by Xavier Neal
Unsure if I’m more taken back by her words or how quickly she got it out on paper, I simply sit in silence.
“I mean I could totally be wrong,” Ollie backs down as expected. “I primarily deal with gamers. Beer and alcohol could be completely different, but when B&B hired me, redesigning their logo and branding was the first thing I did and I think it helped. Sometimes I sketch new designs or rearrange the layout for covers of the games we’re producing.”
How the hell can she not see how fucking brilliant that makes her? “You only get more incredible every day, you know that?”
“You’re just saying that because you want me to work for free.”
The teasing comeback makes us both chuckle. “Seriously, Ollie. You really have some amazing talent.”
“Thanks.”
“Mind if I um…take this sketch to the marketing department. See what they think?”
“Sure.” She tears out the piece of paper and hands it to me. “Remind them this is a rough sketch. I mean rough. Rough. Rough. Rough.”
“Why are you barking at me?”
My joke gets an elbow to the side, but rewards me with the smile I’m glad I ditched the office for.
“Was I right?” She sweetly asks. “Was something in marketing bothering you?”
I hesitate to reply. “There was a long meeting about what we can do better in our pursuit of expanding.”
“But that’s not what was bothering you…”
My eyes cut away for a brief moment.
“Openness should be two ways here, Farm Boy.”
The nickname brings my eyes back.
“What’s on your mind?”
For a moment, I allow myself to get swept away by her dark brown stare. There’s an endless acceptance to it. It’s the type some people search their whole lives for, but never find. Yet here I am. Having it offered to me every time I walk through the door. Why the hell did I let Carol Ann’s bullshit bother me so much? I’m much better off. Clearly.
“Ford…”
I clear my throat, rest my arms on my legs, and fold my hands together. “It’s stupid. We don’t have to talk about it.”
Ollie slides her body closer to mine and drops her warm touch onto my forearm. In a playful tone, she threatens, “Don’t make me seduce it out of you.”
My bottom lip instantly slides between my teeth.
Her eyes widen at my reaction.
Slow.... Fuck. We’re supposed to be taking this slow…
All of a sudden, she glides her hand across my crotch. The touch is enough to have my stirring cock bump its agreement with using sexual tactics to get me to talk.
There’s a hint of surprise in her tone. “Didn’t actually think I was sexy enough to pull off that tease.”
“Fuck Darlin’, you have no idea…” I thoughtlessly retort.
Excitement floods her expression and she repeats the graze, this time with a little more force.
A groan grumbles behind my gritted teeth.
“Talk to me first,” her fingers curl around the hardness, “and I’ll touch you second.”
I shake my head in an attempt to brush the conversation away.
No. Fuck no. The conversation would be the epitome of a mood killer. Talking with your new girlfriend about your ex and how hurt you were by her flashy new life is already on the ‘never should fucking do’ lineup, but then when you factor in it’s her ex too? Makes it third on the master cock block list.
She gives me a small tug over my jeans causing me to growl, “Can we please just let it go, baby? Can we focus on…” I drop my hand on top of hers to help her repeat the action, “this, instead?”
Her hand leaves the situation all together. “Ford.”
My attempt to not let out a frustrated sigh, fails. Miserably. “I saw some posts from Carol Ann and Daryl on Facebook. Seeing her fucking worship and praise him for every little thing he does or makes her feel, made me wonder if I was a shitty boyfriend all those years. Momentary self-doubt. It’s not important. Like I said, it was stupid.”
Especially since I gave Ollie such a hard time letting Daryl’s dipshit behaviors affect how she viewed herself. Guess sometimes it’s easier to say shit than do it.
“Well, having dated you both,” the lightness in her tone brings ease to my mind, “I would have to say she’s crazy.”
A smile instantly flashes on my face.
“Lock her up and make sure she doesn’t escape the padded walls sort of crazy.”
The smile threatens to get wider.
“I may be a bit bias now, given how everything with him panned out and wanting to see you naked,” her face begins to flush in a way that has become my indicator for knowing how turned on she is, “but she has to be a new level of crazy to have not seen how incredible you are. Endlessly supportive. How you’re not pounding down the door with the typical roses and chocolate, but with your own style of whiskey and pizza. You make the effort for the one you’re with Ford and even if it’s not being shouted from the roof tops like Tarzan on a sugar high, doesn’t mean it’s not appreciated. At least in my case…”
“Which is the only case that matters as far as I’m concerned,” I state swiftly.
Without another word I lean down and drop my lips back where they belong. As soon as her pleased sigh has seeped free, I gently tug her closer to me by the nape of her neck, and part her lips with mine. Our tongues tangle and tear apart any insecurities I could possibly still have lingering. Ollie’s soft moans spur my dick to continue its demand for attention against the zipper of my jeans. Her hand gradually glides back to where it was only moments before, except this time with less caution. The change in timid behavior lifts the hunger pumping through my veins to an uncharted level. I growl and push my tongue harder, anxious to feel more.
