Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Yes, Miranda.”

These words have always been music to your ears, but now they deliver a slow torture, an ache in your chest as you gaze upon the woman who is not yours. Not yet, at least, and maybe even not at all.

As she stands there, her wide eyes willing and trusting, you want nothing more than to command her to kneel at your feet. You crave the feeling of her head in your lap, your fingers winding their way through dark locks while her cheek rests on your knee. You imagine goosebumps chasing over your body as her warm breath whispers across your skin.

You clear your throat and reach for your glass of Pellegrino, flicking your eyes towards the AC control in the corner accusingly. But, you know why you are suddenly hot and flustered, and you can’t blame Runway’s maintenance team for it.

“Steak. Do not dawdle, Andrea.”

At a squint, you can almost imagine that she looks hurt by your cold dismissal, but she smiles anyway, and nods. 

“Yes, Miranda,” she says again, and you almost moan out loud. 

You imagine a whole host of other scenarios you would prefer to hear those words in;

“Strip.”

“Yes, Miranda.”

“Come here.”

“Yes, Miranda.”

“Do you want me to touch you, Andrea?”

“Yes, Miranda.”

And then…

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you, Andrea?” you imagine cooing gently, your hand cupping her cheek as she lays exhausted next to you in crumpled sheets. Her overheated body negating the need for a sheet to be pulled over you as she nuzzles into your shoulder.

“Yes, Miranda.”

But, these lust-filled thoughts are not real, and she is not yours. So, you watch her walk away and ignore the pang of longing that sings through your veins, with a fire that burns long after she has gone. 

It’s time for her to move on, and she’s been here long enough that you can give her the reference she truly deserves. A reference that will open doors for her, even as it closes the door of opportunity around your heart. Andrea Sachs will walk away and out of your life forever and there is nothing you will do to stop her. Her absence is actively encouraged, in fact, if only so that you have the hope of an uninterrupted night’s sleep in future. That, and the very small hope that one day she will return to you; a seedling grown and fully bloomed into the woman you know she will become.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you fire off three emails to the fellow Editor-In-Chiefs of suitable New York publications and allow yourself a moment to brag a little about the skills of the woman you are responsible for shaping. 

The Andrea of two years ago is nowhere to be found. The woman who inhabits Andrea’s skin now, is trustworthy and motivated, proactive and innovative. She is a force to be reckoned with, ready to take on the universe as soon as you release her from the glass and chrome prison you currently keep her in. Your loss will be their gain, but you love her enough to let her go in the hopes that one day she will truly be happy.

It’s gut wrenching how quickly you receive replies to your emails, but the wheel is already turning and there is nothing you can do to stop it. Andrea is ready for the world, and the world needs her. She will leave your side and achieve great things, that much is certain. But, at what cost?

That’s a question you have asked yourself many times in the last two years, and it’s only now that you are honest with yourself.

At what cost? You ask yourself again in an effort to put off the inevitable truth you don’t feel ready to face.

At what cost? Your stomach clenches painfully as you admit;

It will cost you everything.

*****

“I don’t understand.”

Andrea stands in front of you, radiating a hurt that is only countered by the stubborn tilt of her chin.

“What don’t you understand?” you ask, though it’s not difficult to figure out her confusion. It’s not often an assistant is inundated by three different employment offers within a matter of hours

“I thought…” Andrea begins, only to shake her head and change tactics. She stares at you with piercing eyes, “Is this what you really want?”

“This is what you need,” you answer instead, turning back to your screen as you add, “It’s time for you to move on.” What is there to discuss, after all?

“I thought…” she trails off helplessly, and the urge to lift your eyes to hers is a powerful one, but you stare resolutely at the layout on your monitor.

She sighs. “I don’t want to leave, Miranda,” she implores softly. “I like being your assistant.”

Of course she does. It had taken you a matter of minutes to see the flicker of heat born of her will to submit and do your bidding. Andrea likes a firm hand, and you suspect she is beginning to realise just how much.

As much as you want nothing more than to take her in hand, you want her submission to be something other than fear, and that will only come when she is truly your equal. Andrea is mature for her age, but she still needs to grow up. She’s not ready for you yet and pursuing her now is not an option for either of you, no matter how much you fantasise about the moment you finally make her yours.

“You’ve done your time here, Andrea. A reference was always the goal, was it not? A golden ticket to the job you really want?” It’s impossible to keep the sneer from your voice when you imagine her talents being utilised by someone unworthy of her. Though you wonder if it might be worse if she goes unrecognised for the substantial talents that she has.

