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.
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.
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.