Fic Post: That Flutter Thing
Title: That Flutter Thing
Author: vegawriters
Fandom: Murphy Brown
Series: Come Rain, Come Shine
Pairing: Murphy/Peter
Rating: E for Adult. You heard me. Get your underage eyes out of here.
Timeframe: late season 7 - sometime between Rumble in the Alley and FYI of the Hurricane. Don’t think too hard about time and time compression, after all, the show didn’t.
A/N: It’s time for the idiots to fuck each other senseless, what do you think?
A/N (2): Thank you to Crazy Ex Girlfriend for this song and how well it defines these two at times ...
Disclaimer: Diane! Um, yeah, so I took the babies out for a … ride. No money changed hands at least.
Summary: If Miles knew how many places in this building she and Peter had had sex, he might tell the network to keep them separated at all times. Her personal favorite remained the night he’d come to pick her up, pages from Jim’s novel of all things in his hand. He’d found them when organizing something in the library, and like everyone else, had made the connection between her and Monique.
He glanced up as the door opened, expecting to see Judy standing there with the notes he’d asked for. Instead, he took in the elegance of a dark red suit, long bare legs, perfectly styled wavy blonde hair, and heels that he knew he hadn’t seen before. Her jacket was open over a black camisole edged with lace. From one finger dangled a takeout bag from Wo Ping’s. The scent of beef with broccoli wafted to him.
It was seven o’clock. Two hours to show time for FYI, and there stood his girlfriend, looking quite possibly like the most delicious meal he’d ever be treated to.
“Hey,” was all he could muster. They had a date for after the show. One that, according to his last letter, involved him pushing her down onto her bed, wrapping her wrists in a silk scarf and keeping her from touching him while he controlled every aspect of her pleasure until she begged for mercy, but he’d expected that to start around eleven thirty. After all, she had a show to do.
He was hardly complaining.
“Hey, yourself. How was Kuwait?” She responded, her tone not at all as casual as her words. The lock on his office door made a definite click and his cock jumped in time to the noise.
“Hot,” he came back at her with. “Very … hot.”
She smirked and walked the few steps across the small office, setting the takeout bag down on the desk and moving around to where he sat. Peter adjusted, slightly, welcoming her weight as she made no bones about sliding right onto his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. He met her kiss, rising up under her, his hands sliding up, under the jacket, and he pulled it down off her shoulders. She shrugged out of it and he set it aside, knowing it was probably what she had to wear on air tonight. His plans now included fucking her senseless before the show, but he wanted her looking good after.
His hands went right back to her waist, tugging the camisole up, just over her breasts, exposing the see through cups of her bra. This wasn’t some random fantasy she was indulging in. She’d planned this. His cock throbbed.
“How’s DC been?” He asked, running his thumbs over her nipples.
“Lonely,” she returned. “I miss having Democrats around.”
Her hands moved down his chest, to his waist, and she reached between them to unbutton his jeans and very carefully slide the zipper down. He groaned and steadied her. This wasn’t the first time they had done exactly this in one of their office chairs, or even the first time on a show night. But it was always a heady rush, the risk of being discovered, the mess they could make. Her fingers brushed his erection and he arched his hips slightly, seeking contact with her.
His mouth moved of its own accord and teeth closed over her fabric encased nipple. He pulled and tugged and her groan trembled through him, encouraging him. One hand slipped between her legs and he pressed her damp panties to her core, fluttering his fingers through the fabric. She pushed and rode him and he slipped two fingers to the side of the satin and taunted her wet core. If only the people who thought of her as an ice queen could see her like he did, hot and wanting and so ready for him. One finger slipped into her folds, teasing around the edges of her clit, and she dug her nails into his shoulder.
Looking up into her eyes, he smiled as she leaned in, their foreheads pressing together.
