Stealing Christmas

by Alexa Riley

  I wanted to work from home, and audiobooks were something I’d helped a few authors with before. So I started my company to help my clients find the perfect fit for their audiobooks, and before I knew it I had a long list of people needing my services.

  I bought my cabin out in Montana a few years before the accident, visiting as often as I could but not as much as I liked. When I was well enough, I decided to ditch the Big Apple and go live the way I wanted to. My parents and sister still live back in New York, loving the bustling metropolis. At first they were sad I was leaving, but I think they understood my need for isolation. I enjoyed being on my own a lot before, but after the accident, it was difficult to be in public. But technology is great, and it allows me to keep in touch with them. I usually visit them about once a year, and it’s enough for me. We all call and email, but I like my solitude. They ask me every year about coming home for Christmas, and I have a couple of times. But every year I’ve gone home, all I can think about is getting back to my quiet cabin in the woods.

  I’ve grown my business, and now I have a wait list of authors wanting my services. I take one of their books and help match them up with the perfect reader. Normally, I tweak them when necessary, but otherwise, I make the match for them and move on to the next.

  Until Noelle.

  The first time I heard her audition, I was looking for a female voice for one of my clients’ spy thrillers. She submitted her resumé, and I sent her a voice sample, wanting to see if she would fit his needs. The sample I sent her was completely tame, just a chapter about the heroine’s research on the case. But every tone in Noelle’s voice made my cock hard. It sounded as if she was speaking directly to me, and it sent vibrations through my bones. The most unassuming chapter she could have ever read came alive with emotions I never knew were possible.

  That day I hired her on and started using her for all the female parts I needed. After a while, though, I needed more. I had to have something deeper from Noelle.

  I started scouring romance authors who had audiobook needs, and I picked up a few clients. I would pore over books until I found the sweetest, dirtiest ones possible and save specific sections for her to read. I turned all my attention to this side of the business, focusing on Noelle and her voice work in romance. My own selfish needs taking over, and consuming me.

  I would record her reading to me over the phone so I could play it back again every night before I went to bed, always being too worked up during her live reading to fully take in every detail of her words. I find that when I play it back at night, I can hear so much more than what she’s reading; I can hear her sensual melody as I fall asleep.

  After the first time I had her read a romance book, I found myself unable to send it to the author. Instead, I used someone else for the audiobook. I couldn’t bring myself to share Noelle’s voice with anyone else, and I know that was crazy. I’ve been paying her to record audiobooks for months, but I’ve never sent any of her work to an author, instead paying her out of my own money and using another reader for the job.

  I’d made plenty of money in my life so that if I never worked again and only paid Noelle to read to me, she could until the end of time and I wouldn’t be hurting for the cash. As it is, I’ve pretty much stopped taking all jobs unless they revolve around Noelle and her voice.

  The best part of my day is picking up the phone to call her. I get hard before I even dial the number. She sent her picture with her online resumé, and I’m just sad enough to admit that I printed it out and it’s on my desk. I look at it as she reads to me over the phone and I slowly stroke myself.

  Even after she’s finished getting me off, and I sit there, trying to catch my breath, just hearing her go on about her day and life makes me the happiest man in the world. What I wouldn’t give to touch her.

  Shutting down that thought, I stand up and throw the cum-covered tissue away and button up my jeans. I walk out back, grabbing the axe on the back porch, and go to chop some wood. It will help keep my mind busy while I try not to think about things I can’t have.

  Noelle is utterly beautiful, with big brown eyes and wavy light-brown hair. Her full lips are smiling in the photo she sent me, her cheeks rosy with life. From what she’s told me, she only lives about three hours from where I am, but she doesn’t know that. She just happened to tell me the town she was living in one day, and I looked it up. I also know she’s single, and I clench my jaw at the thought. How could anyone see her and hear her voice and not want to scoop her up? At the same time, the thought makes me angry as I picture someone else getting to have her.

