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Chapter 9

Malcolm kicked the desk with his foot and immediately winced in pain, making Clara flinch at the sound. He had spent hours trying to find someone who knew about the prostitute to talk to her, all to no avail. People at The Mirror pretended not to know anything about it, which was an obvious lie because of their recent article. And now The Guardian was running a story about it, too. Malcolm was in a rage like she had never seen before and it was beginning to frighten her in earnest. At this rate he was going to have a heart attack before the day was over.

"Please, calm down," Clara urged him gently, "Maybe someone at The Guarding will help us. I will phone them if you like."

"Calm down?" Malcolm shot around to glare at her, "I can't fucking calm down! We're in the middle of a fucking crisis here in case you haven't noticed and The fucking Mirror is playing us like a game of cards!"

He continued to pace the room in front of her, limping just a little, and Clara was hoping he hadn't broken his toe in an attempt to blow off steam.

Blow off steam. That was exactly what he needed to do. That and relax. She was sure they would get the situation under control somehow, that they could clear everything up with just a little patience.

Clara jumped up from her seat and walked towards Malcolm, positioning herself right in front of him and forcing him to stop his pace.

"Stop it," she told him, placing his hands on his shoulders, "You're wearing down the carpet."

"Clara, I-" he started to growl, but she interrupted him once more.

"No, you listen to me now!" Clara said sternly, looking up at him, "We will handle this. The damage is already done. The story is in the news."

Malcolm snorted. "Wow, you really know how to cheer me up, sweetheart."

"Cut out the fucking sarcasm!" she shouted back at him, "You need to stop acting like a madman and-"

Clara broke off when she realized he was laughing and for a moment she thought he had truly gone mad.

"What?"

Malcolm snorted. "You're swearing. Like I told you you would."

She rolled her eyes at him, only now realizing that he was right. Damn Malcolm and his internship. "Doesn't matter," she brushed it off, "What matters is that you need to calm down. Take a deep breath. Blow off some steam. Cause I think for once you might get what you want by being a little nice to people."

"I can't," Malcolm groaned, pushing against her hands and Clara instantly realized that she was still holding on to his shoulders. Yet it seemed to be the only way to keep Malcom from running around the room at this point. "This mess is fucking me up! I can't fucking sit still! I can't rest until it's been properly dealt with!"

Clara groaned. "Do something else with that anger. Something. . . Anything!"

For a moment Clara didn't know what to make of the way he looked at her, his forehead in deep frowns and his eyes darker than usual. He was also dangerously close and dangerously angry. Then it all happened so fast.

She had no time to process her thoughts when Malcolm launched forward and Clara felt his lips on her own. There was no time to think about it and decide whether she even wanted them there or not and when she parted her lips to breathe Malcolm's tongue was already pushing inside hungrily. She stumbled backwards in surprise until her back hit his desk and he was pressing he against the surface with the weight of his body.

Clara's thoughts were running haywire. She hadn't even considered kissing her boss at all and now that their lips were locked all she felt was a tingling sensation course through her abdomen and straight down to her sex that told her she indeed like the feeling of him on top of her very much, unsuspected as it was. Malcolm moaned into her mouth as he started rutting against her, parting her legs for him with his knee and Clara let him. Then suddenly he broke away from her.

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath, panting, "That's not. . . that's-"

Clara swallowed hard, leaning back against the desk when suddenly she was beginning to hate the distance between them. He was her boss, she had never even considered it but, damn, he was great kisser and if he was as passionate in everything else she really wanted to know what it would feel like.

So Clara said nothing as she jumped to sit on his desk and parted her legs, granting him a good look at her knickers under her dress – which was exactly where his eyes were glued to and Malcolm was back on top of her in a matter of seconds, shoving her skirt upwards and bringing his hand down between her legs, rubbing against the fabric of her knickers until they felt damp and locking their lips in another kiss. This time Clara was prepared. This time she opened he mouth to him when their tongues clashes uncoordinatedly. She tried so hard to keep a clear mind, tried to stay in control of what was happening but Clara soon found herself melt away under his touch. The tingling between her thighs was turning into a burning need to feel more, more of him, and she pushed her hips forward to increase the pressure on her sex.

Malcolm's mouth was suddenly gone, as was his hand, and she opened her eyes to see him fumble with his belt right before his trousers dropped to the floor. It occurred to her that anyone might walk in on them as they were about to fuck on his desk at Downing Street but when she saw him, hard and ready, she concluded that she didn't care. That was his problem, not hers.

She gasped when he drove inside of her, his entire length filling her up at once and he was immediately beginning to pick up pace. Malcolm seemed almost desperate to be inside her, his thrusts speeding up while Clara hooked her legs around him in support. He felt so big inside her, so hot and satisfying as he plunged into her that Clara tried in vain to suppress her moans.

"Fuck," he muttered, a guttural, strained sound, "God, you're so fucking tight, lass."

Clara let out a short cry as one thrust hit particularly deep. She was so close already, so ready to be pushed over the edge. Everything was happening too fast for her to even keep up.

Malcolm groaned loudly as she tightened her muscles around him, bringing his hands to her hips to guide he around him. When she opened her eyes she saw that his were closed in concentration and that the sweat was starting to run down his forehead, his shirt sticking to his chest. Clara wanted to touch that chest, touch that hair again but then she was beginning to feel the pressure build up inside of her as he continued to dive into her wetness, each thrust bringing he just a little closer until she felt overwhelmed by the sweetness and came just as he was spilling himself inside of her, groaning and a string of curse words on his lips.

Malcolm stumbled backwards, panting heavily, while Clara was still trying to catch her breath as well. She had slept with her boss, the infamous Malcolm Tucker. They just had sex on his desk at Number 10 and it had all happened in a matter of minutes. The realisation was only now beginning to dawn on her as he tucked his shirt back in and fastened his belt. Fuck! What had they been thinking?

He cleared his throat and looked up, but not at her. "The Guardian, right? We wanted to call The Guardian?"

Clara nodded even though he didn't see it, already reaching for his phone again. Three weeks into her internship and she had done the thing she would never in a million years have suspected. Now, what was going to happen?