“I’m going to fuck you so hard you can’t remember your own name,” he teased her. “And when you are on air tonight, I’m going to be standing in the shadows, knowing you are wearing the suit I fucked you in, knowing you had my cock in you just before you had to go out there and be professional, and we’re going to wait until the studio clears and I’m going to sit you on that desk and have my way with you all over again.” As he finished, he pressed his thumb to her clit and she quivered, so close. “I’m going to know you were calling my name while they were looking for you. While others wanted you, I had you.” Another finger slid inside her body and she tilted her hips, seeking more. She’d started this, but he was going to finish it. Six weeks without being inside of her made for a man who had no problem putting sex above conversation.
“Peter …” she moaned, riding his hand, seeking more than he was giving. He kissed her, long and deep, his hand tangling in her hair while his thumb moved in circles against her sensitive bundle of nerves. She was close, but he drew out the moment, refusing to give in to what he wanted, which was to watch her come. Watching her lose control, release all tension, it always made him hard all over again, and he delighted in bringing her to the brink over and over.
Her breath was coming in shorter gasps, her hips tightening, and he pumped his fingers inside of her, leaning forward to again take her nipple in his mouth and bite. The extra pressure sent her right over the edge and she trembled in his arms, cursing his name while his hand rode out the wake of her climax. “God …” she moaned, “fuck me.”
Peter was more than happy to comply.
He nudged her back toward the couch, sad only at the loss of contact, but pressed into her from behind on the cushions as he lifted her skirt up over her hips and moved the soaking strip of cloth between her legs to the side. Pre-show trysts didn’t usually get this detailed, but it had been far too long and anyway, she started it. He loosened his jeans just enough to give himself better access, hooked her leg over his, and pushed into her body. She reached back to steady herself against his thrusts and he moved one hand down to between her legs. Her fingers joined his and he stroked her in time with his hips, until they were both gasping.
“I want to hear you come,” he moaned into her ear.
That released her and she cried out again, gasping his name as he finished himself off, grabbing her so hard that he knew he was leaving bruises. “I love you,” he moaned into her ear as he came down. “God, I’ve missed you.”
She sighed and shifted against him and the carnal part of his psyche, the part the was possessive and claimed her at every turn, that hurled death glares at any man who might want his woman, couldn’t help but smirk at the idea that she would be going on air with her panties soaked with their mutual exploits.
She moaned and pushed back against him. “I missed you too. My vibrator just doesn’t have quite the same push.”
“A toy I plan to use tonight,” he said, tangling his fingers in her public hair and tugging lightly. “While I tie your hands above your head and work you until you scream.”
“You’re killing me, Hunt.” She sighed. “By the time we get back to my place, I might not be able to let you near me.”
“Then I’d better slow down.” His hand was still between her legs, and she shivered as he smoothed out the scrap of underwear. Slowly, he moved his hand up her body, up to her breasts where he smoothed his thumb over her nipples until she was pushing her hips back against him again. It was tempting to move his hand back down, to finger her until she was screaming his name, but he wanted to taunt her, to leave her wanting so when he did push her back on the anchor desk, she was ready for him. “What’s your story tonight?” He asked, drawing lazy circles on her stomach.
“HIV infection rates …” she groaned, “in the homeless population …”
“Important stuff,” he said with a kiss to her neck. Everyone would be able to tell what she’d been up to before she went on air.
Slowly, he extracted himself from her and went in search of the role of paper towels he knew was in his office. She lay perfectly still until he came back, and knelt next to her, wiping up her thighs as best he could. They were both disasters.
“You look well fucked,” he teased as she sat up, carefully, and adjusted her suit.
“Accurate,” she smirked at him. She walked to retrieve her jacket and slipped it on, presenting herself for inspection. “If I walk on air right now, could everyone tell my boyfriend was just balls deep inside of me?”
“Keep talking like that and you’ll miss air time,” he came back at her. It never ceased to amaze him how such a lady had a mouth like a sailor, but then again, she’d been on the road when he was still riding his bike over to Jennifer Lewis’s house and throwing rocks at her window.
She smirked at him. “I am a soggy, disgusting mess. I should go change my underwear at least.”
He groaned. “Don’t you dare.”
“What, you don’t want to mess up another pair in the studio later?”