Abruptly, she yanks herself away, leaving me to grumble mid kiss at the disconnect. Rather than object or instruct how to handle what happens, I let her guide the two of us, something I believe she needs to become more comfortable with.
I want her to feel alright with wanting me. I want her to come after me when she wants. I don’t want this to ever feel like a chore or obligation. Been there. Fuck that.
Ollie gives my chest a gentle push backwards. Once my back is resting against the couch, she lets her hands roam across my chest. My abs. The top of my jeans. At the feeling of her hand sliding underneath my plaid shirt, my cock threatens to come undone. I violently bite my bottom lip to give the pain censor a good kick and prevent the embarrassment of a life time. Her small fingers toy with my belt buckle as if completely unaware of the effect she’s having on me. Which wouldn’t completely surprise me. She’s so adorably oblivious of her own power over me. I used to think being this…submissive and starving for a woman’s touch was pathetic as a man. If only I had known this beautiful woman was just waiting to prove me wrong…
The moment my cock is free from the denim prison it had been condemned to for too long, a deep breath leaves my lips. In one blinding swift motion, Ollie’s lips are back on mine while her hand is giving my dick its full attention. She doesn’t bother with shy strokes or feeble jerks. Her hand pumps with unabashed fervor. My body oscillates between being ruled by her feverish tongue and enslaved by the powerful jerks commanding an immediate orgasm. Groan after groan echoes in my chest yet the faint sounds only seem to cause Ollie’s touch to become greedier. Mindlessly, my fingers dig into her back, desperate to keep her as close to me as possible. Her entire body begins to bump against mine, mimicking the riding action I’ve envisioned her doing on my lap since the day we met. The seemingly ceaseless cycle of being satisfied by her sounds, her tongue, and her touch shoves me to dangle over the edge.
This time, I’m the one to unexpectedly pull away, and brace my forehead against her. Through labored breaths, I somehow confess, “I’m gonna come, Darlin’…”
Ollie hums her approval and takes me all the way over. My entire body shakes and seizes as sharp bursts cover her ha
nd mercilessly. A growl meets a groan, creating an animalistic noise I’ve never heard myself make before. To my surprise, the sound is well received by the way she pounces my lips once more.
Holy hell. Why do I feel like this is all just the tip of the iceberg…
Camilla sighs from her favorite spot on my desk. “Why aren’t more women in video games curvier?”
I glance away from the creation on my screen. “What?”
She points to my open sketchbook.
“She’s not for a video game.”
“What’s she for?”
After a small hesitation, I correct, “Okay she’s not for a video game yet.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means that’s the notebook I free sketch in. Everything from superheroes to what I had for dinner to what I someday hope to see in a game.”
Camilla tilts her head and gives the design another look.
The warrior woman with an oversized pair of boobs, thunder thighs, flat stomach, no waist and flowing hair looks like every gamer’s wet dream. She’s got an M-16 strapped to her back, a bandolier across her tits, and a katana in each hand. Her obnoxiously high boots in an even more ridiculously tight outfit, tie in the very critical elements I am used to reading about women hating and men adoring. For the sake of my sanity, I gave her chocolate brown skin. Camilla isn’t alone in her wish for diversity in games.
“Don’t you have anything more…”Camilla waves a hand at the design. “Womanly pleasing. I know there are women gamers. We exist.”
With a smirk, I turn back a few sketches, and show her the shirtless design of a cowboy holding a shot gun. “Like him?”
“God yes,” she whispers at the drawing. “Is he real? Can you make him real? Can we get you one of those magic pencils, so whatever you draw pops up in real life?”
I catch my laugh in the palm of my hand.
He’s not completely real, but he definitely has elements of Ford, my supportive, inspirational hunk of a boyfriend. Gah, calling him my boyfriend even seems like a dream come true. And that’s what he insists I refer to him as. He wants all claims on me he can get…Camilla thinks it’s cute. However, she is heavily against us taking things slow. I actually like it. In its own way it’s a huge relief. I’m not a virgin, but my sexual skills are probably closer than I care to admit to anyone outside of myself. Taking things slow means, we’re given time for us to build things up. Find a groove that works for us. There’s time for me to make sure he’s satisfied in other departments before I bomb miserably during our first round in the sheets. So far? We’ve spent the last week discovering the forgotten joys of hand jobs and finger bangs. No complaints. On either end.
All of a sudden, Bart’s voice rings in my office, “Ollie, you got a minute?”
“Of course.” I turn in my chair to face my boss. “Always.”
