Give It To Me: Taboo Romance

by Ami Snow

  “You got in, honey!”

  “What?” gasped Winona, bolting upright, beaming, “Wait, how'd you –”

  “Spencer called me himself –”

  “Wait – I'll be working with Uncle Spencer?” repeated Winona, the color rising in her cheeks.

  “Right – lucky you, he's the main anchor for Nightly News now, hundreds of people are dying to be in your shoes. Anyway – as it turns out, you'll be paired up with him. First your success with Scrub Loves and now this – I'm real proud of you, kiddo. And if your mom were still around, she'd be real proud of you, too.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” whispered Winona, “You're amazing. I love you.”

  “Love you too, kiddo. I'll see you around. Let me know how your first day goes, won't ya?”

  “Will do, Dad.”

  Winona ended the call and tossed the wireless phone to the side of her bed. She flipped her left arm over, grazing her fingertips lightly against the white, scripted calligraphy inked across her wrist - “Emily.” She continued to rub the tattoo, the corners of her lips slowly curving upwards as she drifted back to sleep.

  Chapter Two –

  Winona smoothed the carefully-plaited french braid on the side of her head, leaning into her reflection against the mirrored glass windows of the building. She retrieved a silk handkerchief from her cross-body purse and blotted at the slight excess smudges of her dusty rose lipstick around the corners of the natural cupid-bow of her upper lip. With one final glance at her tailored, dove-gray blazer and her hip-hugging pencil skirt that hemmed across her kneecaps, she took a deep breath and proceeded towards the gold-plated, revolving doors.

  Winona stopped short in her tracks, a sense of uncertainty brewing inside of her. She rubbed against the sleek patches on the elbows of her blazer, peering into the intimidating crowd of professionals bustling inside the grandiose establishment. She took a few steps backwards, her heels scratching against the pavement. Basking in her dreamlike daze, she collided into someone behind her.

  “Excuse me! Watch where you're going.”

  Winona gawked at the gorgeous older woman in a fitted, ladybug-red suit, exhibiting a face full of camera-ready make-up. The scowling woman tossed her caramel-blonde highlights behind her shoulders and blew a wisp of smoke out her lips, her mascaraed eyes a startling shade of caribbean blue. Winona nodded apologetically, an affable smile spreading on her lips as she extended a hand.

  “Sorry about that – it's the klutz in me. My name's Winona Rockwell, I'm here for the internship and to be honest, I've got a terrible sense of direction. I'm supposed to be heading to Spencer Flynn's office. I was wondering if you could point me in the right –”

  “So you're the new girl working with Spence?”

  Winona faltered in her step as the woman eyeballed her up and down. The woman lifted her chin in the air, taking another long drag from the slim cigarette clenched between her crystal acrylics, replying snottily, “I see Channel 8's lowered their standards. Sorry, I'm on my break.”

  Winona's cheeks reddened at the unwarranted frostiness of the woman's tone, annoyed, “I take it you're the not part of the welcome committee.”

  “I'll take you to Mr. Flynn. Morning, Kara.”

  “Rhonda.”

  The woman stubbed her cigarette out against the metal trashcan and chucked the roach into the bin. She nodded curtly, shooting Winona a quick sneer before disappearing through the doors of the building.

  Rhonda was a plump, friendly-faced young woman in her late-twenties, dressed in a loose, green cardigan, her frizzy dark hair specked with glittery hair clips holding her untamable tresses into place. She picked up the laminated ID attached to a cord around her neck, tapping the plastic surface, “But first – you're gonna need one of these bad boys.”

  “You're a lifesaver,” Winona grinned, sighing in relief.

  “Don't worry, we're not all Karas around here. Come on,” said Rhonda, gesturing towards the doors, “Mr. Flynn's office is up on the 32nd floor.”

  Spencer Flynn looked up from the highlighted dialogue of the script laid out in front of him, a short rapping sounding against his closed office door. He gathered the stack of papers into a neat pile on the center of his desk and took a quick sip from his water glass. Kneading at his neck, he cleared his smarting throat.

  “Come in.”

  His door creaked open, Rhonda's smiling face popping in through the slit, announcing, “Hope you're not in the middle of anything. Winona Rockwell's here to see you.”