  Bringing the axe down on the wood, I watch as it splinters in two. I let out a long sigh and wish for the millionth time that I’d seen that car coming. If I was whole and man enough to sweep Noelle off her feet, I’d get in my truck and drive the three hours to knock on her door and ask her out on a date. She’s so perfect, and she deserves the best. Not half a man who has little kids staring at him at the supermarket.

  I guess I’ll just have to settle for jerking off to her voice for the rest of my life. It’s not exactly what I want, but a part of her is better than nothing. And if she never finds out, then what’s the harm? I can have my own perfect fantasy in my head, where she’s mine and I’m whole.

  Ignoring my loneliness, I undertake the task of chopping more wood, adding to the mountain I already have. Winter in Montana is no joke, but my house is pretty well stocked. I’ve got power from the town that’s pretty close and a fireplace in my bedroom, just in case. There’s also a wood stove in the kitchen for cooking when I feel the need, but as long as I’ve got power, I don’t use it. The cabin is pretty roomy for one person, with a living room and kitchen all together. There’s a master bedroom downstairs with an attached bath and two rooms upstairs with a bathroom in between. I use one for my office and one is a spare bedroom, though I’ve never needed it. The place was furnished when I bought it, and I just left it alone.

  The snow starts to come down heavier, which is expected this time of year. I haul my freshly cut wood onto the porch and make my way inside. After removing my heavy coat and boots, I go to my bedroom and turn on my laptop.

  Lying down in the middle of the bed, I hit play, and Noelle’s voice fills the room. I reach one hand down the front of my jeans, stroking my hard cock while she tells me all about the things I want to do to her.

  Chapter 3

  Noelle

  Smacking the modem again, I know my efforts are fruitless. I’ve reset the stupid thing four times now and nothing has gotten it to work. My only other option was smacking it, and that doesn’t seem to be working either. Glancing out the window, I can see the snow starting to come down a little harder, but not enough to make me think it would cause internet issues.

  “Damn it.” I smack the modem again, saying a silent prayer, and all the lights go out on it. Dead. Like my contract with ‘All for You.’ The thought makes my stomach turn sour. No more Alex. Maybe he won’t fire me, but maybe he will. He told me he wanted this today. I glance at the clock and see it’s already five p. m. on Christmas Eve. Everything is closed. There’s no way I can even pack up and go to a local coffee shop to use their Wi-Fi to send the file.

  My options are running out. No, not running out. I have none. Zero. I’m screwed. Maybe I can call and explain and make him understand. I decide to give it a shot. I call Alex. It’s something I’ve never done before because he always calls me. The phone rings six times before going to voice mail, making me wonder what he’s doing. I roll my eyes, thinking it’s none of my business.

  He’s probably sitting in front of a fire with his family or girlfriend, eating cookies and having an oh-so-perfect Christmas. I’m sure it’s like one of those sappy romance novels I’ve narrated before.

  Plopping down on the couch, I begin mourning the loss of the best contract I’ve ever had. Screw that. It isn’t the job I’m sad about losing, it’s him. He seems to have this weird hold on me. How have I latched myself onto someo
ne I barely know? Someone who never shares anything personal about themselves, even when I try to pull things from him. Sometimes I feel like it is there on the tip of his tongue, but it just never comes.

  When my phone rings, it makes me jump off the couch and hurriedly pick it up without looking to see who it is.

  “Alex?” I say into the phone, hating the way my voice comes out all breathy like I just ran a mile.

  “Who’s Alex?” my mom chirps into the phone, making me drop back down onto the couch.

  “No one, Mom.” The lie easily rolls off my tongue. I don’t want to get into it with her about an imaginary relationship with a man who is essentially my boss. She’d ask me what he looks like, how often we went out, on and on. All things I couldn’t answer, and that’s when she’d really start in on me about being more social and how I should maybe talk to a head shrinker to see what was wrong with me.

  Nothing is wrong with me. I’m just a homebody. I haven’t found a person who wants to be a homebody with me yet. The future isn’t looking too great on me finding one either. Not when I’m daydreaming about a man I’ve never even met.