“I want-”

You look up when she abruptly stops speaking to find her lips pursed together as if she is physically preventing herself from talking.

“What?” you can’t help but ask. “What is it you want?”

It’s a foolish game to play, but you are curious about the blush that rises steadily to her cheeks.

She meets your eyes calmly, and for a moment you wonder if she is about to speak words that will change both your lives. But, she shrugs, looking as helpless as you feel.

“Nothing,” is all she answers, an unhappy scowl appearing that looks frightfully out of place on her usually sweet face. “Thank you for the reference and setting up these interviews, Miranda. I’ll be out of your hair before you know it.”

She turns and goes back to her desk giving you no chance to correct her, a fact that is simultaneously a relief and frustrating. It’s for the best, though. She doesn’t need to hear how much you will miss her. How much you already feel like a piece of your happiness is being ripped away from your soul. There is no point in explaining that the last thing you want is to see her leave, but that it’s best for both of you.

No, that’s a lie. It’s not best for both of you. It’s best for her, and isn’t that the point?

“Goodbye, Andrea,” you whisper, already knowing that you will tell her she doesn’t need to work her notice. Dragging this out is a special kind of hell that you are too cowardly to face, and so today will be her last, whether she knows it yet or not.

*****

Four Years Later

You know she’s going to be here tonight, but nothing prepares you for the way the room falls silent the moment she enters. She has a presence that announces her arrival long before people catch sight of her exquisite Elie Saab gown with its split all the way up to her right hip, and glossy brunette locks. She walks in through the ballroom doors with her head held high and an aloof expression on her face that you are oddly proud of her for.

She’s come a long way in the years that you’ve been apart and she’s used them well. You’ve followed her career, silently hoping that her move last year from a steady paycheck to freelance was the right call to make. It was, of course, and now she is one of the biggest names in publishing, quietly amassing a portfolio of work that you have been thrilled to read in your quiet moments. 

It’s your guilty pleasure to sit in bed with a glass of wine, scouring her latest article, red pen at the ready. It’s not often needed, and that both surprises you, and doesn’t. It’s rare that even the greatest of writers don’t require much in the way of a good editor, but Andrea has made a name for herself doing both. 

You shrink into the shadows, content to watch as Andrea does the rounds. She meets and greets people as if she is born to this life and not just a girl from Ohio who is overly fond of small talk with a penchant for good manners. She never stops for long with any of the people who descend upon her, patiently waiting for the opportunity to talk to the woman of the night. Instead, she effortlessly moves through the masses rather restlessly, though what she is looking for, you have no idea. 

Until you do. 

She spots you hiding in the corner and it’s then that you are graced with the first genuine smile you have seen on her face since her arrival. You incline your head neutrally, but it’s enough, and she makes a beeline towards you as if you are old friends.

“I hate these events,” she confides when she reaches your side, as if these aren’t the first words she has spoken to you since leaving Runway.

“Even the ones in your honour?” you ask, because she is the reason any of you are here tonight, after all.

She snorts and you look at her, waiting for her to explain. A waiter passes by and you snag two glasses and pass one to Andrea, which she accepts with a grateful smile.

“You know better than anyone how boring it is to be surrounded by sycophants,” she leans in to confide, as if you are in the habit of sharing secrets over champagne. You barely withhold a shiver when the skin of her arm brushes against yours, setting it on fire.

“You deserve the accolade you are being awarded tonight, Andrea,” you can’t resist chiding. Her accomplishments deserve recognition, and it stings slightly that she shrugs off her successes as if they mean nothing, when you had to fight so hard to get where you are.

She opens her mouth to reply, but music starts and you are both guided in different directions; you to your seat and Andrea off to a table near the front of the room by the grand stage. It’s infuriating waiting for Andrea’s turn. For all her talents, she is still just one in a sea of writers and journalists who are being recognised here tonight.

Patience has never been your strong suit, but waiting for the Mayor to list Andrea’s many achievements before calling her up to the stage, has you twitching in your seat, silently urging the man on. 

“And so, I’d like to welcome to the stage the winner of this year’s Pulitzer Prize for Investigative Reporting, Andrea Sachs.”

And she takes your breath away, standing there under the bright lights with a cool, somewhat detached smile on her face. You barely hear a word that she says in her acceptance speech, but you know they are directed at you. Her eyes never leave yours and the rest of the room disappears as you watch her lips move, completely enthralled. 

