Breaking the NewsbyLucy1970Harker©
It was a huge news story.
A story to make them both nervous, but so excited to have broken it, and writing it, she was shaking as he paced around the small office.
"Almost done?" he said, waiting to read it over and edit it before it was sent out as breaking news. He was stressed. It would bring them a lot of attention but also a lot of heat. But it was worth it.
"Yes, yes. You're making me nervous. Stop pacing," she said, not looking away from her laptop screen.
Her heart was pounding as she came to the end of the story. She was eager to finish. Eager to send it out. Eager to make him proud.
"Ok, done," she said, pushing her chair back from the desk.
"Can you copy it over?" he said, heading to his office.
"Can't you just do it here?" she said, moving out of the way from her desk and pulling a chair over.
"I'd just rather you did it here. I'm too excited to copy it and this way I can answer questions," she said.
It made sense, he thought.
So he sat in the chair next to her. They were close to each other. Very close.
Her heart pounded more. She liked the shirt he was wearing. But she couldn't think about that right now.
He sat at her desk and read her story. She watched the screen. Watched him.
"Stop looking at me. Now you're making me nervous," he said.
"Sorry!" she said, watching the screen instead. She watched him at the keyboard, making changes. He asked her questions and she leaned over him to point something out on the screen and her arm touched his. Was it her imagination, or did he lean into it?
"Right, ok, I missed that," he said, understanding her point.
"What if we put it this way instead? Does it change what you meant?" he asked, typing something. Her breast touched his arm, by accident.
Something started to hum, in the air. A vibe. A feeling. You could almost hear it the moment it clicked on.
She leaned closer to him, watching him, almost knee to knee.
"Do we need this in here? You said something similar above?" he asked, turning to her. There was something in her eyes. He saw it. And she knew he saw it.
She didn't answer right away.
"Um, no I guess not. You're right," she said, blushing and looking back at the screen.
"Great," he said.
She leaned closer, and this time she saw that his knee was close to hers. It moved closer. It was not her imagination.
She started to get warm inside. She was so excited about this story. So nervous. Her emotions were ramped up and now, now he was so close, his hands, his thoughts in her story, changing it, fixing it, making it better.
Inside her thoughts. Her mind. Inside her.
He was almost done.
"I think this part," he moved to point to the screen, again brushing against her breast with his arm, and he stopped for a second. She saw he was struggling a little too.
"I think this part," he started again, "this part should be at the top. It's important," he said.
"Whatever you say. You're the boss," she said.
"Remember that line when we are both in trouble tomorrow," he said.
"It's my story," she said, now really nervous.
"I would never let you take the fall by yourself," he said, turning to her. Looking at her.
Her heart pounded, pounded, pounded.
Back to the story.
He worked for a few more minutes. Then pushed his chair back.
"Done," he said.
"Whew," she said. "Was it ok?"
"Ok?" he said, turning her chair around.
"It was more than ok. It was great. You did a great job on this story," he said. What was happening to her? She never had felt this way about him. Suddenly, she was warm. Hot even. He was looking at her. Their knees were touching. His hands were on the arms of her chair.
"Thanks," she said, blushing.
"I think you should send out the breaking news," he said.
"I don't know how?" she said.
"I'll set it up. You hit send," he said. "We have to do it from my computer though."
So they went into his office. He typed up an email at his desk and then he got up from his chair.
"Go ahead," he said. "You do it."
She was so nervous. For a lot of reasons.
"Sit!" he said.
So she sat in his chair. And eyed the send button. And didn't do anything.
"What?" He asked.
"I'm scared," she said.
"I am too, but it is a great story. And we were fair. That's all we can do," he said. He was standing behind the chair, and he surprised both himself and her by putting his hands on her shoulders...and squeezing.
"Don't worry," he said, squeezing her shoulders, and leaving his hands there for a second. "I'm behind you all the way on this."
She was momentarily stunned with the feeling of his hands on her shoulders.
She closed her eyes for a second and leaned back in his chair, resting her head on the back. Without thinking, she put her hand on one of his. She felt the pressure of his body behind the chair. Behind her. And his hands tightened on her shoulders.
"Are you going to hit send?" he asked.
"In a second," she said, still leaning back, feeling his hands on her shoulders. They tightened there again, and the pressure felt warm. She turned her head, her eyes closed, sideways, and said "That feels really good."
"Does it?" he asked.
So he rubbed her shoulders more. Harder. And his hands moved further down her arms. And over.
Her head went back further, up, as his hands moved slowly over to the neckline of her shirt, which was slightly low cut but held together by a few buttons. He touched her collarbone, and lower.
She moved in the chair, eyes closed head back, drew her breath in a sharp way that encouraged him to move closer to the neckline of the shirt. He didn't understand what was going on. Neither did she. But there was something going on. And he was taken by surprise and wasn't able to fight it. And he didn't want to anyway.
"You better hit send," he said, more of a whisper now.
As he moved his hands until his fingers were tracing and teasing the neckline of her shirt, just above her breasts, then slowly moving over her breasts, through her shirt, over them, hands stroking them, finding the nipples through the t-shirt and bra, which was really easy because they were so hard all of a sudden, he kept talking.
"Once you hit send, everyone will be reading your story," he said, his hands never stopping.
Her hips moved in the chair, her hands reaching up to touch him, touch his arms, touch his neck as he stood behind her, her eyes closed.
"Hurry up, before we forget why we are even here and that story never goes out," he said, moving his hands inside her shirt now, pushing her bra out of the way.
He leaned further down, whispering in her ear now, working her nipples with his fingers and hearing her sigh...
"The sooner you do it," he said, "The sooner we can move onto to other things."