That made him pause. He loved the idea that she was sitting there squirming in panties he’d ruined, but that he had a chance to do it all over again. Well. He shrugged. “It is your air time,” he teased.
“You’re hopeless,” she came back at him. “I need to get down there.”
“I’ll be waiting …” he stroked her cheek. “I mean it.”
“See you downstairs.”
The kiss made his toes curl. She ran her fingertips up his chest before walking out the door, a swagger to her hips that taunted him. Oh god, being away from her for six weeks was a terrible thing. But also, somehow, worth it?
The office smelled of sex and her perfume and only when he got up from the couch did he realize she’d somehow slithered out of her panties and left them for him to find.
Tonight was going to be a long night.
***
Murphy stopped off in her dressing room, glad for the private bathroom. She peed and did her best to clean up and make herself presentable before appearing in front of her boss and well, thirty million people. She’d had sex many a time at the office, but rarely did she let herself get fucked quite so wildly when other people would be judging her. A glance in the mirror showed her lipstick was gone and her eyeshadow smudged and she took longer than intended fixing herself up and smoothing out the now wild mane of her hair.
God that had been fun. She’d walked into Peter’s office with the intention of getting off - they hadn’t seen each other in six weeks and her desire to pick him up at the airport had been waylaid by a source needing to meet for a story. But, she hadn’t expected him to turn the tables like he had. Just hearing him promise that she’d remember that right before showtime, he’d been deep inside of her made her knees quake.
Part of her wanted to slide into new underwear and make him wonder if she’d made herself all squeaky clean. Part of her wanted to make sure he knew all he had to do was slide her skirt up. That part of her won out as she sprayed on another layer of perfume and made her way to the studio. He’d promised to fuck her senseless on the anchor desk and well, it had been six weeks since he’d done that.
If Miles knew how many places in this building she and Peter had had sex, he might tell the network to keep them separated at all times. Her personal favorite remained the night he’d come to pick her up, pages from Jim’s novel of all things in his hand. He’d found them when organizing something in the library, and like everyone else, had made the connection between her and Monique. Just thinking about the elevator ride to the garage still made her wet.
The only benefit to Peter’s travel schedule was how he made her feel when he got home.
Going commando under the skirt, she walked onto the stage as John hollered the five minute warning. Her makeup artist clicked her tongue at her, but there was a smirk at the edges of her mouth. “Tell me it was worth it,” DeeDee taunted.
“More than,” Murphy smirked right back.
“Go kiss him so I can fix your lipstick,” was DeeDee’s reply as she nodded to the figure in the shadows.
Murphy turned and walked over, letting Peter pull her into a kiss that ended with his hands on her ass. She could feel his less than subtle check to see what she was wearing under her skirt, his fingers moving over her before he grabbed her and pulled her against him. Not caring in the least who saw, she kissed him deeply before sauntering back to DeeDee to have her lips redone.
Peter stood still, his arms crossed, staring at her with that smoulder that made her heart race. He barely moved for the whole show, which she knew unnerved Frank, but only made her shift in her seat, trying desperately to maintain some sense of composure. Peter’s eyes never left hers, and while she could truthfully care less if he “approved” of a story she did, seeing the look on his face after she was done puffed her up. She was good at her job and it was nice that the man she loved acknowledged it.
She caught her breath as the credits started to roll, contemplating the safest way to stand up. The juices pooling between her thighs were going to drip right down if she wasn’t careful.
Luckily, Peter took care of that for her. He walked over, taking her purse from where it was left for her on the chair, and made idle chit chat with the gang. Of course he and Murphy would join them all at Phil’s. He’d love to tell them about his latest trip overseas. Just give them a few minutes to get things together. He dragged it out perfectly, his eyes never leaving hers, until somehow, they were the last two left in the studio. They’d be right over, he promised, even as he came around the anchor desk. The blinds closed, saving them from prying eyes, and Murphy slipped up onto the desk, hiking her skirt as she did.
Peter didn’t bother with foreplay. His hand moved up between her thighs and he groaned as she opened more for him. “Damnit,” he gasped, his fingers fluttering in her folds. “You …”
“Stare at me for an hour and this is what you get,” she teased right back. “What was that about fucking me on the anchor desk?”