You’ve waited a long time for this, but there is no doubt in your mind; Andrea is ready.

You rise from your seat and lead the applause, smirking when you see her surprise. She’s true to her word and appears to care little for the people that flock to her the moment she leaves the stage. Andrea masterfully weaves and dodges, a smile fixed to her face as she makes her way to where you are waiting. The room quietens again as the Mayor introduces the next recipient, and she takes you by the elbow, leading you out through the doors and into the quiet of an abandoned hallway.

Standing face to face with her, you can’t help but note that she has full two inches on you in the shoes that she is wearing, and she seems to like it, if the smirk she offers you is anything to go by. It’s tantalising in its unspoken promise and you look forwards to wiping it off her face at the first opportunity you get. 

“Take me home, Miranda,” she tells you calmly, though you note with pleasure the breathless sound of her voice.

“Roy is outside,” you reply, because this has been your plan all along. This is what you have wanted, have longed for, have prepared for, all of these years that you’ve been apart.

The journey home is tortuous. You daren’t put the privacy screen up because you know you won’t be able to keep your hands to yourself. From the way Andrea smirks at you once again, it’s obvious she has guessed your thoughts, but you can’t bring yourself to mind. You have Andrea, here, in your car. What is there to complain about? 

You loathe small talk, and she seems to remember this. Once, just once, she opens her mouth before changing her mind, and as much as you want to know what thought was on the tip of her tongue, you don’t ask. It can wait.

Roy pulls up to the townhouse, and opens the door so you can exit, and Andrea doesn’t hesitate for a second, taking your offered hand and accepting your help from the car. Her gown is well-fitted, but the tightly fitted bodice makes it ill-suited for manoeuvring back up into a standing position, especially when paired with a pair of five inch Louboutin heels.

You drop her hand and walk to the door, opening it with the key in your purse and leaving it wide for her to enter. Without a word, you kick off your heels and head for the stairs, and you don’t need to hear the pad of her now-bare feet, to know that she is following. 

Heart thudding in your chest, it is not the three flights of stairs that makes you breathless, but the glorious woman following in your wake after years of waiting for her. Four years of following her progress from afar and watching as she grew into the woman that you both need her to be; your equal in every way.

You refuse to feel nervous, your hand steady as you reach for the handle to your bedroom door. You risk a glance at her to make sure, once and for all, that you understand each other and what this means.

She nods. “I want this, Miranda.”

“Good.”

She follows you in, looking around with unbridled curiosity, and you find that you don’t mind the way her eyes scrutinise the part of the life you keep hidden from everyone else. You find yourself following her eyes around the room, wondering what truths she is uncovering about you and how she feels about them. 

Her eyes rest on the headboard, and she raises an eyebrow. Now it’s your turn to smirk, infinitely pleased that she has recognised why you chose that particular style.

She rolls her eyes. “I’ve spent my time wisely in the years we spent apart.”

“Wisely?” you query, and you’re equal parts curious and jealous when pink colours her cheeks.

“I always knew what kind of relationship you might want from me, Miranda. I experimented with women I knew would mean nothing to me.”

“You saved yourself for me? For this?” you hear yourself asking, before correcting, “Your heart, Andrea. I never expected you to save your body.”

Because you’re surprisingly not upset about the idea that she has had other lovers. In fact, you’re more than a little relieved that she has. There is only so much you want to teach someone when it comes to what you enjoy in the bedroom.

“Of course,” she scoffs, her eyes glowing with truth. “As if anyone else could come close.”

You smile genuinely at her heartfelt statement, and nod. “It’s only been you,” you admit, taking several steps closer. “And even when I have been with another woman, you were always on my mind, Andrea.”

It should feel uncomfortable to speak so freely, and yet, as you back her against the wall opposite the bed, it feels right to offer this information freely. Neither of you are pretending that you haven’t had another body warming your sheets in your time apart, but to know that after all this time neither of your feelings have changed, settles something inside of you that you didn’t know needed soothing.

“And now I’m here,” she tells you breathlessly, chest heaving with her back against the wall.

“I will ask this just once, Andrea, though of course we can stop whenever you say the word…”

“What is it, Miranda?”

“Is this truly what you want? You understand what this means?”

She smiles softly. “I’ve thought of nothing else for years.”

“Tell me,” you encourage. You’re almost a hundred percent positive that you’re on the same page, and you can see the desire in her eyes, but that’s not enough. Words mean everything in a situation like this. Words ensure the safety of both partners, and this is not an area in which you are willing to take risks.