  “Doesn’t sound like nobody,” she says, poking again, but I know she means well. I may not click with my mom and dad, but they love me.

  “Just a client. I’m working on a last-minute project, and I need to talk to him, but can’t get a hold of him.” I give her a little honest information, hoping it will end the questions and we can change the topic. I reach for one of the cookies on the plate I’d set out on the coffee table and take a bite. The sweetness does nothing to make me feel better. I’m going to need cake for that.

  “He’s probably with his family like you should be. Is this project the reason you decided not to join us? I bet you took on a job just so you couldn’t come this Christmas.” The huff in her voice is one I’m all too used to. It works better on my father than me.

  “I wasn’t invited.” I don’t mention that I don’t even know where they are right now. Since I moved out, my mom stopped with the big parties and moved on to spending Christmas in random places in fancy hotels.

  “You’re always invited.” The hurt in her voice makes me feel instantly guilty. I know I’m always invited, but it still burned I didn’t get a call or something. “Didn’t you get my card?”

  “Ahh,” I muddle, dropping the cookie back onto the plate and heading towards the front door entryway. I keep a basket on the table there and always throw my mail in it. I’m looking at the pile as my mom tells me what they’re doing and how she wishes I was there.

  I never go through that basket until it’s practically overflowing. Most of it is normally junk anyway. All my bills are paid online. Who needs mail? If it doesn’t come in an Amazon box, I’m not interested. It goes into the mail basket. I go through it about once a month when it starts to overfill and spill onto the table, leaving me no choice.

  Digging through it, I search for cards, pulling out a sad total of three, while my mom continues to rattle on about Paris. Most people get tons of cards that they line their fireplaces with or cover their refrigerator with. The first card is a generic one from my dentist, but the second one stops me dead. His name is handwritten on the top-left corner. No stupid stamp or printed-out label. Alex Lockwood.

  Even his writing is sexy and masculine, making me warm all over.

  “Mom, I’ve got to go. Merry Christmas. I love you.” I rudely cut my mom off as she lists off the people she and Dad are seeing tomorrow. I didn’t have a clue who any of them were anyway, and I’ve got more pressing matters on my hands.

  I open the card, careful not to rip the envelope too much, wanting to keep it as perfect as possible. The front of the card shows a pretty snow scene—a simple cabin with snow falling all around it. Above the picture-perfect wintery image is Merry Christmas, written in a rustic font.

  Printed inside is a simple May all your Christmas wishes come true. But below that, written in that distinctive handwriting, is what grabs my attention.

  To the sweetest voice I know.

  xoxo

  Alex.

  My heart starts to race at the simple words, and I trace my finger over the xoxo. Maybe he was just being nice, but was it normal to tell a woman she has the sweetest voice he knew and add hugs and kisses, or was he flirting with me? Or am I once again making too much out of this? There were just as many hugs as there were kisses. Of course he’d comment on my voice. That’s what I do for him, after all. Maybe he did cards for everyone at work, like the stupid dentist card I got. For all I know, he has a secretary who does them and he just signs them.

  Flipping the envelope over, I see an address that doesn’t match his company headquarters. I know because it’s stamped on the contracts I sign with every new book I take on. It’s odd, because this one is much closer to me. This address is only three hours from my house. I know the town and have been there a few times. I remember it being small and quaint when I went there to look at antiques one afternoon.

  I make a snap judgment. The card said May all your Christmas wishes come true, and this year my wish is not to lose Alex from my life. Even if it means keeping me firmly in the role of his employee, I’ll take it. I’m doing what I have to do, and I’m going to his house. Loading up the audio tracks to a USB drive, I figure I can just take it to him. Then he’ll have his work, and I’ll know without a shadow of a doubt that I won’t be getting fired.

  I know I might be crazy, but the thought of not having my daily calls with Alex is shattering. They’re something I’m not ready to let go of, even if my obsession has gotten a bit unhealthy. Glancing out the window, I can see the snow has picked up a little more. By the time I get out there, it will be really late. I should pack a bag and maybe stay at a local motel or something. If the snow keeps falling like it is, it probably won’t be safe to drive back tonight.