“Until you can’t see straight.”
“They’ll all know why we aren’t there,” she teased, opening her legs more.
“Let them squirm,” he said, sliding a finger into her. She moaned and lifted her hips so he could push the skirt up completely. Her hands undid his jeans and pulled him free, hard and ready. He didn’t waste time they didn’t have. He pulled her to her, her legs going around his hips and he pushed into her body for the second time tonight. She was almost too sensitive and he wasn’t going to last long, but she still came, her fingers bunched in his shirt, her eyes squeezing shut as she tried to catch her breath. Fuck. He kept her close while he caught his breath, still buried inside of her. “I love you,” she whispered, returning his words from earlier. His hands tightened on her in acknowledgement.
Later, when she was puking up her cornflakes and terrified of his rejection, she would wonder if this was when it happened. But tonight, all she cared about was his hands on her body, and how she never wanted to be away from him for six weeks again.
“Feed me,” she murmured. “I want you to keep me up all night.” He pulled out and she felt the rush between her legs. God it was good no one would see her walking to her dressing room. “First though … I’d better change.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I’ve pretty well ruined that suit haven’t I?”
“Worth every moment.”
They stared at each other and he took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips. A soft kiss sent shivers up her body and she sat in awe of how he could go from porn king to Disney prince in just a breath. She needed to quell the part of her that wanted him to put a ring on her finger.
Slowly, she slid off the desk.
“Wear something I can take off easily,” he taunted her as they moved back to her dressing room. Her intention to pull on a pair of tight jeans, just to bother him, was knocked to hell when he had her on the couch, the door locked, his face between her legs. Sweet jesus, she tugged on his hair as she rode his face, the way his lips moved against her sending her even further into oblivion. She came with his fingers inside of her and his mouth on her clit and she was sure she would never walk again.
“Peter …” she whimpered, the tears starting to form. Her body was an oversensitized wreck and the sensations were playing havoc with her emotions.
His arms were around her instantly, steadying her. She leaned into him, embracing his solid body, centering herself. He did in fact take her to places she’d never been before and his worship of her body was, at times, dreadfully overwhelming.
“Take me home …” she murmured.
“What about … you know? Food? And the gang?” He was laughing.
“Oh, like they care,” she grinned, standing up, her legs wobbly.
“Weren’t you going to change?” Peter joined her, wrapping his arms around her.
“Why?” She smirked. “We aren’t going out, are we?”
He laughed and they walked together, slowly, to the parking garage. Part of her was more than tempted to hand over the keys to the Porsche, but she knew he loved watching her drive it. And quite frankly, they weren’t done with each other yet so the more she could taunt him the better.
***
Cause of death? Murphy Brown. And he was okay with it. She was riding his face for the second time that night, this time while he worked under her and she clung to the edge of her bed for support. How many times did this make? Three for him, at least, since she’d walked into his office with a very specific look in her eyes. One he was more than willing to indulge over and over again. She came and collapsed backward onto his chest and he laughed as she rolled over and put her head on his chest. “No more,” she laughed. “I’m so done.”
“Good because I’m just not sure I can get it up again at this point,” Peter teased right back. “I mean, give me an hour …” He pulled the scarf from where he’d tossed it earlier, after he’d massaged the blood back into her arms. “I mean, I’d love to try this again.”
She laughed. “I’m wrecked. Absolutely wrecked. Don’t touch me.” She pushed off of him and disappeared into the bathroom. Peter closed his eyes and flung his arm over his eyes, inhaling her scent and the sweet musk of sex. Today had been perfect. Later, he would wonder if today was the day it happened. When he would wake early in the morning to find her cuddled against him, before morning sickness destroyed the moment, he’d wonder if it was today. But now, he just waited for her to come back, to cuddle up against him, draping one leg over his while she pressed their bodies together.
“I love you,” he murmured as she kissed his chest.
“Right back at you,” she replied, her hand running through his chest hair. “Now,” she asked, mirroring her question that started everything, “how was Kuwait?”
