Voices in the Dark (2 page)

Voices in the Dark

on my knees, all tied up with rope. Handcuffed? Maybe you want to take me over your knee and give me a good spanking. Is that it? Do you want to turn my pale cheeks red?

I can—”

“Jesus Christ! Maddie? Madeline Jones, is that you?”

11

Lacey Savage

I drop the phone as if it just sprouted thorns.

The sound of my name is like a bucket of ice water flung at my face. I fumble for the button to end the call then throw the phone as far away from me as I can get it. I hear it land with a soft thud—probably on top of the laundry hamper at the far end of the room.

My heart feels as if it’s about to break out of my chest. I slide the vibrator out of my pussy, cringing at the slight spike of pain from pulling it out too fast. My libido has cooled to Arctic levels, leaving me bereft and shivering.

Oh God…I have to think.

Who was that?

I rack my brain, trying to fit the voice to a face I recognize. Deep and husky, with a touch of an accent. British maybe or Australian. If I wasn’t so damn terrified, I’d be turned on. He had the kind of low bass timbre I love, with a slight natural rasp to it.

And then it hits me.

“Adrian!”

An abrupt ringing startles me. I don’t recognize it at first. It’s not my home phone, and it’s not my cell, which I programmed to play the theme song from
Sex and the City
.

It must be the disposable cell. My heart sinks all the way into my stomach. Damn technology. Can’t even make a prank call anymore without someone being able to call me right back.

Well, I’m not about to answer. What would I say, anyway? I can’t exactly fess up to making lewd phone calls while I masturbate, now, can I? And certainly not to Adrian Morgan, who sits in the cubicle behind me at work and who’s been a giant distraction 12

Voices in the Dark

ever since he started working for the collections call center of J&J Credit two months ago.

I groan and roll over, burying my head under a pillow to drown out the ringing.

Nearly ten million people live in New York City. I limit myself to the 212, 718 and 247

area codes—mostly to avoid long distance charges—which means my chances of randomly dialing someone I know should be slim to none.

Of all the people who could have recognized me, why did it have to be Adrian?

He’s been pursuing me relentlessly ever since arriving at J&J. I’ve been steadfast in turning down his invitations for dinner dates, coffee dates, movie dates and getting-to-know-you walks in the park.

And now
this
.

I’ve only just managed to convince him I’m not interested. Which is a giant lie, of course, but it’s a whole lot better than the truth. I know where one date will lead, and it’s not a place I want to go again. I learned the hard way that I can’t simply confess my little fetish over a cocktail. If I had a penchant for being whipped or burned with hot wax, well, I could share those sexy kinks with a partner.

Telling a new lover that I need to call a random stranger while we’re having sex so I can get off? No man is quite that understanding.

I found this out when I let a boyfriend in on my secret. The aftermath of my revelation wasn’t pretty, nor was it something I ever want to experience again. So now I have two rules. No casual dating, and no sharing of kinks. I haven’t broken either in over two years, and I have no intention of starting now.

That would all be fine and good except that Adrian Morgan has discovered my secret. And he’s going to want to
talk
about it.

I shudder at the thought. It’s human nature to want to get the dirt on someone. I know this. Over the years, I’ve doled out morsels of speculation and gathered more tidbits of juicy information than I care to remember.

13

Lacey Savage

The seedier and more sexual a topic, the more intriguing as a topic of conversation.

Which makes my particular fetish damn near irresistible. By tomorrow, the entire eighth floor of the J&J building will know what I do in my spare time.

Bile rises in the back of my throat. The phone has gone silent for the moment, but I suffer no delusion that it’ll stay that way.

I force myself out of bed and fumble with the bedside lamp. My terrycloth robe is hanging off the top of the footboard post, and I wrap it around myself. I’ve just finished tying the belt when the disposable cell’s shrill ring pierces the silence of my bedroom.

I’m beginning to hate that sound.

I walk over to it. Like I suspected, it’s lying innocently enough on a red lace bra at the top of my laundry pile. The screen glows that sickly neon green color, but no phone number or name shows up on the display. It’s a disposable cell; I didn’t spring for the caller ID package.