  I rush to my bedroom and hurriedly get a bag together, stopping in front of the mirror to look at myself. I’m going to see him. I’m actually going to be face to face with Alex. I smooth down my brown hair, knowing I don’t have much time to do anything to it. I’m in leggings and a silly Christmas sweater that hugs my body a little tighter than it did a few years ago. It’s festooned with blinking lights you can turn on.

  Doesn’t matter, I tell myself, grabbing my bag. I slip on some boots, a heavy winter coat, and a stocking cap. I grab the USB drive and my laptop, dropping them into the bag as well. I head out to my Jeep and program the address into my navigation. I hit the garage button, pull out of my driveway, and sit there while I watch it close.

  An hour into the drive, my mind starts to get the best of me. What will happen when I get there? Will he be angry that I interrupted his Christmas? Or will he be happy he got the files he needed, and maybe invite me in? But when my mind goes to him maybe spending the holiday with a woman, I know I have to focus my thoughts somewhere else.

  Grabbing my phone, I hit my Audible app and bring up my downloaded books. I hit one of the ones I recorded for Alex. I purchased the audiobook when it went live the other day. I want to listen to the story and get my mind off things, but as the first words are read, what fills my ears makes my stomach knot.

  Chapter 4

  Alex

  After I jerk off twice while listening to Noelle’s voice, I decide to get out of bed and get something to eat. I could stay in bed all day listening to her and touching myself, but it seems kind of sad to spend my Christmas Eve that way.

  I put on some long sweats and a thermal shirt, choosing to dress for bed since it’s getting late. Going over to my stereo, I play the Peanuts Christmas album. I know that if I put on another audio of Noelle, I'll just end up back in bed, stroking myself to her voice. I go to my refrigerator, trying to figure out what I want. I have a big dinner planned for myself tomorrow because I enjoy cooking, and I wanted to do something a little special for Christmas Day. Nothing in my small town would be open anyway, so spending the day reading and eating indoors is on the agenda. />
  Looking out the kitchen window, I see the sun setting and the snow is coming down heavily. I’m wondering if the power will even hold out for me to cook. Good thing I’ve got plenty of wood and a fireplace with a stovetop to cook on. I prepared for a worst-case scenario, knowing how bad the weather can be this time of year. Two years ago I got snowed in for over a week and had to hike it into town for supplies. I’m not planning on doing that again. Ever.

  As I pull out stuff to make sandwiches, I think about how I should get a cat or a dog. Something to keep me company during times like this. I enjoy my solitude and being away from the world, but at times it gets really lonely. When I do go into town, I don’t talk to people unless I have to, and I try to cover up my scars as much as possible. I don’t like people looking at me and wondering what happened. Or worse, feeling sorry for me.

  Shaking off that thought, I go back to making myself something to eat. When that’s done, I go over to the living room and sit down in front of the fire. I stare at the flames, thinking about Noelle and wondering what she’s doing right now.

  She’s probably with her family like every other normal person. Enjoying her Christmas Eve with loved ones, or maybe going out with friends. Maybe she’ll meet someone while she’s out, someone who can be seen in public with her and who won’t feel the need to hide himself.

  I think about what it would be like to spend Christmas with Noelle. If I was whole, and she was mine, I think I’d overdose on Christmas cheer. I’d want to spend all day in bed, cuddled up naked and keeping warm. I’d want to make love to her over and over, only letting her out of bed to make cookies with me and to open presents by the fire. Naked, of course. I’d want to taste every inch of her curvy body, eating her pussy in front of the fireplace. I’d want to fuck her over the kitchen counter so she was covered with flour and sprinkles. I’d drag her outside to make snow angels until she was frozen, and then I’d drag her into the tub and give her a bath until she was warm. I’d hold her close to me that night and whisper in her ear how much I lov—.