Author: vegawriters
Fandom: Murphy Brown
Series: Come Rain, Come Shine
Pairing: Murphy/Peter
Rating: E for Adult. You heard me. Get your underage eyes out of here.
Timeframe: late season 7 - sometime between Rumble in the Alley and FYI of the Hurricane. Don’t think too hard about time and time compression, after all, the show didn’t.
A/N: It’s time for the idiots to fuck each other senseless, what do you think?
A/N (2): Thank you to Crazy Ex Girlfriend for this song and how well it defines these two at times ...
Disclaimer: Diane! Um, yeah, so I took the babies out for a … ride. No money changed hands at least.
Summary: If Miles knew how many places in this building she and Peter had had sex, he might tell the network to keep them separated at all times. Her personal favorite remained the night he’d come to pick her up, pages from Jim’s novel of all things in his hand. He’d found them when organizing something in the library, and like everyone else, had made the connection between her and Monique.
He glanced up as the door opened, expecting to see Judy standing there with the notes he’d asked for. Instead, he took in the elegance of a dark red suit, long bare legs, perfectly styled wavy blonde hair, and heels that he knew he hadn’t seen before. Her jacket was open over a black camisole edged with lace. From one finger dangled a takeout bag from Wo Ping’s. The scent of beef with broccoli wafted to him.
It was seven o’clock. Two hours to show time for FYI, and there stood his girlfriend, looking quite possibly like the most delicious meal he’d ever be treated to.
“Hey,” was all he could muster. They had a date for after the show. One that, according to his last letter, involved him pushing her down onto her bed, wrapping her wrists in a silk scarf and keeping her from touching him while he controlled every aspect of her pleasure until she begged for mercy, but he’d expected that to start around eleven thirty. After all, she had a show to do.
He was hardly complaining.
“Hey, yourself. How was Kuwait?” She responded, her tone not at all as casual as her words. The lock on his office door made a definite click and his cock jumped in time to the noise.
“Hot,” he came back at her with. “Very … hot.”
She smirked and walked the few steps across the small office, setting the takeout bag down on the desk and moving around to where he sat. Peter adjusted, slightly, welcoming her weight as she made no bones about sliding right onto his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. He met her kiss, rising up under her, his hands sliding up, under the jacket, and he pulled it down off her shoulders. She shrugged out of it and he set it aside, knowing it was probably what she had to wear on air tonight. His plans now included fucking her senseless before the show, but he wanted her looking good after.
His hands went right back to her waist, tugging the camisole up, just over her breasts, exposing the see through cups of her bra. This wasn’t some random fantasy she was indulging in. She’d planned this. His cock throbbed.
“How’s DC been?” He asked, running his thumbs over her nipples.
“Lonely,” she returned. “I miss having Democrats around.”
Her hands moved down his chest, to his waist, and she reached between them to unbutton his jeans and very carefully slide the zipper down. He groaned and steadied her. This wasn’t the first time they had done exactly this in one of their office chairs, or even the first time on a show night. But it was always a heady rush, the risk of being discovered, the mess they could make. Her fingers brushed his erection and he arched his hips slightly, seeking contact with her.
His mouth moved of its own accord and teeth closed over her fabric encased nipple. He pulled and tugged and her groan trembled through him, encouraging him. One hand slipped between her legs and he pressed her damp panties to her core, fluttering his fingers through the fabric. She pushed and rode him and he slipped two fingers to the side of the satin and taunted her wet core. If only the people who thought of her as an ice queen could see her like he did, hot and wanting and so ready for him. One finger slipped into her folds, teasing around the edges of her clit, and she dug her nails into his shoulder.
Looking up into her eyes, he smiled as she leaned in, their foreheads pressing together.