In a fit of red-hot desperation, I grab the phone, march over to the window and lift the heavy pane. Outside, snow swirls in massive spirals, obscuring most of the dark alley that my apartment backs on to. Bits of ice spit at me as soon as I open the window.

I hurl the cell as far as I can and feel an immense burst of satisfaction as it lands in a powdery pile of snowdrift beside the bottom of a metal trash bin. The pearl gleam of moonlight is mostly hidden behind dark clouds, but I can still see the phone’s neon glow, tainting the fresh snow an accusing green.

I slam down the window, draw the dark curtains and huddle deeper inside my robe to banish the chill.

There. It’s done. I can no longer hear the ringing, so I can pretend Adrian’s given up.

My relief lasts for about a minute. And then my home phone begins to wail.

I know, even before I pick up, that it’s him. Our personal information, including our home address, email and phone number, is circulated to all team members. It’s company policy—in case of emergency. Somehow, I don’t think this qualifies.

14

Voices in the Dark

I make my way into the living room. My fingers tremble as I pick up the handheld receiver, but I’m thrilled when my voice doesn’t. “Hello.”

“Maddie. It’s Adrian.”

I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything at all. Instead I sink into my thickly cushioned recliner and pull my feet up under me. “Yes?”

“Maddie, I…I know it was you.”

I press a hand over my chest in a futile effort to stop my heart from hammering its way out. “I’m sorry, Adrian. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Is this about work?”

“No. It’s about you.”

“Oh? Look, I thought I made it clear that I’m not interested in dating you. If I somehow led you on—” I grimaced, knowing as soon as the words were out of my mouth that by prattling on about all manner of raunchy things that was exactly what I’d done. I have to fix this. Fast. “I’m sorry. I’m not comfortable with you calling me at home.”

There’s a long moment of silence on the other end. I can picture him rubbing the bridge of his nose, frustration warring with desire on his handsome face.

He really is sexy. He has a strong jaw, usually peppered with a hint of shadow, and clear blue eyes. His nose is straight and narrow, his lips full, his hair short and black.

And he’s got twin dimples that flash in his cheeks when he smiles. My knees go weak when I see those dimples. Ah hell. My muscles are practically turning to putty now, and I’m only imagining them.

“Okay,” he says at last, and my pulse skitters in my throat.

Could it really be so simple? Will he give up, just like that? I’m not sure why I’m disappointed, but regret coils inside my stomach and presses down like a heavy weight.

I stretch out my legs, confused. This is what I want. Isn’t it?

15

Lacey Savage

“So…” I’m prompting him, though I know I should hang up. Just take the out he’s given me and be grateful for it.

“So we’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” I echo. “At work.”

It’s not a question, but he grunts an affirmative answer anyway. “I’m sorry to have bothered you at home.”

I bite back the urge to say
I bothered you first
. “Good night, Adrian.”

“Sweet dreams, Maddie.”

When I finally sink into them, my dreams are anything but sweet. They’re naughty, filled with more sensation than my body can handle. I’m enveloped by blackness, shrouded in shadows, blinded by the dark.

But I can feel. There are fingers all over me, touching, pinching, sliding between my legs and sinking into me. I part my thighs, welcome them deeper. Teeth scrape my breast. A mouth suckles my nipple, while a thumb presses against my back channel, demanding and insistent. A cock nudges my lips. I open, obediently, to it.

I curve my back, lift my hips. I’m aching for more. My sex throbs, and I need so badly to come.

I know this dream. It should be comforting. Familiar. Alongside all the erotic stimulants, there are always voices. Strangers’ voices, whispering raunchy things to me in the dark. Gasps and groans, cries and moans.

Tonight, the dream is anything but reassuring.

There is only one voice reaching out from the darkness. It’s rich and smooth, like aged whisky. A hint of a British accent gives it an erotic quality that makes me melt. It glides over me, setting my nerve endings on fire. And it whispers the same words, over and over again.

“I know it was you, Maddie… I know it was you.”

16

Voices in the Dark

* * * * *

“Good morning!”