“I’m just wondering if-” he unexpectedly cuts himself off and looks around me. “What’s that?”
“Women’s legs,” Camilla teases giving her bare calves a graze. “Surely, you’ve see those before Bart.”
His blonde eyebrows furrow as he hits her with displeased scowl.
Thankfully, we work in a casual place. Camilla is allowed to make lewd and usually inappropriate jokes because her work ethic, commitment, and impeccable ability to debug the shit out of every game given to her are something to be envied. It seems like if you’re skills are sharp enough in your department, they’re willing to overlook other things like your foul mouth or need to doodle Christmas trees on the yearly contract form.
He moves around and I scoot my chair out of his way. “This. What game is this for? I don’t remember anyone pitching a western…Westerns are…outdated…even if the sketch is,” the word seems to get lost on his lips, “outstanding. Look at those eyes. He’s got the whole ‘save the damsel’ shit in his eyes.”
Ford definitely has a similar mentality sometimes…
“What’s this for?” Bart continues to question, panic quickly rising in his tone. “Is this contract work for another company? Are you considering leaving? Do we not pay you enough? Were you displeased with your spring bonus?”
“She gets a bonus?!” Camilla scoffs. “What the hell?”
He gives her a pointed look. “Did we or did we not send you, all expenses paid, to Cancun for a conference and then to Vegas for a team building trip?”
“Not all,” she mumbles quietly.
“No. You’re right. We refused to give you more than a thousand dollars to gamble with.”
“Cheap bastards.”
Bart tosses a hand in the air. “Camilla!”
Her snicker is followed with her sliding off my desk. “I’m going. I’m going. I’m sure I have something to work on or at the very least something to avoid working on.”
She saunters out of my office with a smirk plastered on her face.
Sometimes I wonder if she pushes the limits too far just to see what will happen.
“Ollie,” Bart’s voice shakes with concern. “This artwork-”
“Just free sketches,” I swiftly reply before he begins to hyperventilate. “I’d never leave you guys. You know I love it here.”
“We want you here,” he instantly reassures. “Your artwork is unparalleled. We’d do just about anything to keep you.”
The flattery makes me smile warmly.
Ford keeps saying that too about my skills. He even asked me to make him two logos to test for their beer sampling at the local festival going on downtown in a couple of weeks. The designs didn’t take long, but because I switched to perfectionist zone, nothing else received any attention from me, including my horny boyfriend and our always hungry pig.
“Let me ask you something,” Bart begins, eyes now back on the drawing. “When you free sketch like this do you have a…specific game type or story in mind?”
“Sometimes…”
“What about for this one?”
“I was thinking a first-person shooter. Gritty small-town setting. Not a western, more modern. Basically, it’s a man wandering around this place fighting zombies or mutants or just some sort of infected while searching for his wife.”
“Like a rescue mission?”
“Like rescue meets…zombie apocalypse.”
Bart cocks a grin. “Those are always your favorite to design.”
“They’re popular…”
He chuckles a little under his breath, gives the character one more look, and then says, “Why don’t you spend the rest of the week coming up with a solid story line? The beginning, the middle, and the definitive end. Create a few of these ‘infected’ on paper as well as the woman he’s trying to rescue. And then next week when Buddy gets back from his ski trip we can go to dinner to discuss the details. Potentially adopting the project and allowing you to do more than just the sketches. Sound good?”
Disbelief plummets my jaw to the floor.
Certain I misheard him, I remain silent and wait for Ashton Kutcher to jump out of the desk drawer to shout ‘Punked’, before announcing the stupid prank shows inevitable return. It hasn’t yet, my money is on the notion it will. Revamping everything seems very popular.
“Sound good?” Bart repeats with a firmer tone.
“Okay…” I quietly concur.
“Great!” He claps his hands together. “Now, the reason I actually came in was to ask you if you had revisited the grim reaper designs for Dragon’s Doctrine. You still have time, but you’re often ahead of schedule and I was curious to the adjustments.”
“I am and I already sent it to Constantine.”
He shakes his head. “Should’ve guessed.”
“Probably…”
Bart starts to speak when Camilla’s voice shouts, “Son of a bitch!”
“How many times do I have to remind her about language?”
“About as many times as you have to remind Demetri not to eat other people’s snacks.”
“Demetri, your ass is toast when I
find you!” her voice distantly threatens.
He lets out a heavy sigh, shakes his head again, and announces, “Time to do the part of being a boss I hate.”
“Calling Meredith to deal with it?”
Bart gives me a small guilty nod on his way out of my office.
Once he’s gone, I grab my cell phone, dialing the first person I can’t wait to tell.
The phone rings a single time before Ford’s smooth voice states, “And how is the most beautiful woman in my life?”