  “Yes, of course. Let her in. Thanks, Rhonda.”

  Spencer rose from his chair, his eyes slowly widening at the sight of the stunning, curvy young woman in bright-pink frames mincing in through the doorway. The gleam atop the natural, bluish black hue hair shifted as she stepped towards him, the purplish tips of her satiny braid a fetching contrast to her professional attire. If it weren't for Winona's unchanged set of heavy-lidded, coffee-inspired eyes and the unique sandy bronze blend of her skin, he would never have recognized her.

  “Mr. Flynn, hi – I'm Winona, Richard Rockwell's daughter. I don't think you'd remember this but we met in 2007 at a family get-together –”

  “Of course,” Spencer responded, his voice slightly strained. He cracked a smile, “How could I forget? You were quite the little entrepreneur. You had me test out one of the first batches of your – what was it – coconut extract homemade moisturizers, I believe.”

  Winona's grin broadened, flustered, “I can't believe you remembered all that. It's a little embarrassing – or not – it was business.”

  “You've grown,” said Spencer softly, a dashing, desirous look flashing across his eyes. He started, hurriedly motioning towards the white chair across his desk, “Sorry, have a seat – and how could I forget? Scrub Loves was one of the biggest online successes of 2011. I don't know a lot of 19-year-olds that paid their own way through college.”

  “Thanks, I –” Winona's voice trailed off, noticing Spencer's lingering eyes on her chest, the top buttons of her blouse loosened to accommodate her rounded, heavy breasts. “– I appreciate that.”

  Winona leaned back in her chair as Spencer finally tore his eyes away from her generous twins, fumbling around his drawers for a set of forms. She played with the edge of the temporary ID hanging around her neck, a subtle smile playing on her lips. This internship was about to get interesting.

  Chapter Three –

  Winona crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, her hair slightly tousling against the grained surface, peeking through the sliver of space between the production supervisors. Spencer sat behind a desk next to his co-anchor, Stephanie Lindley, a large, green screen backdrop set behind the postured pair. Winona clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she watched the last three minutes of live airtime.

  Spencer Flynn was just one of those who was simply blessed with the hands of time, not only aging gracefully, but professedly gaining sex appeal as the years dragged on. Winona watched in admiration as he winded down the segment, inescapably drawn to his the striking, ivy green of his irises, accentuated by the dozen or so beams of lights cast upon the news anchors. She lifted her heels off the ground, balancing on the tips of her toes, her chest tingling as Spencer signed off for the evening, never failing to do his quirky, subtle nose-scrunch as he bade the audience a good night. She fell back to the ground, the crowd automatically dispersing at the bark of the director's cut.

  Winona rifled through her purse and pulled out a warm thermos as she smiled nervously at the cold, irate stares of the crew members as she inched past them. She made her way towards the dimmed set, now only lit by the weak glows of the two remaining lights of the overhanging lighting bulbs. As she approached Spencer from behind, who stood hunched over the desk, his fingertips skimming rapidly across his script, she let her eyes settle on the silhouette of his surprisingly tight, sculpted cheeks, visible through the slit-pockets of his fitted dress slacks. Skeptical to break his trance, Winona wordless
ly set the thermos upon the desk, next to his script.

  “What – Hey, Winona, sorry, I'm a little distracted today – I think I'm coming down with something. What's this?”

  “Ginseng tea,” Winona replied, leaning over to remove the lid. The potent pungency of the Asian root steamed out of the thermos. “I went down to this cool little Korean restaurant down the corner during lunch break. It's supposedly soothing for your throat.”

  Spencer's eyes twinkled as he reached for the cup and took a long sip, the faint wrinkle between his thick, heavily-angled eyebrows deepening. “That's – stronger than I expected.”

  “Right, I should've warned you,” Winona laughed, tugging on her bottom lip with her teeth, “I've grown accustomed to the taste. Kimmie, our housekeeper growing up, used to feed this to me whenever I came down with the flu. Used to hate it but I now have a soft spot for that weird aftertaste.”

  “Thanks, Winona – you didn't have to. This is real sweet of you.”