The silvery tones of my coworker’s voice rake the inside of my skull. My head’s pounding, and despite the double dose of aspirin making its way through my system, I can’t shake the ache behind my temples.

I inhale the earthy aroma of freshly brewed coffee, grab the pot and fill my cup. It’s not often that I don’t have to fight someone for my first sip of caffeine, but I came in early today. I didn’t get much sleep, anyway. And besides, I know Adrian rolls in just a few minutes before nine so I beat him here by nearly an hour. I figure I can avoid him by keeping my headset on all day and doing my job.

“Yeah?” I reach into the communal fridge for the cream and check the expiration date, then turn and lean against the counter. “What’s good about it?”

“Umm…” Maria’s face goes pale, and her hand flutters at her throat. But then she brightens a little, and I can almost see the light bulb go off over the top of her cheery blonde curls. “Well, it’s Christmas in three days and—”

I growl low in my throat. The sound stops her cold.

There’s only one holiday worse than Christmas and that’s Valentine’s Day. The sentiment must be written all over my face because Maria swallows hard, bobs her head and vanishes out the kitchen door and into the cubicle farm before I can say a word.

Damn. That was uncalled for. I’m not usually such a giant bitch. I make a mental note to apologize to her tomorrow with an offering of Krispy Kreme donuts, since I know they’re her favorite.

I smooth a hand over my hair and tug at the ponytail gathered high on my head.

The tight elastic keeping my thick mane in place can’t be helping my headache or my mood.

I’ve just turned my attention to pouring cream in my coffee when footsteps ring out on the tile behind me.

17

Lacey Savage

I close my eyes, take a deep breath. I’m a little ashamed of the way I treated Maria, but small talk isn’t in my repertoire today. Still, I suppose I should make an effort. I work one desk over from her. If I don’t clear the air now, I’ll have to put up with her sulking and sighing all day.

“So, you got all your Christmas shopping done?” I ask brightly, then spin around, only to come face to face with a pair of clear blue eyes.

My coffee nearly spills over the rim of the cup. I tighten my grip on it and gape at Adrian.

He watches me intently for a moment before the corner of his mouth turns up. “Just about. You?”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. In truth, I’ve done nothing of the sort. I’d given up on the whole buying-wrapping-mailing thing a couple of years ago. My family’s spread out all over the great state of Texas, while I’m here in New York. So I discovered it’s much easier to pick up a digital gift certificate on December 25 and be done with it.

Gift giving and family pleasing all with one easy click.

Gotta love technology.

He moves a little closer, intruding in my personal space. I can’t back up any farther—my tailbone is already glued to the counter. I catch a whiff of cologne, something spicy, and feel my nipples harden. I’m suddenly absurdly grateful I threw on a black blazer over my white cotton dress shirt.

“We need to talk about what happened last night. My roommate is very confused.”

A shadow darts behind his pupils, and I imagine it’s jealousy taking shape. “You got him really worked up.”

“And you?” I say before I can stop myself. “How are you feeling this morning?”

It could be an innocent question, but we both know it isn’t. He glances over his shoulder to make sure we’re alone. We are. The office kitchen is empty, and the call center doesn’t officially open for another hour.

18

Voices in the Dark

He takes my coffee cup, sets it down on the counter then grabs my hand. I should pull it back, I know, but I’m curious to see what he has in mind.

He leads my open palm to the bulge in his pants, presses my hand against his erection and hisses out a breath between his teeth. “How do you think I am?” He leans in closer, and I can feel his minty breath caress my lips. “You drive me crazy. I’ve been thinking about you for months, fantasizing…hoping. And then last night when I heard your voice… God, Maddie. Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

His voice cracks a little, and a frantic thrill goes through me. I love that sound, that tiny hitch in his breath that tells me he’s losing control.

“Go out with me, Maddie. Please.”

He’s not begging. Not really. There’s a certain cockiness in his tone that startles me.

He’s sure I’ll say yes.

Because he’ll blackmail me otherwise? Tell our boss that I get off on talking on the phone in a way no one else here does? I’m not certain, but the idea that he’d do something so nasty turns my stomach.