“I’m going to fuck you so hard you can’t remember your own name,” he teased her. “And when you are on air tonight, I’m going to be standing in the shadows, knowing you are wearing the suit I fucked you in, knowing you had my cock in you just before you had to go out there and be professional, and we’re going to wait until the studio clears and I’m going to sit you on that desk and have my way with you all over again.” As he finished, he pressed his thumb to her clit and she quivered, so close. “I’m going to know you were calling my name while they were looking for you. While others wanted you, I had you.” Another finger slid inside her body and she tilted her hips, seeking more. She’d started this, but he was going to finish it. Six weeks without being inside of her made for a man who had no problem putting sex above conversation.
“Peter …” she moaned, riding his hand, seeking more than he was giving. He kissed her, long and deep, his hand tangling in her hair while his thumb moved in circles against her sensitive bundle of nerves. She was close, but he drew out the moment, refusing to give in to what he wanted, which was to watch her come. Watching her lose control, release all tension, it always made him hard all over again, and he delighted in bringing her to the brink over and over.
Her breath was coming in shorter gasps, her hips tightening, and he pumped his fingers inside of her, leaning forward to again take her nipple in his mouth and bite. The extra pressure sent her right over the edge and she trembled in his arms, cursing his name while his hand rode out the wake of her climax. “God …” she moaned, “fuck me.”
Peter was more than happy to comply.
He nudged her back toward the couch, sad only at the loss of contact, but pressed into her from behind on the cushions as he lifted her skirt up over her hips and moved the soaking strip of cloth between her legs to the side. Pre-show trysts didn’t usually get this detailed, but it had been far too long and anyway, she started it. He loosened his jeans just enough to give himself better access, hooked her leg over his, and pushed into her body. She reached back to steady herself against his thrusts and he moved one hand down to between her legs. Her fingers joined his and he stroked her in time with his hips, until they were both gasping.
“I want to hear you come,” he moaned into her ear.
That released her and she cried out again, gasping his name as he finished himself off, grabbing her so hard that he knew he was leaving bruises. “I love you,” he moaned into her ear as he came down. “God, I’ve missed you.”
She sighed and shifted against him and the carnal part of his psyche, the part the was possessive and claimed her at every turn, that hurled death glares at any man who might want his woman, couldn’t help but smirk at the idea that she would be going on air with her panties soaked with their mutual exploits.
She moaned and pushed back against him. “I missed you too. My vibrator just doesn’t have quite the same push.”
“A toy I plan to use tonight,” he said, tangling his fingers in her public hair and tugging lightly. “While I tie your hands above your head and work you until you scream.”
“You’re killing me, Hunt.” She sighed. “By the time we get back to my place, I might not be able to let you near me.”
“Then I’d better slow down.” His hand was still between her legs, and she shivered as he smoothed out the scrap of underwear. Slowly, he moved his hand up her body, up to her breasts where he smoothed his thumb over her nipples until she was pushing her hips back against him again. It was tempting to move his hand back down, to finger her until she was screaming his name, but he wanted to taunt her, to leave her wanting so when he did push her back on the anchor desk, she was ready for him. “What’s your story tonight?” He asked, drawing lazy circles on her stomach.
“HIV infection rates …” she groaned, “in the homeless population …”
“Important stuff,” he said with a kiss to her neck. Everyone would be able to tell what she’d been up to before she went on air.
Slowly, he extracted himself from her and went in search of the role of paper towels he knew was in his office. She lay perfectly still until he came back, and knelt next to her, wiping up her thighs as best he could. They were both disasters.
“You look well fucked,” he teased as she sat up, carefully, and adjusted her suit.
“Accurate,” she smirked at him. She walked to retrieve her jacket and slipped it on, presenting herself for inspection. “If I walk on air right now, could everyone tell my boyfriend was just balls deep inside of me?”
“Keep talking like that and you’ll miss air time,” he came back at her. It never ceased to amaze him how such a lady had a mouth like a sailor, but then again, she’d been on the road when he was still riding his bike over to Jennifer Lewis’s house and throwing rocks at her window.
She smirked at him. “I am a soggy, disgusting mess. I should go change my underwear at least.”
He groaned. “Don’t you dare.”
“What, you don’t want to mess up another pair in the studio later?”
That made him pause. He loved the idea that she was sitting there squirming in panties he’d ruined, but that he had a chance to do it all over again. Well. He shrugged. “It is your air time,” he teased.
