"Hi, you're on Confessions After Dark... What's your name, caller?"
I know who it is before I even ask. It's twelve-thirty and he's always the last caller of the night.
"Good evening, Isabella. It's Anthony."
Anthony.
His voice drips through the phone like warm honey...
Anthony... such an innocuous name.
But I know better.
This Anthony, the one who calls me each week...the things he tells me. Jesus.
To say I look forward to his call, would be an understatement.
He has been calling every Friday for the last eight weeks.
And I listen.
It's my job to listen, after all. He just makes it a bit more enjoyable and intriguing.
"What confession do you have for me tonight, Anthony?"
My fingers dig into my thighs as I wait for him to begin.
"I had another fantasy, Isabella."
The way my name rolls off his tongue has me biting my lower lip. His normally low, smoky, sensual voice drops another octave as he seems to whisper his fantasy in my ear.
His tales have me forgetting the millions of people listening.
I lean forward in my chair, and press my thighs together as my hand drifts across my collarbone, then gently and inconspicuously tease over the swells of my breasts.
"Tell me about it, Anthony."
"I'm fucking her again..." It comes out fast and aggressive. "She's on her knees in front of me and all I can see of her is her amazing ass and the curve of her spine as she writhes, asking for my cock."
"Her?" I ask, knowing what his response will be.
"It's always the same girl, Bella, you know that. Long brown hair, big brown eyes... Loves my cock."
I hear the soft chuckle on the other side of the line.
"Her ass is pressed against me as I tease her with my dick, sliding it between her soaking thighs but... she isn't ready for me yet."
My hand drifts over the silk of my blouse, and I can feel my nipples tightening in response. I press my thighs tightly together and I've never been more thankful for the semi-darkened studio.
"Why not?" My whispered question seems to fill the studio.
"Because she isn't begging yet."
"I … I find that hard to believe."
"Would you believe me if I told you something else?" he asks, his voice low and more uncertain than before.
"I don't see why not, Anthony," I tell him, unsure of where he's going with this. "Was there…was there something else you wanted to say?"
"Every week I call in," he says softly. "And every week I tell you my fantasies…all the secret thoughts I have about this woman. This…this amazing woman. But tonight I have…an actual confession."
"What…what's your confession?"
"She's not a fantasy," he admits. "She's not a fantasy, Isabella. She's everything I said she was, but she's real. She's amazing and real and I want to know everything about her. I want to know how long she's lived in the city, what her favorite color is, and if she loves Italian food as much as I do."
At his words, I freeze, and I don't really know why.
But then it hits me.
His words – Edward's words – all come rushing back.
"But my confession is this," he says in the silence because I can't speak…can't breathe. "I kissed her, Isabella. I held her in my arms and I kissed her…on my balcony."
"You mean you kissed her on the same balcony that you told me you wanted to fuck her on last week?"
"Yes," he breathes. "But you have to believe me when I tell you ...I wanted to kiss her more."
"That's...quite a confession...Anthony," I say, my voice shaking so much I'm surprised I can even talk. "Unfortunately, that's all the time we have for tonight."
A/N
Thank you for reading and letting us have a little fun.
We read each and every review - thank you so much!
Huge thanks to the amazing girls who pre-read for us. Obsmama, Kassiah and Kourt.
Thanks to Marvar for betaing all the words, and not flouncing us.
Remember to follow the Mark Me Contest - we start accepting entries on Sept 1!
xoxo,
Jaime and Cosmo