by Lee Winter
She felt the lips against her soft flesh curl into a smile and then take Lauren’s breast into her mouth, tongue scraping across her nipple. She laved and toyed with the nub, her glinting gaze fixed on Lauren’s and filled with carnal promises.
Steaming water sluiced over Lauren’s hair, her chest, Ayers’s face and the sensuous, pale arch of her neck. Lauren suddenly had to see her. Her hands fell from her hair and scrabbled frantically with the sodden shirt in front of her, blindly tearing at the fabric.
Ayers pulled her mouth away to allow Lauren to rip the cotton from her body and toss it to the floor. Lauren kicked it away from the drain and then raked her gaze over what she’d unearthed.
A delicate white bra was almost translucent, revealing the vivid red smudges hiding her nipples. She captured a breast and tongued it through her bra. She chewed lightly against the material, and arousal arced through her with every hitched gasp ripped from Ayers.
She needed more. She tugged at the bra, wrenching it to Ayers’s waist, then undid it. Her hands were instantly full of breasts, thumbs flicking up to lavish attention on Ayer’s dark, aroused nipples. Ayers sighed, trailing fingers down Lauren’s sides to capture and knead her ass. The heat between her legs turned into an inferno, and Ayers curled her long fingers around and dusted against her clit.
Lauren stepped back suddenly and enjoyed the startled inhalation of surprise. She slid slowly to her knees, enjoying having Ayers’s undivided attention as she stared down at Lauren with hooded eyes.
She hurriedly unzipped and tugged down Ayers’s soaked pants and panties.
She caressed the lean, smooth thighs rising above her, cupped the backs of them, and deeply massaged the muscles. She leaned forward to offer soft, reverent kisses, trail wet smears across the tops and insides of her thighs. She moved forward and kissed Ayers’s glistening pussy. Lauren admired the evidence of her handiwork and ran her tongue achingly slow up the slit.
Ayers trembled. “Oh god.”
Lauren smiled and repeated the movement, this time downwards. She licked the swollen flesh in earnest, teasing the lower lips apart. Ayers parted her legs wide and leaned back against the glass wall. Her hands dropped to Lauren’s hair, pulsing and pulling, pressing Lauren’s face to her.
She swirled her tongue around the sensitive clit, and Ayers’s thighs quivered. Lauren found her entrance and slipped two fingers just inside as she continued to worship her with her mouth. The hands tangled in her hair stopped moving. Ayers made a sharp, strangled sound, then bucked and cried out, and a warm, salty-sweet essence coated her tongue.
“Lauren!”
Lauren drank her in, rubbed her face against her softness as the hands in her hair became gentle and soothing. After a few minutes, Ayers urged her upwards.
Ayers met her halfway up the wall, kissing her fiercely, claiming her, pushing their bodies tightly together. The look in her eyes was wild. In one swift movement, she pressed Lauren’s shoulder blades back onto the cool rear wall. Long, deft fingers scribbled their way between her legs, teasing and testing, and then parted her folds. A thumb pressed itself at the top of her neatly trimmed curls and rubbed in firm circles.
Lauren groaned, feeling her legs become jelly. Ayers was relentless. Lauren felt tremors begin.
“Inside,” she gasped.
Ayers paused as if considering whether to obey.
“Please.”
Lauren didn’t even recognize the plea as her own until Ayers’s face split into a knowing smile. The sort of smug smile that would have annoyed the hell out of her if she hadn’t been at her mercy and begging for release. Ayers took her with two fingers. The tapping, punishing thumb returned again and again to her clit, playing her like a straining violin quivering against its top notes.
The orgasm came indecently, humiliatingly fast. Lauren gave a low moan, unprepared for its intensity. Her legs, already weak, buckled as warmth flooded her. Ayers caught her on the helpless slide down, wrapping her arms around her, pressing their breasts and stomachs together, whispering words that Lauren couldn’t make out over the thundering of her heart.