“Like I’ve said, I’ve used my time wisely,” Andrea starts, taking hold of your hands and gripping them tightly. “I’ve tried it both ways. I’ve had the control and I’ve given it up, and it only confirmed what I already knew.”

“And what is that?” you prompt, though you have a good idea where this is going, your heart racing so fast that you can feel it in your throat.

“I’m yours, Miranda, and I want to know what that feels like. Not just now. Not just in the bedroom, but always, in every way.”

“I’ve waited a long time for this, for you.”

“And I understand why now,” she comments with a wry smile.

“You didn’t at the time,” you remind her, and it hurts to remember the heartbreak on her face when you told her to pack up her personal items and leave Runway.

She grins, admitting, “I was pretty mad at you for a while.”

“And now?”

Andrea looks at you from under hooded lashes. “We needed the time apart, but I’m not waiting anymore, Miranda. I’m ready for this. For you.”

You lean close, and she tilts her head, anticipating your lips, but you turn your head at the last minute, revelling in the frustrated little moan she lets out. Instead, you kiss her jaw, your hands reaching for her hips.

“Back against the door,” you instruct, and she immediately lowers her eyes, stepping three paces to the side until her back is against the closet door. She looks up at the bar above her head, a strategically placed towel rail that has never been used for that particular purpose, and her eyes darken. 

“Hands up,” you say softly, your breath hitching when she immediately does as you say, fingers wrapping around the bar. “And keep them there.”

“Yes, Miranda,” she replies, and those words send a bolt of pleasure through you, despite the cheeky sparkle in her eyes.

You step closer, so close that you’re breathing the same air, and you reach down to the bare skin that is revealed by the split in her dress. She shivers when you run the pads of your fingers against the soft skin of her thigh, and you marvel at how responsive she is.

“You’re mine now, Andrea,” and your words are as much a threat as they are a promise. By the end of tonight, there will be no doubt in either of your minds who she belongs to. It’s a relief to both of you when you finally lean forwards and capture her lips in a scorching kiss.

Chapter Text

Kissing Andrea is so much more than you could have anticipated. With her hands holding onto the rail above her head, she still manages to curve her body against you, every contour fitting perfectly with your own as if she was born to be yours.

Her eyes are closed when you pull back, her cheeks flushed prettily in a way that only youthful skin still does. It’s a reminder of the difference in your age, but it doesn’t bother you in the slightest. It is clear that Andrea craves an older partner, and Andrea being the age she is only adds to her appeal. In your desires, Andrea is your perfect match in every way.

“We will talk more tomorrow,” you begin, gripping her chin firmly and guiding her eyes to your own. “But tonight, if you want to stop, then that’s all you need to say. I will not make you feel unsafe, Andrea.”

Her eyes flutter shyly, and she stares over your shoulder as her cheeks darken. “I thought… Maybe we could use the traffic light system?”

“Look at me,” you demand softly, leaning forward to gently kiss already swollen lips. 

She meets your eyes steadily, her breathing slowly returning to normal, as you say, “I need to make sure you understand what you are asking for.”

“I understand,” she instantly replies, adding, “Green for go, yellow for slow and red for stop.”

“Good girl,” you praise, because you see the brief flicker of awkwardness that she feels and it has no place in this room tonight. “It’s okay to ask for what you want, Andrea. I’m proud of you.”

“I want to please you.”

“You already have, darling. Tomorrow we will talk about your limits, and mine, but tonight we will take it slow, and you will tell me how you feel with your colours, yes?”

“Yes, Miranda,” she replies, and her voice comes out lower than it usually does. You can’t stop the shiver that runs through your body, and you press yourself against soft curves, revelling in the feeling of her after so many years dreaming of this moment.

“Is there anything I need to know tonight? Any hard limits?” you check, because as much as you will take it easy this time, there are some things that are a mood killer at best, and dangerous at worst, if not discussed.

“You can restrain me, or blindfold me, but not at the same time.”

You resist the urge to ask her more, there will be time for her to tell you why she has this particular stipulation tomorrow. It’s an easy one to work with though, so you nod reassuringly. “Understood. Now, I want you to keep your hands on the bar. Can you do that for me, Andrea?”

The breathless way she agrees spurs you on. You lean forwards once again, teasing her lips with yours, just the barest of touches until she is squirming where she stands. Without heels you are exactly the same height, and just like everything else with Andrea, it puts you in perfect balance.