“You’re hopeless,” she came back at him. “I need to get down there.”
“I’ll be waiting …” he stroked her cheek. “I mean it.”
“See you downstairs.”
The kiss made his toes curl. She ran her fingertips up his chest before walking out the door, a swagger to her hips that taunted him. Oh god, being away from her for six weeks was a terrible thing. But also, somehow, worth it?
The office smelled of sex and her perfume and only when he got up from the couch did he realize she’d somehow slithered out of her panties and left them for him to find.
Tonight was going to be a long night.
***
Murphy stopped off in her dressing room, glad for the private bathroom. She peed and did her best to clean up and make herself presentable before appearing in front of her boss and well, thirty million people. She’d had sex many a time at the office, but rarely did she let herself get fucked quite so wildly when other people would be judging her. A glance in the mirror showed her lipstick was gone and her eyeshadow smudged and she took longer than intended fixing herself up and smoothing out the now wild mane of her hair.
God that had been fun. She’d walked into Peter’s office with the intention of getting off - they hadn’t seen each other in six weeks and her desire to pick him up at the airport had been waylaid by a source needing to meet for a story. But, she hadn’t expected him to turn the tables like he had. Just hearing him promise that she’d remember that right before showtime, he’d been deep inside of her made her knees quake.
Part of her wanted to slide into new underwear and make him wonder if she’d made herself all squeaky clean. Part of her wanted to make sure he knew all he had to do was slide her skirt up. That part of her won out as she sprayed on another layer of perfume and made her way to the studio. He’d promised to fuck her senseless on the anchor desk and well, it had been six weeks since he’d done that.
If Miles knew how many places in this building she and Peter had had sex, he might tell the network to keep them separated at all times. Her personal favorite remained the night he’d come to pick her up, pages from Jim’s novel of all things in his hand. He’d found them when organizing something in the library, and like everyone else, had made the connection between her and Monique. Just thinking about the elevator ride to the garage still made her wet.
The only benefit to Peter’s travel schedule was how he made her feel when he got home.
Going commando under the skirt, she walked onto the stage as John hollered the five minute warning. Her makeup artist clicked her tongue at her, but there was a smirk at the edges of her mouth. “Tell me it was worth it,” DeeDee taunted.
“More than,” Murphy smirked right back.
“Go kiss him so I can fix your lipstick,” was DeeDee’s reply as she nodded to the figure in the shadows.
Murphy turned and walked over, letting Peter pull her into a kiss that ended with his hands on her ass. She could feel his less than subtle check to see what she was wearing under her skirt, his fingers moving over her before he grabbed her and pulled her against him. Not caring in the least who saw, she kissed him deeply before sauntering back to DeeDee to have her lips redone.
Peter stood still, his arms crossed, staring at her with that smoulder that made her heart race. He barely moved for the whole show, which she knew unnerved Frank, but only made her shift in her seat, trying desperately to maintain some sense of composure. Peter’s eyes never left hers, and while she could truthfully care less if he “approved” of a story she did, seeing the look on his face after she was done puffed her up. She was good at her job and it was nice that the man she loved acknowledged it.
She caught her breath as the credits started to roll, contemplating the safest way to stand up. The juices pooling between her thighs were going to drip right down if she wasn’t careful.
Luckily, Peter took care of that for her. He walked over, taking her purse from where it was left for her on the chair, and made idle chit chat with the gang. Of course he and Murphy would join them all at Phil’s. He’d love to tell them about his latest trip overseas. Just give them a few minutes to get things together. He dragged it out perfectly, his eyes never leaving hers, until somehow, they were the last two left in the studio. They’d be right over, he promised, even as he came around the anchor desk. The blinds closed, saving them from prying eyes, and Murphy slipped up onto the desk, hiking her skirt as she did.
Peter didn’t bother with foreplay. His hand moved up between her thighs and he groaned as she opened more for him. “Damnit,” he gasped, his fingers fluttering in her folds. “You …”
“Stare at me for an hour and this is what you get,” she teased right back. “What was that about fucking me on the anchor desk?”