Ayers’s head relaxed against Lauren’s shoulder, her tongue still tracing sinful, teasing patterns across her skin. Lauren’s fingers mapped the bare flesh along Ayers’s ribs, admiring the goosebumps breaking out that were not from any coldness.
The warm water kept falling. Ayers kept holding her. And Lauren, heart hammering in her chest, tried to memorize the feel of Ayers’s gorgeous body pressed against her own.
Then she heard one word. A question lazily purred against the shell of her ear that sent a thrill straight to her core.
“Again?”
Chapter 14 –
The Last Ally
Lauren woke feeling pleasantly sore in places she hadn’t felt sore in for a long, long time. Her breath caught at the memory of Ayers’s sated expression when she’d finally stepped out of the shower and paused, studying every inch of Lauren who was still standing, mesmerized, under the stream of water.
She slowly towelled herself dry, eyes never wavering from Lauren’s nude form. She turned to go and gave her a small smile over her shoulder. “Good night,” she said.
Tongue-tied, Lauren had mentally agreed it was. It really was.
She lay in bed wondering if they could find a way to make this work. She’d always wanted to go to DC. Maybe doors would open, as Ayers predicted, once their story ran? To have more of the icy woman melting under her fingertips made her skin heat up at the mere thought.
Lauren went mechanically through her morning ablutions, barely able to focus on much more than the many arousing ways Ayers had touched her. Those intense eyes filled with desire were something she would never ever forget.
At that, she padded downstairs, eager to find the woman who had invaded her every waking thought.
Ayers stood in the kitchen by the sink, gazing out at the garden. She wore a gray silken robe. Bare, shapely legs caught Lauren’s attention. She’d had those wrapped around her hips at one point, as Lauren pressed her into the wall.
“Morning,” she said softly.
Ayers started and pivoted abruptly. Lauren’s heart dropped. There was a tightness to her jaw and a coolness in her eyes.
“I suppose it is.” Ayers moved to the cupboard and pointed. “Coffee?”
“Only if you’re having some.”
“I’m not,” Ayers said. “I’m stimulated enough as it is.”
“Really?” Lauren gave her a cheeky grin.
“About our story,” Ayers corrected curtly.
Lauren blinked, at a loss at the stony visage. “Okay.”
They stared at each other.
“Are we going to talk about last night?” Lauren asked.
Ayers’s expression didn’t change. “What’s there to talk about? It was an understandable moment of weakness in the face of what we experienced. Being relieved to be alive. It happened. Let’s move on.”
“Weakness?” Lauren’s stomach twisted. “That’s it then? All decided?”
“This cannot possibly be news to you. I never once lied to you about my intentions.” She flicked her a dismissive look. “I suppose you’ll be heading back to your apartment now.”
Lauren peered down pointedly at her gloriously rumpled sleepwear. She’d only barely crawled out of bed. It wasn’t much past seven.
“Our story is done,” Ayers continued flatly. “I checked with Security, and they believe the risk will be gone once the story’s published tonight. You’ll be fine.”
“Right.” Lauren said tightly. “So it’s just ‘thanks for the fuck and get out?’ Except you didn’t even bother with the thank you. Real classy.”
“Lauren,” Ayers said, pursing her lips. “That’s your spin, not mine. We knew going in that last night was just last night. Your career’s about to take off, and I’ll s
oon have the freedom to correct mine, far away from here. We both get what we want.”
I could come with you, a small part of Lauren’s brain cried out. And yet the flat, distant tone told Lauren with sickening certainty that she’d been deluding herself to think whatever this was had more than one night in it.
How stupid could she be? To think someone like Catherine Ayers would want more from someone like her.
Ayers turned to resume her gazing out the window.
“I’ll get my stuff and get out of your hair,” Lauren snapped, embarrassed at her foolish hopes. “It’s been…an experience…working with you.”
Ayers didn’t reply. Didn’t even bother to turn.
Bitch, Lauren’s brain offered with a snarl.