“Please,” she whimpers, and her hands twitch but never leave the bar above her head. You decide to reward her for her efforts, kissing her properly and dipping your tongue into her waiting mouth. She sighs against your lips, her hips bucking against yours as she searches for any kind of friction.

“Not yet,” you chide, taking a step backward. “I’m a little overdressed, wouldn’t you say?”

She nods eagerly, hair bouncing over her shoulders. “Yes.”

You step towards her and turn. “Lower my zip,” you instruct, and when you feel her fingers reaching for the tab, you feel the need to amend, “Slowly, Andrea.”

It’s torture for both of you, the way she unhurriedly opens the back of your dress, and you allow the kisses she places on each newly-revealed piece of skin. Her lips are warm and soft, and you can’t wait to feel them on other parts of your body, but you have a mission to complete first; ensuring Andrea knows exactly who she belongs to now. After all these years apart, you desire nothing more than to remove any doubts she may have had about your feelings for her.

You hear her gasp, and grin smugly, though you know she can’t see you. Her reaction is expected, after all, considering the very great effort you went to choosing your lingerie for this evening. You bought many different sets that would have worked under your Versace gown, but there is something to be said for the simplicity of black lace against the natural paleness of your skin. You look good in this, and you know it, and now Andrea can see what you have worn for her. Her reaction is enough that a flood of moisture seeps down to drench the Bordelle thong you chose to wear for her.

“You’re gorgeous,” she breathes out, and it’s almost a sigh the way she says it so reverently. “I’ve waited so long for this. For you.”

You step away and turn around, allowing the dress to pool at your feet. She looks shocked that you would treat couture with such carelessness, but there is nothing more important in this room tonight as Andrea herself. You go so far as to kick the dress to one side, and then you stand there and let her take her fill of you.

To your side is a full-length mirror and you discreetly glance at your reflection, wondering how Andrea sees you and if you live up to the fantasy she no doubt created in her head. But, in stockings and suspenders, your minimal curves accentuated by black lace, you can admit you are a vision. You might be ageing, but you’ve not lost your looks or your figure yet.

“May I touch you?” she begs, and you turn around to note with pleasure that she has placed her hands back on the bar. You refuse to acknowledge the thought that she has been well trained, because tonight is not the night to wonder who taught her the rules. You’re only grateful that she already knows them.

“Not yet,” you deny, locking eyes with her. You stand close enough to feel the heat of her body, reaching out to trace your fingertips lightly from one shoulder to the other, watching her shiver as goosebumps erupt across her collarbones. “Take off your dress.”

“Help me?” she asks, turning around and lifting her hair out of the way to reveal a long, slender neck and a delicate tattoo hidden just where her hairline ends. You add it to an already long list of things you want to talk about with her tomorrow, and reach for the zip as you push the question from your mind.

You don’t waste time, pulling it down in one quick motion, and dropping the dress down over slender hips. You openly admire her body; still curvy, but strong in a way that she wasn’t before. Toned muscle ripples under her skin and you relish the idea that this physically superior woman will soon be putty in your hands.

“You are incredibly beautiful, Andrea, I hope you know that.”

“I’ve been told,” she tells you as she shrugs self consciously, and you make a promise to yourself that she will never have cause to doubt this again.

You turn her around, taking her chin again until her eyes meet yours. “I have surrounded myself with beautiful things my entire life, but you are a rarity, Andrea. Do you know why?”

She shakes her head, but before you can reprimand her for not using her words, she speaks up. “No, Miranda.”

“Because you are a treasure that is not often to be found. Many people are beautiful on the outside, and others have a personality you are naturally drawn to. But you, Andrea, you are beautiful inside and out, and I find myself realising that there is not a single thing that I would ever wish you to change.”

She blushes fiercely, and opens her mouth to speak but no words come. It’s okay, you don’t need her to talk now. One day soon, she will know her own value. You’ll make sure of it.

“I am going to love you so thoroughly that you never have cause to question what I think about you, or how I feel again.”

“Love?”

You press against her as you brush your lips across her ear, whispering, “Yes, darling. Love.”

She trembles against you and it’s like gasoline added to a fire in the way it ignites the passion you feel for her. The softer moments, while necessary, are over now, and you kiss her with an intensity that you feel in your core. You’re already wet, but the thought of touching your little doe-eyed beauty makes your mouth water, and you can’t deny yourself the pleasure any longer.