  “It's not a big deal, really. So what're you working on? Everyone else has packed up and gone home –”

  “Right, we're done for the day. You should head on home – I'm always one of the last to leave around here, I've got a habit of looking over a few things I could've done better –”

  “Oh yeah?”

  Winona slowly inched towards him. She leaned towards his script, the warm curves of her breasts delicately brushing against his hand. She looked up at him with rounded, innocent eyes, purring, “Like what? Cause I've been observing all night and I thought you were amazing – as usual.”

  Winona rose, turning around slowly, rubbing the curves of her hips against Spencer's immobilized hand. She continued, wetting her lips as his shoulders visibly stiffened, “I've gotta say – I've always had this little crush on you growing up that's just never went away. I watch you on TV every single night – still do, and it needs to be said – watching you live is absolutely surreal.”

  Behind her frames, Winona batted her long lashes seductively, her innocent eyes now narrowed and smoldering, soundlessly egging him on. She leaned forward, her warm breath beating down on the exposed flesh of his neck above his collar. Breathing a drawn-out, sultry sigh, she traced her finger down his crisp button-down, moaning audibly as she felt the panty-moistening dents of his astoundingly chiseled chest.

  Spencer finally found his voice, whispering gruffly, “Winona – I –”

  Winona looked up at him, her fingertips now on his trembling, slimly parted lips, “What's wrong, Mr. Flynn? Do you want me to stop?”

  Spencer looked straight into her eyes, flicking his tongue slowly against her pointed finger. He shuddered, running his tongue down her finger, tasting her. Winona yelped as he coiled his finger around the ID cord around her neck and pulled her close to him, groaning softly into her mouth as his arm wandered to the back of her dress, grabbing a handful of her fleshy, bountiful cheeks.

  Spencer flicked off the buttons to her blouse with his thumb, exposing her sheer white demi-cups, the heavy, ample mounds of her olive-kissed breasts almost pouring out of the cups of her bra. The bead of sweat on the dimple above Winona's lip quivered, arching her back as Spencer prodded at her supple breasts, gently removing them from the folded cups. He lifted her left breast with both his hands, glancing up at her as his tongue enslaved her hypnotizing, caramel-tinged nipple.

  Spencer pulled away from her sheeny nipple, his features darkening as he turned her over and positioned her over the desk. Winona's fingernails scraped into the wood of the table as she strengthened her grip, trilling underneath her breath as he unfurled her pantyhose behind her, the silky fabric gathering around her kneecaps. There was a faint clicking of Spencer's unbuckling belt, her heart hammering against her chest as she felt the naked tip of his cock probing lightly against the warm, sticky folds of her dangerously wet cunt. Her eyes fluttered to a close, a purring moan slipping out of her lips as she relished the mind-numbingly amazing sensation of his bare pole propelling in and out of her aching folds. Winona's bouncing breasts clapped against each other as he thrusted in and out of her, her lips contorting from her puttering breaths and her strenuous attempts to keep her pleasured peeps to a minimum.

  Winona's eyes shot open abruptly, the single red light from the camera directed straight towards them, catching her attention. She jerked upwards, much to Spencer's dismay, a dose of his creamy emissions trailing down his thigh. Winona's bulging eyes darted towards his leg before quickly pointing towards the camera. Spencer squinted towards the device, knitting his brows. He buckled his slacks and glided towards the camera swiftly, shutting it off.

  From the other end of the feed, Kara shook violently in her seat, seething with rage. Her nostrils flared as she bolted out of her chair, wrenching the director's headphones off her head and launched it against the wall in a huff, the innocent mechanism splintering into over a dozen little pieces.

  Chapter Four –

  Winona bit into her udon noodles and fed herself a spoonful of savory broth. She sat across Rhonda, who was busy slurping the soup from her own beef ramen bowl, bits of her kinky hair dipping into the brownish stock. The pair sat in a booth at a charming Japanese noodle shop two blocks from the lofty commercial buildings of Channel 8, where they settled for the rest of their lunch break.

  “That was so good, my hair wanted some too,” quipped Rhonda, grinning sheepishly as she dabbed at her dampened hair with a napkin.

  “Best udon noodles I've ever had,” said Winona, smiling weakly as she twirled the noodles around her chopsticks.

  “Uh-huh,” said Rhonda, raising her eyebrows, “And yet you've barely touched it.”

