Chapter 1: A Lot of Fucking to Do

The recording studio felt smaller today, like the walls had crept closer while Claire Evans wasn't looking. She adjusted her headphones for the third time in as many minutes, hyperaware of every sound—the soft hum of the equipment, the whisper of pages turning, and most distractingly, the low rumble of Zane Miller's voice as he cleared his throat.

"Ready for the next scene?" His question carried that same professional tone he'd maintained for the past three days, but Claire caught the subtle tension underneath. They both knew what was coming.

She glanced at her script, fingers tracing the highlighted passages they'd marked for today's session. The romance novel they were recording had started innocently enough—witty banter, emotional depth, the kind of slow-burn tension that made for compelling audiobooks. But now they were approaching the final acts, and the innocent flirtation had given way to something much more explicit.

"Chapter twenty-three," Claire said, her voice steady despite the flutter in her stomach. "The barn scene."

Zane's hand paused as he reached for his water bottle. "Right. The barn scene." He took a sip, and Claire found herself watching the way his throat moved as he swallowed. When had she started noticing things like that?

They'd been dancing around each other for days now, maintaining a facade of professionalism that was becoming harder to sustain with each passing hour. Claire had worked with dozens of male voice actors over her career, but none had affected her like this. There was something about Zane's quiet confidence, the way his green eyes focused intensely when he was in character, the subtle way he ran his hand through his dark hair when he was thinking.

"So," Zane said, settling back into position at his microphone, "Jack finally gets Fiona alone in the barn. She's been teasing him all day, and he's reached his breaking point."

Claire nodded, trying to ignore the way her pulse quickened. "He tells her exactly what he wants to do to her."

"In explicit detail," Zane added, his voice dropping an octave. The change sent a shiver down Claire's spine that had nothing to do with the studio's air conditioning.

She looked down at her script, scanning Jack's dialogue. The words on the page were bold, dirty, unapologetically sexual. She'd read them during prep, of course, but hearing them in Zane's voice was going to be an entirely different experience.

"Okay," she said, straightening her shoulders. "Let's do this."

Zane's eyes met hers across the small space between their microphones. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then he gave a small nod and looked down at his script.

"Rolling," he said softly, hitting the record button.

The red light blinked on, and Claire felt the familiar shift into performance mode. Except this time, the transition wasn't as smooth as usual. This time, she was acutely aware of every breath Zane took, every slight movement he made.

"'Fiona,'" Zane began, his voice taking on Jack's rougher edge, "'do you have any idea what you've been doing to me all day?'"

Claire slipped into character, letting Fiona's breathless anticipation color her voice. "'I might have some idea.'"

"'Wearing that dress, bending over in front of me, those little looks you keep giving me...'" Zane's voice grew rougher, more demanding. "'I've been hard since breakfast, thinking about all the things I want to do to you.'"

Heat pooled in Claire's stomach. She'd performed steamy scenes before, but something about the way Zane delivered the lines made them feel less like acting and more like... well, like a man confessing his actual desires.

"'Tell me,'" she whispered into her microphone, her voice carrying Fiona's desperate need.

"'I want to push you up against this wall,'" Zane continued, his eyes flicking up to meet hers briefly before returning to the script. "'I want to tear that dress off you and taste every inch of your skin. I want to make you come so hard you scream my name.'"

Claire's breath caught. The words were from the book, but the intensity in Zane's voice was all his own. She could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his free hand had clenched into a fist.

"'Jack,'" she breathed, staying in character but feeling her own pulse racing.

"'And then,'" Zane's voice dropped to almost a whisper, "'I want to fuck you until you can't think straight. Until you're begging me for more. Until—'" He stopped abruptly, his eyes widening slightly as if he'd just realized what he was saying.

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken tension. Claire could hear her own heartbeat in her ears.

"Until what?" she found herself asking, her voice barely above a whisper. She wasn't sure if she was asking as Fiona or as herself.

Zane's gaze locked onto hers. "Until we've both had enough," he said quietly, and Claire knew he wasn't reading from the script anymore.

The moment hung suspended between them, charged with possibility. Claire felt her nipples harden against the soft cotton of her t-shirt, and she was suddenly grateful for her decision to skip the bra that morning—though now she wondered if the outline of her arousal was visible through the thin fabric.

Zane's eyes dropped briefly to her chest, then snapped back to her face. The flush creeping up his neck told her everything she needed to know about what he'd seen.

"We should..." he started, then cleared his throat. "We should take five. Get some water."

Claire nodded, not trusting her voice. She watched as he stood and walked to the small table where they kept their drinks, his movements slightly stiff. When he turned back around, she caught sight of the obvious bulge in his jeans before he quickly adjusted his position.

"So," she said, trying to inject some normalcy into her voice, "we've got a lot of fucking to do."

The words hung in the air between them, and Claire realized how they sounded outside the context of their work. Zane's eyes darkened, and for a moment she thought he might say something that would change everything.

Instead, he just nodded. "Yeah. A lot."

They finished the session an hour later, both maintaining their professional demeanor while the air between them practically crackled with tension. Every time their eyes met, Claire felt that same jolt of awareness. Every time Zane's voice dipped into that rough, commanding tone, she had to press her thighs together to ease the growing ache.

When they finally called it a day, Claire gathered her things with shaking hands. She could feel Zane watching her, could sense the same war between desire and professionalism playing out in his mind.

"See you tomorrow," he said as she headed for the door.

"Tomorrow," she agreed, not turning around because she wasn't sure she'd be able to leave if she looked at him again.

The drive home passed in a blur. Claire's mind kept replaying Zane's voice, the way he'd looked at her, the obvious evidence of his arousal. By the time she reached her apartment, she was wound so tight she could barely think straight.

She dropped her bag by the door and headed straight for her bedroom, her body already humming with need. As she slipped out of her clothes, she could still hear Zane's voice in her head: I want to make you come so hard you scream my name.

Claire fell back onto her bed, her hand already sliding between her legs. She closed her eyes and let herself imagine it was Zane's hands on her body, Zane's voice whispering those dirty promises in her ear.

Tomorrow, they'd have to face each other again. Tomorrow, they'd have to record even more explicit scenes while pretending this overwhelming attraction didn't exist.

But tonight, in the privacy of her own room, Claire allowed herself to want him. To imagine what it would feel like if he followed through on all those beautiful threats his character had made.

She came with his name on her lips, her body arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crashed over her. And even as she lay there catching her breath, she knew that tomorrow was going to be even more dangerous than today.

Because now she knew exactly what she wanted, and she was running out of reasons to deny herself.