Made In America

by Jamie Deschain

  But all this time while he’s been doing just that, he’s also been looking inward, and as I stare back at him with wide eyed wonder, I can’t help but feel like this sexual spark that’s been simmering between us just exploded into something more.

  Something I don’t know if I’m ready for, let alone want. Not with someone like him.

  “Are you okay?” he asks. “You look a little flustered.”

  “Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. “I’m fine.”

  “I hope that wasn’t too forward.”

  “No,” I say quietly. “It wasn’t.”

  “You’re turn,” he says.

  Catching my breath, I collapse back in my seat. “I don’t know what I see when I look at you. Not anymore. I thought I did. I thought you were just some rich, oversexed jerk. The type to throw a tantrum when he doesn’t get what he wants. I thought for sure this day was going to be horrendous and you’d make me earn every last cent of my salary by being a complete ass to me, but as it turns out, this day has been pretty amazing, and you along with it. You’ve completely surprised me, and I’m not sure how I feel about that because usually I’m pretty good at reading people, but with you it’s totally different.”

  Grant sits quietly, pondering my words for a moment. He probably thinks me a crazy person after spewing all that, but honesty is the best policy, right? He’s being honest enough with me, so the least I can do is return the favor.

  “Too forward?” I ask.

  Grant shakes his head. “I meant it was your turn to apologize, Raven. For lunch.”

  “Oh. Oh shit. I’m sorry.”

  Okay, now I’m flustered, and completely embarrassed for making an ass out of myself, assuming he meant one thing when he meant another. Of course he wanted an apology for lunch. That’s how this whole exchange started, and now I’m left holding the bag, metaphorically, and literally as I start to gather up the trash so I can get out of here and back to my desk as quickly as possible before any more word vomit can spew forth from my big mouth.

  It’s while I’m so intently focused on this task that Grant rises from his seat and comes around the desk. His hand falls over mine, and he’s dangerously close. So close I can feel his hot breath just inches away from my neck as he leans over. With every fiber of my being I try not to tremble at his touch. It feels as if every defensive shield I’ve raised has just fallen, and he could come storming in at any minute.

  “Hey,” he whispers.

  I pause, unable to look at him for a moment. When I gather enough courage, I tilt my head and stare into his deep brown eyes, searching for some sort of sense in all this. Why did he have to write what he did on that receipt? Why did I post it online and demand a personal apology that led to this very moment? What’s the purpose? I don’t believe in coincidence, or fate. I believe everything in our lives happens for a reason, but all this?

  I just don’t know.

  He reaches forward with a finger, delicately tracing my lip. When he pulls away, there’s a glob of McSauce on it that he sucks into his mouth. There’s a devilishly sexy grin creeping up his cheeks and all of a sudden, he’s back.

  The slick talking, sex-joke-making, incredibly handsome Grant Huffman I’ve come to adore in the short amount of time we’ve known one another. Which is crazy because it hasn’t been that long at all. A day and a half? When you put it like that it sounds like some kind of crazy instal-love you read about in those cheesy romance novels I make fun of Frankie for reading, but I can’t deny there’s something going on between Grant and me. Something that goes beyond the physical.

  It’s certainly not love, but it is something, and that confuses me because I’m not that girl. The girl who falls for guys on the spot, no matter how drop-dead gorgeous they are.

  Fuck, what is this man doing to me?

  “You okay?” he asks.

  I nod reassuringly, asking, “How do I taste?”

  Grant sucks in a sharp breath of air and takes a shuddering step back. “Like a cheap hamburger,” he jokes.

  I laugh, releasing my pent up tension, and finish gathering the remainder of our lunch.

  By the time I’m back at my desk, it’s already past one, and before I can sit and contemplate what just happened, the phone starts ringing and I’m lost in work, too busy to think about anything else until five o’clock hits and I clock out on what was undoubtedly the most interesting first day I’ve ever had on a job.

  - 8 -

  Grant

  It’s past seven when I look at the time, and Raven is long gone with a business account credit card to get herself some new clothes for work. I sit at my desk, staring over spreadsheets and account charts on my computer, finding myself unable to concentrate on anything else except wondering how she’s making out.

  Her first day on the job was certainly lively, to put it mildly.

  Setting aside all that crap with Danziger, her and I had an interesting lunch date, and I have the gut rot to prove it. After eating that hamburger, I’ve done nothing but gobble Rolaids like candy.

  And she wonders why I don’t eat that crap.

  Glancing at my cell phone, I know I should probably just leave her be, but the temptation to text her is too strong, so I pick it up and swipe open the phone, clicking over to the messenger app. Her number is already programmed in. That’s nothing special, I have all my employees programmed into my phone, yet somehow it is special. She’s special, and I’m beginning to realize that more and more with each passing minute.

  GRANT: How are you doing?

  I send the text and wait. Stare at the phone for a while with anticipation until I see that she’s typing.

  RAVEN: Who is this?

  GRANT: It’s your boss. You know, the one whose money you’re currently spending.

  RAVEN: Sorry, I didn’t have your number before now. Hang on, I’ll program you in.

