Chapter one
Frankie
“Talk slower, Fireboy. I wanna come to the sound of your voice.”
The words slip out half-whispered, as if he’s physically in the room to hear them.
He’s not. He’s somewhere in the Greater Toronto Area, probably still in uniform based on how quickly he messaged me after what appeared to be the end of his shift.
And I’m here—knees spread on my mattress, hoodie rucked up, one hand between my thighs and the other gripping my phone.
My voice note sits there, unread for thirty-two seconds. When his reply appears, I stare at it for a beat, heart drumming against my ribs, then hit play.
His voice is rough and ragged, fucking devastating.
“If I were there right now,” he says, dripping like molasses and twice as filthy, “I’d pull those panties off with my teeth and make you beg before I even touched you. You want that, Red? Wanna come from just my voice while I tell you how I’d ruin that pretty pussy?”
A completely undignified sound leaves my throat.
“Yes…please.”
Send.
This time his reply is immediate.
“Mmm, I love it when you beg.”
I’ve never seen his face, don’t know his real name. He’s justFireboy. A string of messages and late-night voice notes, spiraling from flirty to filthy with alarming ease.
We don’t talk about anything heavy. Just work stress, music, food, and all the ways he’d wreck me if we were ever in the same room.
I sink back into the pillows, enjoying the heat blooming behind my ribs, and hit record.
“Please,” I whine. “I’m wet and desperate and all alone—tell me what to do.”
His response pings back fifteen seconds later.
“You wanna come, baby? Take those fingers and put them between your legs.”
Jesus. I squeeze my thighs together and let the ache roll through me. My body knows him. Or the version I’ve built from snippets—dry humor, heat-soaked breath, the way his voice gets deeper when he’s horny.
“They’re already there,” I breathe, hips shifting as I record my message back. “You gonna tell me what to do with them, or should I just put my phone down and imagine instead?”
I hit send again and don’t have time to overthink it before my phone buzzes.
Voice call. No video, no warning. JustFireboylighting up my screen.
I swipe to answer.
“Spread those legs wider for me, Red,” his voice rumbles with no preamble the second the line connects. “Fuck yourself exactlyhow I tell you. Start with one hand circling your clit, the other tugging slowly at your nipple. I want you aching all over.”
I do exactly as he says, breath catching as my fingers slide through the mess he’s already made of me. Biting my lip, I ease my phone down a little to make the slick slide of my fingers audible.
“Mmm,” I moan, letting the sound hit the line. “You mean like this?”
“Fuck,” he groans. “You always this wet for me?”
“Only when you talk like that,” I whisper, stroking slow. “Tell me more, Fireboy. Tell me how you’d fuck me if you were here.”
