The Photog

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Headstrong reporter & photog have history.
2k words
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It was a dry heat that was almost stifling as Natalie Brenner dropped off her bags. The flight to Kabul had been riddled with problems and the fact that she was one of the top foreign correspondents with the BBC didn't help.

She held dual citizenship with the United States and Italy on her father's side and the higher ups had agreed she should travel on the Italian one.

The city was in shambles with the infrastructure in desperate need of repair and money.

She needn't get too comfortable anywhere because she was headed to Iraq at the end of the week.

She was 33 years old with no children and a marriage that had ended years ago.

She was a lovely woman with soft brown hair and blue eyes and she had been told numerous times that she should have gone into broadcast instead of print journalism.

Her retort was a quick, "I'm not a talking head. I actually work."

Natalie followed the bell hop upstairs and changed into looser fitting clothes.

She emerged a half hour later and went into the bar inside the Hotel Kabul Intercontinental. It was the largest hotel in town where dignitaries and journalists stayed.

She walked into the bar and smiled. The gang was all there.

The world of the foreign correspondents was small and getting smaller.

Bob Lacosta was an award winning journalist with the New York Times and looked every inch the part.

He was bald with a large paunch, glasses and suspenders. He was a hard nosed journalist but engaging and kind. She guesses he was in his late 50s.

"There she is," Bob called out to her. "How the hell are you kid? Haven't seen you since-"

"Rwanda." Supplied Clifton Brown.

Clifton raised his brown eyes to met Natalie's and held them briefly before rudely surveying her body.

Clifton was an attractive man a little older than Natalie who worked with the Washington Post. He was tall and lean with ruffled brown hair to match his eyes. He was arrogant and irritating and Natalie surmised the reason he hated her most of all was that she had never slept with him.

Gideon Tamarelli approached her and caught her up in a hug which she graciously returned.

At 30, he was a gifted writer with premature balding and light blue eyes. He was sweet and she had always enjoyed his company. He was a writer with the Christian Science Monitor.

"We were wondering where the fourth wheel was," Gideon told her.

Clifton made a rude sound and she said, "Try to be decent, Cliff. Try."

She seated herself in between Gideon and Bob and asked lightly, "Where are the photogs?"

"Probably out drinking and smoking," laughed Gideon.

"Some things never change," she laughed.

"Yeah, and besides our regulars, Cliff has a new one," Gideon told her.

"Oh god! Are you breaking in someone?" Natalie asked.

There was nothing worse than someone new when out in the war zone. It rarely happened, but when it did, it caused a heightened tension for the reporter.

"Hell no! He's only new to us. He's on loan from the AFP. Walter came down with a stomach flu at the last minute," Cliff said.

"AFP? Well la-de-dah," Natalie said as she downed her Turkish coffee gritting her teeth as she did.

"And he's an asset because he speaks Farsi and Arabic," Cliff added.

"Wow. That is impressive. Hey Bob, is Quinn here?" She asked.

"Of course. I don't think they would let me come if she wasn't around."

"Great. I'll be back."

Quinn Stratford was the New York Times photographer and Bob's sidekick.

Gideon had a flamboyant black man named T.J. Hall who worked at the monitor while Cliff usually worked with Walter.

Natalie's own photographer was a quiet man named Graham Snowden who kept to himself but was very gifted.

Together the eight journalists had traveled the world in search of the next great story.

"God it's great to see you!" Natalie hugged Quinn.

Quinn with her spiky black hair and pierced eyebrows asked, "Hey have you met the new photog?"

"Walter's replacement? No."

"He's yummy in a moody sort of way. All dark eyes and looks."

"You're hopeless." Natalie smiled as she headed up to her room.

****

Dark eyes and looks. Moody. God, that reminded her of him, Natalie thought.

Natalie's first job as a reporter had been a crappy little community paper where the managing editor had only worked at the paper and McDonald's.

The pay was crap and the city editor didn't know shit and she worked there a year to gain experience before moving on to a better and bigger paper.

The other reporters had been fun and she had liked being with them -- but she had fallen for Reece Shah.

He was Middle Eastern with dark looks and moody ways and they had fought constantly. Any cliché that came to mind fit Reece and Natalie -oil and water, fighting like cats and dogs, the North and the South. There wasn't anything they agreed on from politics to religion to women's rights.

Everyone in the newsroom knew the newbie reporter and the photog hated each other but the stories still had to be written and put in the can.

Natalie had been working at the small paper for a month when they started working together on Sundays.

Sunday was a skeleton crew with only Natalie and Reece together until the copy desk came in during the afternoon.

"Come on," Natalie called over her shoulder as she headed out to his car with all his photography gear in it.

"What's up duchess?" Reece called after her.

"Breaking news. Hello? Your reason for living."

He followed her out lighting a cigarette.

"Do you mind?" She asked annoyed at his habit.

"Hey. When we're inside the car I won't light it. Last time I checked - you don't own the public street," he said.

She rolled her eyes and waited for him to finish his smoke tapping her small little foot as she sighed deeply.