  I pause, giving her the time she needs. I get a kick out of how blunt she is with people. I can’t imagine what her reaction to Alan would have been had it not been her first day at a new job. I know she was holding back for my sake. If she saw him on the street, I get the sneaking suspicion she wouldn’t have been sitting so quietly while he ogled her fun bags.

  RAVEN: Okay, I’m back. You’re all plugged in, Huffy.

  GRANT: Mr. Huffman, to you.

  RAVEN: Sorry, we’re not at work. I get to call you whatever I want.

  I laugh, and type: What are you wearing?

  A few moments pass before she types. When she finishes, I notice there’s an incoming image to go along with the text. It’s too small to make out, so I click to enlarge, and when I do I’m smacked in the face with a photo of her in a change room somewhere, completely naked save for her black bra, and a black skirt she’s trying on.

  Jesus Christ. My cock twitches at the sight of her tits, instantly growing hard. I reach down and grip it tight, trying to contain it within the confines of my trousers, but all that does is send a surge of pressure through my balls I know I’m going to have to release as soon as I get home.

  Maybe sooner.

  I close the image and read her text.

  RAVEN: What do you think of this?

  I know she’s referring to the skirt, but I type: I think those are just fine.

  RAVEN: LOL. I mean the skirt, you perv. Haven’t you ever seen a woman’s breasts before?

  GRANT: Of course, just none so…ample.

  RAVEN: I guess those high society women are pretty flat, eh?

  GRANT: You have no idea, and I do like that skirt. Where are you?

  RAVEN: Barney’s. It’s $995, should I get it?

  I don’t bat an eyelash. At this point, I’d let her buy the goddamn Statue of Liberty with my money. Yes, I text.

  RAVEN: Really? I wasn’t being serious. I’m just having a bit of fun.

  GRANT: I’m being serious. Buy it, and wear it tomorrow, along with whatever else you want. Now take it off and send me another picture.

  RAVEN: You know
you’re my boss, right?

  GRANT: Do you send all your bosses pictures of you in your underwear?

  RAVEN: No, but you’re a little different, aren’t you?

  GRANT: I think that’s a fair assumption.

  RAVEN: I still can’t believe you’d never eaten a Big Mac before today.

  GRANT: I still can’t believe you haven’t sent me another picture yet.

  This time when she texts through, there’s another image. A close-up of her breasts. My pulse quickens as my cock gets even harder, all the blood rushing from my head to my organ, leaving me feeling lightheaded and horny as hell. If I wasn’t going to jerk off when I got home, I sure am now. It’s all I can think about.

  RAVEN: That’s all you’re getting.

  GRANT: That’s all I want…for now.

  RAVEN: Please, you wouldn’t even know what to do with them if you actually had them.

  GRANT: Don’t be so dismissive. Just because the women I’ve dated haven’t had your assets doesn’t mean I’m oblivious to the ways of titty play.

  RAVEN: LOL. Titty play. You’re hilarious.

  GRANT: Does that surprise you? That I have a sense of humor?

  RAVEN: A lot of things about you surprise me.

  GRANT: Like what?

  RAVEN: Like the fact you’d never eaten a Big Mac before, and the fact that you’re not as stuffy as I thought you’d be.

  GRANT: I know how to have fun, when the occasion warrants it.

  RAVEN: Prove it.

  I quickly email myself the close-up picture of her tits. Heading over to my laptop, I open the image and make it full screen, and lean back in my chair before unzipping my pants. My cock springs loose and before I know it, I’m sitting there with my dick in one hand, and my phone in the other. It’s a good thing there’s no one else in the office right now.

  GRANT: What do you mean, prove it?

  I stroke my cock, imaging her wonderful tits slapping against it. The very thought of having her flesh that close to me is enough to send me over the edge, but I prolong the pleasure. Bringing myself to the brink of explosion before letting go. Edge play. It can be torturous, but done right, the release is incredible.

  RAVEN: Tito and Frankie are having an engagement party this weekend at Drake’s. You should come with me. Let your hair down.

  Hair. Her hair. Swaying back and forth over my naked thighs as her tits work my cock up and down, in and out. I stoke harder and faster, once again bringing myself to the edge of coming, only to stop and watch my dick twitch with disappointment.

  GRANT: U want me to b ur date?

  RAVEN: Y r u typing like that?

  GRANT: 1 hand.

  A minute passes before I hear from her again. I don’t care that she knows what I’m doing. Quite the opposite, really. At this point I don’t care about much, and I’m hoping she’ll find it a turn on to know what I’m doing with her picture.

  RAVEN: Are you serious? You got your dick out right there in the office?

  GRANT: Yes.

  RAVEN: LOL. Well, well. Mr. Huffman.

  I can hear her saying that like she’s right here with me. Down on her knees, gripping my dick in her tight grasp. Gazing upon its girth and saying with her accent, well, well, Mr. Huffman, I didn’t know you had such a big cock.