“Until you can’t see straight.”
“They’ll all know why we aren’t there,” she teased, opening her legs more.
“Let them squirm,” he said, sliding a finger into her. She moaned and lifted her hips so he could push the skirt up completely. Her hands undid his jeans and pulled him free, hard and ready. He didn’t waste time they didn’t have. He pulled her to her, her legs going around his hips and he pushed into her body for the second time tonight. She was almost too sensitive and he wasn’t going to last long, but she still came, her fingers bunched in his shirt, her eyes squeezing shut as she tried to catch her breath. Fuck. He kept her close while he caught his breath, still buried inside of her. “I love you,” she whispered, returning his words from earlier. His hands tightened on her in acknowledgement.
Later, when she was puking up her cornflakes and terrified of his rejection, she would wonder if this was when it happened. But tonight, all she cared about was his hands on her body, and how she never wanted to be away from him for six weeks again.
“Feed me,” she murmured. “I want you to keep me up all night.” He pulled out and she felt the rush between her legs. God it was good no one would see her walking to her dressing room. “First though … I’d better change.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I’ve pretty well ruined that suit haven’t I?”
“Worth every moment.”
They stared at each other and he took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips. A soft kiss sent shivers up her body and she sat in awe of how he could go from porn king to Disney prince in just a breath. She needed to quell the part of her that wanted him to put a ring on her finger.
Slowly, she slid off the desk.
“Wear something I can take off easily,” he taunted her as they moved back to her dressing room. Her intention to pull on a pair of tight jeans, just to bother him, was knocked to hell when he had her on the couch, the door locked, his face between her legs. Sweet jesus, she tugged on his hair as she rode his face, the way his lips moved against her sending her even further into oblivion. She came with his fingers inside of her and his mouth on her clit and she was sure she would never walk again.
“Peter …” she whimpered, the tears starting to form. Her body was an oversensitized wreck and the sensations were playing havoc with her emotions.
His arms were around her instantly, steadying her. She leaned into him, embracing his solid body, centering herself. He did in fact take her to places she’d never been before and his worship of her body was, at times, dreadfully overwhelming.
“Take me home …” she murmured.
“What about … you know? Food? And the gang?” He was laughing.
“Oh, like they care,” she grinned, standing up, her legs wobbly.
“Weren’t you going to change?” Peter joined her, wrapping his arms around her.
“Why?” She smirked. “We aren’t going out, are we?”
He laughed and they walked together, slowly, to the parking garage. Part of her was more than tempted to hand over the keys to the Porsche, but she knew he loved watching her drive it. And quite frankly, they weren’t done with each other yet so the more she could taunt him the better.
***
Cause of death? Murphy Brown. And he was okay with it. She was riding his face for the second time that night, this time while he worked under her and she clung to the edge of her bed for support. How many times did this make? Three for him, at least, since she’d walked into his office with a very specific look in her eyes. One he was more than willing to indulge over and over again. She came and collapsed backward onto his chest and he laughed as she rolled over and put her head on his chest. “No more,” she laughed. “I’m so done.”
“Good because I’m just not sure I can get it up again at this point,” Peter teased right back. “I mean, give me an hour …” He pulled the scarf from where he’d tossed it earlier, after he’d massaged the blood back into her arms. “I mean, I’d love to try this again.”
She laughed. “I’m wrecked. Absolutely wrecked. Don’t touch me.” She pushed off of him and disappeared into the bathroom. Peter closed his eyes and flung his arm over his eyes, inhaling her scent and the sweet musk of sex. Today had been perfect. Later, he would wonder if today was the day it happened. When he would wake early in the morning to find her cuddled against him, before morning sickness destroyed the moment, he’d wonder if it was today. But now, he just waited for her to come back, to cuddle up against him, draping one leg over his while she pressed their bodies together.
“I love you,” he murmured as she kissed his chest.
“Right back at you,” she replied, her hand running through his chest hair. “Now,” she asked, mirroring her question that started everything, “how was Kuwait?”