With that, she sat up and clicked the send button.
He turned the chair around and pulled her out of it, and pushed her back against his desk,
She gripped the desk with her backwards hands.
"What's going on," she whispered, "I don't get it."
Her story was flying out into cyberspace to hundreds of readers.
He pulled her by her hips to him.
"Neither do I," he said, "But does it fucking matter?"
And he was right, the explanation didn't fucking matter.
Because while people within a few miles radius were reading the story they just sent out, he was leaning into her, against his desk, and about to kiss her.
As she felt his mouth on hers, his hands on her hips, her arms around his neck, her fingers in his back, as she slowly, slowly, opened his mouth with her tongue, people were forwarding the story to people further away. So many people, reading.
But she didn't care about that anymore. It was over for the two of them for now, weeks of work and stress and emotional highs and lows were out into the stratosphere and now, all she thought about was his tongue in her mouth, and that kiss.
That kiss was hot. So hot that she was breathless and surprised by it. And hard, and wet, and she feel him against her, feel him lifting her onto his desk now, sitting on the edge, his arms around her lower back, still slightly confused but that was fading in light of the heat, the electricity, really, the inevitability filling them both and spilling out into the air, surrounding them. Tying them together.
Tighter. And tighter.
Because it was inevitable now. She knew where this was going. It was one of those kisses. One of those kisses where she couldn't get his tongue deep enough into her mouth. One of those kisses where her lips almost hurt from the strength of it.
And he knew too, holding onto her hips, feeling her against him, knowing she could feel how hard he was against her, pushing himself in between her open legs, her legs wrapping around him, holding him there, and that kiss, it was one of those kisses that are unstoppable, pushing his tongue deeper, deeper into her mouth, knowing he wanted to be that deep inside of her and would not stop until he was.
One of those kisses that ends up being all tongue, almost, because their tongues couldn't untangle from each other, because of the hunger that was driving them. With her hands in his hair to hold on. And maybe because they both knew, knew where it was going and maybe because it had been there for a long time, it was like all of a sudden their bodies were catching up.
One of those kisses that could only end one way. And it was going to get there pretty fast.
Pushing her shirt up, up, Not even bothering to take it off, her unbuttoning his, pulling him tight to her, between her legs by the button of his pants, pulling hard, feeling him hard against her, wanting her jeans off, wanting his open, wanting everything out of the way, and his fingers on her nipples, his hands on her breasts, his tongue still so deep in her mouth, she could not wait.
And he didn't want to wait. There was heat running through his body and he was suddenly out of breath and starving and tied up in knots and never realized how bad he wanted to, needed to ..fuck her.
Now that he realized, he could not, would not wait. He felt like he had been waiting for years.
Both their shirts were half off and open as they both pulled at each other's clothes until there was nothing left in the way. Nothing at all.
All of this had happened so fast since she hit that send button. But still it was not fast enough. And with nothing in the way, they were finally both able to pull away from that kiss, for a moment. Just for a moment. Her fingers were still in his hair. His hands were still tightly on her hips.
"I'm scared," she said.
"Me too," he said.
"Don't stop," she whispered.
"No..I won't..I can't," he whispered back.
This time, she pulled his mouth down on hers, but it was soft, their tongues working in each others' mouths, their lips really kissing each other this time. Not hard but soft now, erotic, so hot, and she pulled him closer but this time, she could feel him between her legs, feel the pressure, feel the heat, feel his hard dick against her naked, wet pussy.
And they kissed, gently, but that feeling of him, hard, pressing against her, opening her, she wasn't scared anymore. She just wanted him to fuck her. And he was so hard, he felt it pressing against her, so soft, so hot, so, so wet, feeling her, just wanting to be opened, wanting him inside her, and there was no decision to be made.
He kissed her, felt her legs open more for him, more, and she pulled away from his mouth, because she wanted to utterly, completely feel what was coming next. No distractions. So she leaned back on her elbows, her head back, and he slowly, slowly slid inside her, and he saw her eyes flutter, saw her biting her lip, and heard her whisper, so slowly, in a way that turned him inside out... "Oh......fuck....... yeah."
And then, he fucked her.
All that they had done, up to now, had been building up to this. Every secret joke, Every smile. Every argument. Every tear. Every risk. Every secret. Every drink. Every triumph. Every fucking thing they had ever shared – it was there now, flowing from them, back into them, unleashed like the breaking news they had sent out earlier. Together.
And he fucked her on his desk, and she rode it, rode it out, holding on, trying to not make too much noise, but it was so good, it made that intense kiss look sweet and soft. He watched her body beneath him, and watched her face, and he fucked her harder, sliding in and out of her, so wet, so hot, and he was so hard, and things on the desk fell to the floor, but she, she was going nowhere, with the grip of his hands on her hips, she was never far from him. Only far enough for him to slide deep inside her, and out, and in, and out, over, and over. And over.
"Harder," she whispered, her eyes closed, and he went harder, hard as he could, faster, and now she looked at him, but couldn't look too long because it was just too much, and as she came, over, and over, her confusion was forgotten because there was something so logical about right now. Right here.
And he was there now, watching her, holding her, he was ready, and she looked at him now, not tearing her eyes away, and told him.
"Don't stop...come on," she said, still rocking with him in that rhythm, trying to hold out until he did, and then he was there, and he came, and his knees were weak, and he pulled her to the floor.
And she had gone from never touching him to wrapping her naked body around his, together, on the floor. Still, people were reading their story.
They still didn't totally understand what had happened. And they knew it might never happen again. But it was worth the risk, so much like that story they had worked on.
And it was too late to question it now, because, much like the breaking news they had sent out, it could never be undone.