  I can’t take it anymore. I stroke myself to completion, sending a hot geyser of cum spurting all over the edge of my desk and pants. It’s a good thing I have a wardrobe in here.

  Taking a deep breath, I ease back with a smile on my face as my cock softens. With both hands I type: All done.

  RAVEN: That was fast. I would have thought you for more stamina.

  GRANT: See what you do to me?

  RAVEN: Imagine, all that from a picture of my knockers. Imagine what it’d be like if I sent you a picture of my cunt.

  GRANT: I love your filthy mouth.

  RAVEN: Babe, you haven’t heard anything yet.

  GRANT: Yet, implies that I will.

  RAVEN: I’m not going to fuck you, remember?

  GRANT: But you’re perfectly fine teasing me?

  RAVEN: Absolutely. Now about that party…

  Sitting there with my cock hanging out of my pants, and cum slowly drying on my leg, it’s hard to say no after admitting what I’ve just done. I flick a glance at my computer and see her tits still staring back at me. I twitch once more, and think it best to end this conversation so I can get changed and head home.

  GRANT: I’ll go, on one condition.

  RAVEN: What’s that?

  GRANT: You come to an event of my choosing when I ask.

  RAVEN: As long as you buy the clothes, I’ll come wherever you want me to.

  GRANT: Be careful what you wish for.

  RAVEN: You know what I mean, perv.

  GRANT: You like it.

  RAVEN: ;-)

  GRANT: Haven fun shopping.

  RAVEN: TTFN

  I throw the phone on my desk and grab some tissues to wipe up my mess. Closing my laptop, I shake my head at the absurdity of all of this. Her first day on the job and already we’re so much more than just boss/employee. I’ve never done that with a woman before. All of my sexual encounters have always been face to face. Just knowing she knew what I was doing—and didn’t shy away from it—tells me Raven is unlike any other woman I’ve known.

  But it’s more than just the physical.

  She was right when she said I felt protective of her. I can’t explain it, but I do. Maybe it’s just infatuation, but it doesn’t feel like that.

  It feels like something more.

  And I can’t wait to see where this leads.

  - 9 -

  Raven

  “What are all those tattoos for?” Grant asks.

  I look up from my roasted turkey and avocado BLT, taking the opportunity to grab a napkin and wipe the crumbs from my lips.

  Sitting across from Grant in his office while we eat lunch has become common occurrence. Monday he said he doesn’t usually let anybody in here when he eats, but by Thursday he said the thought of eating lunch without me just doesn’t seem right, so here I am.

  Trust me, I don’t mind one bit.

  Grant takes a bite of his Mediterranean Veggie and eyeballs my arms with a penetrating stare.

  God, he’s even sexy when he eats his Panera Bread.

  I thought for sure when I started working here he was going to ask me to keep my tattoos covered, but all the blouses I bought on Monday at Barney’s are sleeveless, and he hasn’t said a word. The one I’m wearing now is an eye-lashed fringe top that cost nearly $400.

  I still can’t believe he let me spend as much as I did.

  “They’re symbolic of my life,” I say.

  “How so?”

  I gaze at the different images inked onto my arms. Trying to explain to someone what your tattoos mean when they’ve never had the desire to get one can sometimes be a challenge.

  I point to the Statue of Liberty on my right forearm and say, “Got this one when I first moved to New York.”

  “But why? I mean, what purpose does it serve?”

  I purse my lips, thinking best how to describe what he’s asking. “You know how some people keep a journal, right? Like, a diary of their experiences and thoughts. That’s what my tattoos are. They’re a journal of my life, only instead of putting my experiences away on some shelf, I put them on my body so I’m always reminded of where I’ve been, and where I’m going.”

  He nods, though I can see the wheels spinning in his brain. He’s trying to understand, but not quite there yet.

  “When I was a little girl, I always wanted to live in New York,” I tell him. “So when I got here, I had this ink done to remind myself of that accomplishment. When I’m feeling down, or having second thoughts about my life, I can look at it as a reminder there’s nothing I can’t do if I set my mind to it.”

  “And this one?” he asks, pointing to a new school squirrel tattoo on my left arm. “What could that possibly signi
fy?”

  I laugh. It’s been a while since I thought about that one, and Grant’s intrigue brings up a memorable—and fitting—moment.

  “That one signifies the time I lost my virginity.”

  “You lost your virginity to a squirrel?” he arches his eyebrows amusedly.

  “No, you twit. His name was Eddie Faulkner, but he did have buck teeth, and shaggy brown hair, and his cheeks were kind of large, like he was always munching on something, so he reminded me of a squirrel. Hence the tattoo. When I look at it, I’m reminded of first loves, and that no matter how many times I’ve had my heart broken, there’s still more firsts to come, because everyone’s different, right?”

  “Have you had your heart broken a lot? I mean, you’re only 25.”

  “I’ve had my fair share of heartbreaks, sure. We all have. Even you.”

  Grant dusts off his fingers and sits back in his chair. “What makes you think I’ve had my heart broken?”

  “Come on,” I scoff. “Even someone like you has had to have loved and lost.”

  “Someone like me?”