by Alexa Riley
“Alex,” he grunts, sounding irritated with me. “Say it.”
“Alex,” I whisper. He’s been correcting me for months now, but for some reason I always still say ‘Mr. Lockwood.’ It reminds me of who he is—that he isn’t a friend I’m talking to on the phone. He’s a client and nothing more, no matter what my late-night fantasies tell me.
I hear a grunt, then the line goes quiet. I wonder if he’s mad at me, and I inwardly curse myself. I had steady work before I started narrating books for his company, All for You, but with him offering me more and more projects, he’s been my only client for well over two months now. It sounds silly, and I’m sure I can get more projects elsewhere, but I like working for him. He handles things a little differently than most clients I work with, but I like his way. Seems I like a lot of things about Alex, despite knowing very little about him.
The silence hangs in the air as I wait for him to speak again. His words do things to me. Things they shouldn’t. I’ve somehow latched myself onto him recently. Waiting for our daily calls has now become a little bit of an obsession, one I’m sure my mother would tell me was just as unhealthy as my lack of a social life.
“Hmm,” I mumble, trying to break the uncomfortable silence. I can’t bear the tension, but all I hear is his heavy breathing, something that reminds me of the many erotica books I’ve read. The hero would breathlessly pant into the heroine’s ear after a hard round of sex. It’s a sound I’ve never actually heard myself, but I find myself imagining what it would be like if Alex made the sound in my ear, his body on top of me.
“I think that’s enough for today,” he finally says, his deep voice rolling over my skin like a warm rough caress, like it always does when he speaks to me. If anyone one should be narrating a book, it’s Alex. He has a voice like I’ve never heard before, and I’ve heard many in my line of work. Voices that are supposed to be the best aren’t anything special compared to his.
“Okay, Mis— Alex,” I correct myself quickly, once again making myself look like an incompetent fool who can’t remember anything. “I’ll have the Scott book sent over this afternoon. Just a few more touches and it will be finished. Then I’ll start on this new one, if you liked the sample I just did.”
Alex likes to do the samples over the phone and also likes to check in daily on my project status, something that’s not normal with audio work. Almost everything could be done over email, but Alex says he likes to do it this way. For what he’s paying me to voice audiobooks, I’m happy to jump through hoops for the projects. Okay, that’s only partially true. I would jump through the hoops, but our phone calls mean more to me than just work.
Sometimes our calls dip into personal life, mainly about me and my life. Every now and then, I find myself rambling on, and he just listens. Maybe he’s really polite and feels sorry for me for having to carry on conversations with someone who is virtually a stranger. Though he doesn’t feel like a stranger anymore.
“That sounds perfect. I have a lot going on tomorrow, so I want this taken care of tonight and off both our to-do lists,” he says, slipping back into business talk. It’s crazy how he does that. Sometimes I wonder if maybe he has a crazy sex life, because my narrations always seem to run on the dirty side and they never affect him.
I usually end up in a pile of goo when we we’re done, with hard nipples and wet panties. We’d hang up and I’d have my hand down my pants before the line even cleared. It wasn’t narrating the books that turned me on. I’ve been doing romance narrations for years. Normally I did them alone so no one would hear. But somehow, reading aloud to Alex has me beyond turned on. It could be that the pieces he selects for samples are always the dirtiest parts, or it could just be him.
I told myself it was because Alex was playing with me. I thought maybe he even had a little crush on me like I did him, but after time went on, he never seemed affected. He never tried to be more friendly to me like I was with him, and after a while I thought maybe I made it up in my head. My mother always told me I live too much inside myself, and it seemed to have happened again. I’d built something up in my mind that wasn’t really there. Worse, the thought of not having this interaction anymore was terrifying in some weird way.
“Okay. I’ll send the file right over.” I try to keep my tone just as causal as his, but I’m still chewing on the fact that he has a lot going on tomorrow. It’s Christmas, so I should expect him to be busy. All I have planned is a TV dinner and Netflix.
“Have a merry Christmas, Noelle.”
“You too, Alex.” I hit End on the call, promptly wanting to disconnect from him. I drop the phone onto my desk and bring up my emails. I want to go ahead and send the file, but my internet won’t connect. After restarting the modem and my laptop, I make my way over to the window while everything reboots.
It really is a perfect Christmas Eve. Snow has already begun to fall, and the Christmas lights on my tree behind me reflect in the window. It’s as if they’re mocking me. My house is decorated like I’m hosting a Christmas party tomorrow. There isn’t a spot that isn’t covered in some kind of Christmas decoration. Why I do this to myself, I have no idea.
I’m an introvert and always have been. I made a couple of friends in college, always preferring to have my nose deep in a book. But since then they’ve dropped off one by one, slowly losing contact over time. No one wants to be friends with the girl who rarely leaves the house.
Who knows where my parents are this time of year. No one likes to travel more than they do. I still have no idea how I came from such social butterflies. I like things small and intimate, and I always wanted to spend a Christmas like that with my parents. When I was a kid, my mom would go all out, kind of like I did in my own home, but she always filled the day with people I hardly knew.
It’s almost laughable now. I hate how she’d do that, but now here I am in a house all made up for Christmas and not one soul to spend it with. I’m not sure which is worse.
My mind wanders back to Alex, wondering what his plans might be. Would he have a special person to spend his Christmas with? The thought sends an irrational surge of jealously through me.
Maybe I can come up with a reason to get in touch with him, or just call to wish him a merry Christmas. I chastise myself for the silly idea. Considering how fast he got off the phone moments ago, he probably has plans tonight.
Growling at myself, I pull my hair from my ponytail to relieve some of the tension I’m feeling.
Pull it together, I tell myself. I’ll finish this project for Alex, get into my Christmas pajamas, eat those cookies I spent all day baking and decorating, and watch my favorite holiday movies. I will not let myself have a pity party.
Chapter 2
Alex
I hang up the phone and lean back in my chair, sighing. I close my eyes and let the sound of my name coming out of her sinful mouth roll around in my head. “Alex, Alex, Alex.” I envision her saying it over and over as I drive into her. The thought has me ready to cum all over again, and I reach over to grab a box of tissues to clean up the cum from the orgasm I already had.
After the first time I heard her voice and had her read a scene for me, I started keeping a box of tissues close by. With every syllable out of her mouth, I got harder and harder until I finally had to mute the phone and rub one out. I couldn’t stand it, her voice driving me beyond wild. I’ve never reacted to a voice the way I do to Noelle’s and the more I hear her, the more I want her.
I’ve been living in this cabin in Montana for a few years now. I started my company, All for You, a few years ago, after the accident.
The accident.
I worked as a publicist for a publishing house in New York, working with authors and agents. One day when I was on my way home from work, I was crossing the street in front of my apartment and was hit by a car. The driver never saw me, and all my doctors said I was lucky to be alive. The accident left a good portion of my body scarred up, including one side of my face. It took months to
heal, and afterwards, I felt cramped and claustrophobic in the big city. The scarring was too much for me to handle out in public, and I needed to get away from the noise.
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 bes
t 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 someone 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.