Sexy bitch, her lower brain supplied helpfully.
“Holy fucking crap,” Frank said. The news boss was thumping his chest in a way that didn’t exactly look healthy. But his face was incandescent with excitement. “Jesus’s donkey at a disco,” he added for good measure. He slapped down the printout in front of him. Lauren had emailed him their new story, a collaboration done via a curt exchange of emails, and he’d ordered them both in to discuss it.
“You weren’t kidding me, were you? Now this is a killer page one splash.”
His eyes darted from Lauren to Ayers and back again. “You showed the editor this yet?”
“Yes,” Ayers said. “Neil’s reaction was much the same. Except for one thing. He said we can’t run it.”
Frank’s knuckles whitened, strangling his pen. “Yeah. Fucking Boy King got wind of your yarn. How the hell did that happen? Who talked?”
“One of the men in suits, most likely,” Ayers said. “Don’t ask me which agency. We’ve lost track.” Her voice was low and cold. Even Lauren, used to all her moods by now, felt the chill off this one.
“Well, we have a problem now, don’t we?” Frank grumbled. “We could have pulled this off if Harrington didn’t have a clue. He’s sent me a memo—anyone who writes so much as a brief with the word SmartPay in it will be marched out of here.”
“He can’t fire everyone,” Lauren protested. “That’s crazy.”
“Can if he wants.” Frank mulled it over for a moment. “But it wouldn’t be the brightest move if he wants to still put a paper out.”
Lauren checked the clock. It was one. Their editorial deadline was six. And the paper’s presses would start rolling just before ten.
“We still have time,” she said. “We just have to get everyone in editorial behind us. We tell them what the story is about, and we count on them to all back it. If everyone stands up to him, he won’t fire us all.”
Ayers coughed.
“What?” Lauren asked.
“That’s…optimistic,” she drawled.
“Are we or are we not in the news business? Supposedly dedicated to getting at the truth,” Lauren snapped. “Are we not all about putting the story first? I think someone once told me that was important.”
“Not everyone will share your idealism,” Ayers countered. She turned to Frank, eyebrow cocked. “Or am I wrong?”
“Mmph,” he grunted. “You’re both right. And I’m willing to put it to the test. We’ll call a meeting. Spell it out to the whole floor. But it has to be unanimous. All in or none in.” He eyed them both skeptically. “Better hope one of you has a silver tongue.”
Lauren glanced at Ayers. “Catherine’ll do it.”
Ayers’s head whipped around to glare at her. “Me? I’ve already made it clear I don’t have much faith in a room full of journalists having the greater good at heart. Trust me, I know people will only let you down if it’s not in their own interests to be brave.”
“That’s why it should be you to talk to them,” Lauren argued. “Coming from you, it’ll make them think that if even the infamous cynic Catherine Ayers backs it, then it has to be something worth getting behind. And it’s not like I can argue anything—even the handful of people who know who I am don’t respect me. I’m just that girl who writes about parties.”
“She’s right,” Frank said. “You’re the only hope of getting them to put their necks on the line and ignore their own publisher.”
“Well,” Ayers muttered, “expect me to say ‘I told you so’ later.”
Lauren looked at her, unimpressed. “Don’t bury us yet.”
Ayers rolled her eyes. “What time do we do this?”
“I’ll get the departments all in here for two,” Frank said. “That give you enough time to come up with a pitch to make it seem worth risking their jobs?”
Ayers said nothing. She didn’t need to. The doubt was clearly etched on her face.
“Sure it will,” Lauren interjected with forced enthusiasm. “Thanks Frank.”
He grunted. “Don’t thank me yet. Probably just delaying the inevitable. Now get outta here. I’ve got to think of a way to explain to the Boy King why his entire staff doesn’t deserve to be fired on the off chance you two actually pull this off.”
Lauren shot him a grin. “See,” she said, “this place is drowning in optimism.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he grunted and waved them out.
