idea.

I’m an introvert and always have been. I made a couple of friends in college, always preferring to have my nose deep in a book. But since then they’ve dropped off one by one, slowly losing contact over time. No one wants to be friends with the girl who rarely leaves the house.

Who knows where my parents are this time of year. No one likes to travel more than they do. I still have no idea how I came from such social butterflies. I like things small and intimate, and I always wanted to spend a Christmas like that with my parents. When I was a kid, my mom would go all out, kind of like I did in my own home, but she always filled the day with people I hardly knew.

It’s almost laughable now. I hate how she’d do that, but now here I am in a house all made up for Christmas and not one soul to spend it with. I’m not sure which is worse.

My mind wanders back to Alex, wondering what his plans might be. Would he have a special person to spend his Christmas with? The thought sends an irrational surge of jealously through me.

Maybe I can come up with a reason to get in touch with him, or just call to wish him a merry Christmas. I chastise myself for the silly idea. Considering how fast he got off the phone moments ago, he probably has plans tonight.

Growling at myself, I pull my hair from my ponytail to relieve some of the tension I’m feeling.

Pull it together, I tell myself. I’ll finish this project for Alex, get into my Christmas pajamas, eat those cookies I spent all day baking and decorating, and watch my favorite holiday movies. I will not let myself have a pity party.

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