They traveled to a hilly area to cover the small brush fire when she dropped her pen down his side of the sea.

"Oh damn. Sorry."

She brushed against his arm with her breasts as she reached for the pen.

He looked at her once before focusing back on the road.

Later that evening she was looking for an old photograph of a well-known doctor who had died the day before.

"I need an old 1950s picture of Dr. McWilliams, Reece," Natalie asked him. "The one who started that health clinic in Verde."

He was cropping out a teaser for the front page when she walked in.

"You know where they are Duchess," Reece told her.

Since the paper had gone digital, the old darkroom was used as storage. It was badly organized and cramped. Half the time it was badly lit and dark and she had only ever found one picture of the dozens she had wanted to find in the archaic filing cabinet.

"Gee thanks." She moved past him swirling the black door that used to protect the negatives.

She went into the back and began flipping through old file folders and 8 x 10 black and white pictures.

She found a small picture of the old Doc but it wasn't the one she had wanted.

She walked to the black door and called out," Reece you there?"

"Yes." He called back.

"I can't find this picture. I need it."

"Jesus H. Christ." He muttered under his breath. "Some journalist." He walked ahead of her.

"Look less mouth, Reece. A journalist's skill is finding a story --- not some 50-year-old picture."

"Isn't it?" He murmured back.

God, she was a little bitch, he thought.

She wore tight trousers that showed off her ass and tight sweaters that showed off the rest of her. She teased and flirted with all the guys in the newsroom and it annoyed him.

She was beautiful but she was also a little cocktease.

He flipped past the picture she wanted and spoke, "So if I find this Doc's picture, what are you going to give me?"

Natalie breathed out a sigh of irritation and rolled her eyes. "My undying thanks."

She watched his hands as he flipped through the file folders. He had long, sexy fingers which were perfect for a photog.

He was sexy too. Not in a conventional way. But with inky black hair and those dark eyes -- he was hot.

Not that she had ever noticed. Mostly she just noticed his annoying opinions about everything.

"Thanks huh?" He asked. "I'd prefer a kiss."

Natalie laughed in the dark room. "I'm sure you would."

He looked her over once.

"Fine. A kiss. One." She looked over the room and then back at him as he held the picture in one hand. "Bastard. You had it all along."

He just smiled.

She leaned forward and kissed his cheek trying to grab the photo from him.

"Yeah right." He said sarcastically.

He stood up and pressed her against the wall.

"I want a normal kiss. Not a grandmother's kiss, little cocktease."

With that, Reece pushed into her body with his and his mouth ravaged hers. It was filled with passion and desire.

He moved his hands from her waist to drag into her hair and bit into her neck.

She unwittingly moved her hands into his hair and moaned as he took her mouth again.

He turned her body quickly around and pressed her against a small two drawer filing cabinet.

He unzipped her jeans and before she realized he was pushing his thick cock inside her. She was dripping wet.

"Oh fuck." He said.

She felt so good. All tight and wet and warm wrapped around his cock.

She gasped aloud as he pounded inside her tight cunt. She could feel his cock inside her and she wanted more. At the same time, she felt dirty and used. He was using her for sex like a whore.

Suddenly she pulled away from him and pulled her jeans up.

He laughed at her. "Sorry I started or sorry you stopped."

She slapped him hard across the face. "Stay away from me, Reece. Don't you ever come near me again."

****

Natalie could hear the music playing in the street outside. A mournful song filled with sadness and bitterness and the call to prayer would soon follow as she dressed for dinner.

She wanted to dress for comfort but also for style. She chose black cotton pants with a white silk blouse and strappy black heels. She looked lovely and knew it.

The small gang had gathered together in the main dining room and she counted seven familiar faces minus the photog on loan from the AFP.

They were a good group of people each with their idiosyncrasies but with a knack for getting the best news possible to the people.

She was drinking a glass of iced tea with Quinn when she heard her friend say, "Oh there's the photog. He's coming our way."

Natalie pushed her hair back self consciously and turned on the bar stool.

"I'm Reece, nice to meet you," she heard him introducing himself to the others.

Natalie's heart sank. Mother fucker, she thought.

He came towards the two women and Natalie wondered if she could just turn around and walk away. What that be too rude?

"Hi, I'm Reece," He told Quinn smiling.

When he turned to Natalie his smile froze and vanished.

Well, she thought. At least he detests me as much as I do him.

"Hi Reece," she said in a bored but polite tone.

"Well, the little Duchess from California." He smiled but it was an irritating one.

"The AFP? Someone die? Or did someone owe you a favor?" She walked away leaving Quinn laughing under her breath.

She was still a little bitch, he thought. As he watched her walk away, he admired the shape of her ass and remembered it under his hands as he had pumped into her.

Still hot, he thought.

He would have her again.

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AnonymousAnonymousabout 16 years ago
More Please!

This is a great begining! Write more please!

AnonymousAnonymousover 16 years ago
great start!!

ok so this ones hott hope you contiue it i'll be checking back

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