“What the hell have you gotten me into?” Ayers said testily at five minutes to two. She peered around the small, interview room they’d been using to prepare her speech. “Did you not remember the part where I told you how everyone turned on me in DC? The members of the fourth estate don’t care about the truth unless it helps them. Selflessness and journalism do not go together. Trust me.”
“You’re underselling our colleagues,” Lauren said. “That was DC. This is LA. They might surprise you. And come on, this is the biggest story they’ll have ever seen. Sell them that—if it’s self-interest you think motivates them, spin them a line about getting some of the reflected glory.”
“You know our intruder yesterday was probably right,” Ayers said tightly. “This will likely be very bad. We’ll make enemies in high places with this story.”
Lauren stepped back, stunned. “And you’re afraid.”
“Only a fool wouldn’t be. And we have good reason. But I’m not afraid for the reason you’re thinking.”
Her phone began to ring.
“Ayers,” she barked, her gaze still slicing into Lauren’s. She suddenly dropped her eyes as she listened. “What? When? Both of them? Are your men okay?” After a pause, she gritted her teeth and said, “Understood. Bye.”
“What is it?”
“That was my security company. Last night at a stop light, a pair of vans flanked them when they were taking our intruders to the police. Armed men, professionals, took the two prisoners. The security boss has been trying to track them and didn’t want to call before he did. He thinks now that the hostile vans match vehicles run by a private security contractor that often does certain specialized work for government intelligence agencies.”
“You mean like Blackwater?”
“They’ve been through a few name changes,” Ayers said. “But yes. Anyway he’s doubled the number of my guards, but he still seems worried.”
“Then our best protection, hell, our only protection, is to print this now,” Lauren said.
“Agreed. These agencies are more of a threat when they think there’s a chance of stopping the story. After the fact, they’ll just have us blacklisted while their experts snipe at us from a distance.”
“That had better be a metaphor.”
“I hope so, too.” She gave a tiny smile that fell away.
Lauren wondered where that had been this morning. Ayers’s attention drifted back to her paperwork.
There was a knock on the door, and Frank’s secretary stuck her head in.
“They’re ready for you.”
“Thanks Florence,” Ayers replied. She stood to full height, an air of confidence and resolve settling o
n her face.
“Okay,” she said, tilting her chin up. “Let’s do this.”
The shocked looks on the faces of reporters, sub-editors, designers, secretaries and photographers crammed into the editorial floor was almost comical, Lauren thought as she watched Ayers command the room, spelling out in crisp, no-nonsense tones what their spy scandal scoop involved. Frank and Neil framed her on either side, arms folded across chests—imposing sentinels offering silent support.
When Ayers finished, Frank stepped forward.
“We’re telling you this because we want to run this story tonight,” he said. “We have the proof. We’re ready. But our publisher has threatened to fire anyone who touches it. Neil and I have taken the decision to support whatever you all decide to do here next.”
He stepped back and waved for Ayers to continue.
“What we want to do is run the story,” she said, “despite the threat of us all being fired.”
There was a murmur.
“But we think it’s not fair,” she continued, “that the few people among us who happen to be in production roles should bear the whole burden of responsibility for our story. Why should only the sub-editors and designers be at risk? We are a newsroom. We live and die on this as one. We should all want the truth to be told and bear that risk together. We believe Harrington would never fire us all.
“And make no mistake, this is the greatest story you will ever see in your careers. Do you want to be part of history? To be remembered as the news team who stepped up and broke the scandal in the face of a corrupt publisher.”
“How is he corrupt?” one voice shouted.
“He’s one of SmartPay’s top stockholders,” Ayers replied. She held up a document. “I’ve found that Harrington Jr. has seventeen percent of the stock in the company. If the price goes into free fall—and it will when this story runs—it will cost him millions. On the other hand, if SmartPay proceeds unchecked, he’s on the cusp of making multi-millions. Make no mistake; his ban on us publishing has nothing to do with national interests or security concerns. This is greed, pure and simple.”