  “I don't know – my appetite's been all over the place this week.”

  “You sure it's not the toxic work environment at Channel 8? I was – well, a little less than hysterical when I first started out here. It's not Mr. Flynn, is it? He can be a bit intense at times, but he's always been a real gentleman –”

  The corners of Winona's lips twitched, the space between her legs pulsing lightly as the image of Spencer's roving hands flashed across her mind. She reassured Rhonda, “No – it's not that, everything's been pretty great. Mr. Flynn's a great mentor. Well, on second thought – it's probably all in my head but does Kara Marsh have a bone to pick with me? She looks at me like I've pissed in her coffee.”

  “Kara?” Rhonda snorted, shaking her head, “She's just one of those women who despises other women, for simply, well, not being her. And that's just with other women waiting in line with her at the grocery store. If I know Kara – and believe me, I do – she'd be lurking at every corner, just prowling and stalking you, calculating her next move.”

  Winona's eyes widened, “What? Why?”

  Rhonda raised her eyebrows, amused, “Haven't you heard? Kara and Mr. Flynn dated for over a year – wreaked absolute havoc on us all. They broke up about a month ago but it's pretty obvious she's not over him, seeing as how he ended things with her. And in case you haven't caught on yet – I was joking. She's a grade-A, certified bitch, but she's harmless.”

  “You certainly speak very highly of her,” said Winona ironically, her eyes glimmering, “Honestly, she doesn't sound any different from the shitty clique girls I had to deal with back in high school. No biggie.”

  “That's the spirit,” Rhonda responded flatly, her smile faltering. The warmth in her eyes was swiftly replaced with a glowering look, “She's head writer – specifically everything for Mr. Flynn. In fact, that's how they kicked things off. In addition to being a complete bitch, Kara's a talentless fraud, too – but you know, life – we can't always win.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I mean I've been writing for her for over a year now – ever since I started out. It's – don't judge me –”

  “I wasn't going to,” said Winona, her voice hushed, nodding, “And I'm assuming she takes the credit?”

  “Yup,” Rhonda shrugged, forcing a weak smile, “She's been helping me out with tuitio
n fees for graduate school, so...”

  “Tit for tat,” finished Winona, tightening her lips, “Say no more. You don't have to explain yourself to me.”

  “Right – I don't even know why I told you. It does feel pretty damn good to let it out after all this time though. But Winona, please –”

  “I won't tell a soul. Promise.”

  “I appreciate that, Winona. I really do. Now come on, let's split the check and head on back.”

  Winona and Rhonda chattered away as they ascended the stone steps towards the front doors of the building. Lost in light-hearted, trivial conversation about the latest episode of a trashy reality show, the pair walked right past Kara's figure in her signature red, resting against the window next to the trashcans, her lips sourly puckered around her cigarette. Kara flicked her cigarette into the bin and stomped towards the cheerful duo. Flipping her blonde hair behind her shoulder exaggeratedly, Kara squeezed in front of them. Before slithering into the open space, Kara stiffened her fingers around the edge of the door and leaned into Winona's ear, the gentle breeze of her whisper tickling her earlobes.

  “You better watch your fucking back, slut. I know what you did.”

  Kara shot her a final, deathly glare and slid inside the building. Rhonda's eyes bugged out, her mouth dropping open in disbelief.

  “What the hell was that about?”

  The insides of Winona's palms began to perspire. She managed a feeble smile, shrugging, “No idea. Come on. Let's go inside.”

  Chapter Five –

  Winona propped herself up against the wall, clasping her clipboard of notes to her chest as she attempted to catch her breath. Her head had been throbbing nonstop since she rolled out of bed that morning, refusing to subside even with the pungent salves slathered on her temples, aspirins and hot, detoxifying teas. The bottom of her sleek, moussed ponytail loosened, drops of sweat clinging to the bottom of her ponytail, dripping down the nape of her neck. Winona breathed out of her mouth slowly, glimpsing at her peers, who all seemed to be perfectly cool under the icy breeze of the air-conditioning vents above them. She fanned herself with her clipboard, ignoring the odd stares of the crew members as they scuttled around the stage, preparing for the eight o'clock segment.