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Laney Scoops the City

Date: 8/11/2015, Categories: Fiction, Author: LushStories, Rating: 95.8, Source: sexstories.com

Mike grumbled. “Print rumours, so the subject has time to cover his tracks. Well not on this story.” Days later he murmured to her at her desk: “Milazzo called me, wants to talk. This bastard’s ready.” But she noticed the pallor of his face and the sweating, and five minutes later she was urging a colleague to call 911, cradling Mike while they waited for the ambulance to arrive. She wiped tears from her eyes and hugged her arms to her chest as the paramedics wheeled him into their vehicle. Didn't even get his story. It’s not damn well fair. Then the steely part of this girl from rural upstate came to the fore and she made a vow. You hang in there, Mike. I’m gonna get it for you. Front-page headline. Water-tight. Even his warning in the hospital had not dissuaded her. That was before she met Milazzo. Low-life... Mike hadn't been lying. Now as she hovered at the guy's door all over again, images of his rutting form were etched in Laney's memory. That and the sweat trickling down his muscled body as he screwed his bitch in the reporter's squirming presence. As for that cock – she’d only caught a glimpse, but good God… She'd wanted to forget the whole business, but Mike was still fighting to recover. She couldn't let him down. She couldn't let the City Post print some half-assed version which would see the Mayor covering his ass. Jake Milazzo might be a shameless bastard, but he was truly their one hope. And maybe the scheme – the crazy scheme – she had devised would convince ... him to share. Steeling herself, she knocked... and waited. "Who is it?" Milazzo's voice was uninviting. "Laney Travers. Didn't you get my message?" She’d purloined his number from scraps of paper on Mike’s desk. "You again? Didn't you get my fuckin’ message, last time?" Laney breathed deep. "I've got a proposal – something I think you'll want to hear. Give me five minutes of your time, Mr Milazzo, and if you're not interested then I’m gone." She gripped her handbag close to her, fingers brushing the pepper spray reflexively. Her heartbeat was thumping in her throat. Aeons seemed to pass before the chain on the inside was scraped back and the door was wrenched open. "Get in," Jake said. "Five minutes." He had jeans on this time; his torso was sweat-soaked, but there was no indication of a reason similar to last time. She walked inside, peering about discretely. The apartment itself was in the state that she remembered – all empty pizza boxes, beer cans and stale discarded clothing – but there was no sign of either roommate or exotic female companion. Jake slammed the door behind her and she had the instant sense of being trapped. He simply walked past her, however, resuming the activity which had rendered him so slippery. He'd been bench-pressing, it transpired, and Laney watched as he slid back onto the leather bench, settling himself beneath a heavily laden bar. "Spot me," he said. "Sorry?" "Doncha speak fuckin' English? Get your ass over here and watch me do one more set. ...