Reaching for her hips, you press your lips against her throat, sucking lightly. She moans softly in your ear and you take your cue, testing the waters by grazing your teeth against her skin. She shudders, and widens her stance, her hips thrusting forwards. 

“I need you,” she pleads, and although her words thrill you, it’s too soon to give her what she wants.

“Soon,” you coo, running gentle fingers up her left arm, and under the strap on her shoulder. “May I remove this?” you ask, and it might sound unnecessary, but this is your first time together and a mistake now is not something you wish to risk.

“Yes, Miranda.”

The sound of your name on her lips brings a smirk to your face, and with it a reminder that you always win in the end. It’s been four long years since she was your assistant, and although you always liked the way she said it, it’s far better now.

Unclasping the back of her bra with one hand, you draw it from her shoulders, pleased when she keeps your eye contact, and doesn’t look away. For there is one thing you already know about Andrea, no matter how confident she appears to the rest of the world, she is still insecure underneath. She walks through life with no idea how stunning she really is, genuinely confused by the attention she receives from all genders.

“Colour?” you ask gently, checking in before you allow yourself to finally touch her.

“Green,” she replies without hesitation, and her lips quirk up in a smile as she rolls her hips into yours. She raises her hands back to the bar, her knuckles whitening as her fingers curl around it.

“Enough,” you reprimand her, but there is no bite to your words, and although she lowers her eyes, you can still see the sparkle of playfulness that you so adore about her.

With large, full breasts, a toned stomach and strong muscular thighs, she is magnificent, and you take a moment to absorb what is being offered so freely. “Beautiful,” you pronounce again, because you will never tire of telling this woman how utterly entrancing she is.

You start slow with the lightest of touches, and she bites her lip when you circle one of her nipples with the very tip of your finger. It hardens impossibly more, and you ache to take her into your mouth, only just restraining yourself. You refuse to rush, enjoying the look of desperation that is slowly building in her eyes. Andrea will beg you tonight, that much is already certain, and nothing less than that will satisfy you.

You move to her other side, and she whines softly when you flick the nub with your tongue and then blow softly. 

“Please, Miranda.”

It’s too early to give her what she wants and you both know it. Trailing blunt nails down over her abs, she squirms against your touch, panting lightly. “Please,” she urges again, and her desperation is rising nicely.

“Be patient, darling. You know I’ll make this worth your while, don’t you?”

“Yes, Miranda,” she agrees, but her eyes are wild and her hips lurch towards you again. Her skin is a delightful shade of pink and it denotes an innocence that doesn’t exist. Not in Andrea, and certainly not in this room tonight. Taking pity on her, you take her left nipple into your mouth, and she squeaks, one hand coming down to rest on the back of your head.

“Back on the bar,” you remind her, and you don’t need to tell her that you will stop if the infraction is repeated. Once again, it’s obvious that Andrea knows the rules, no matter how much she might be compelled to break them.

She does as she’s told, staring at you with eyes so dark that only the faintest rim of brown can be seen around the edge of her pupils. You brush your hands down over her sides to the material on her hips. “May I?” you check again, only pushing the fabric down when she nods hastily.

Standing in front of you completely naked, you are blown away by the conviction in her eyes; the way she looks at you so openly, waiting for you to make your move and trusting that you will take care of her.

Neatly trimmed curls glisten with her desire for you, and you feel proud to affect this woman so profoundly. There is no one else that you would ever do this for, but the urge to sink to your knees is a strong one, and so you lower your head to kiss across her breasts.

Her breath quickens, and you trace your tongue over her ribs, one by one, as you make a path slowly down to your prize. You can smell her desire, and it’s difficult not to rush; there is nothing you want more than to bury your face in the scent of her, and your mouth waters at the thought of getting your first taste.

“Miranda, please,” she tries again, and her soft eyes glisten in the low light from the lamp in the corner. They tell you everything you need to know and a million other things too. Desire, trust, desperation, need… they are all there plain to see, but what nearly floors you is the love that shines so brightly and you realise you don’t need her to speak her words to know how she feels. After all this time, Andrea still loves you, and the last uncertainties about this evening together slip away like mist.

“I’m going to take care of you,” you assure her softly, and her eyes widen when you finally sink to your knees in front of her, reaching for her thighs with your hands. She parts her legs further, and you inhale deeply. She smells even better now you are up close. Better, even, than you had imagined over the years.

It’s difficult to control your pace, but you’re determined to still take your time, gently kissing up the inside of each thigh, stopping when you reach the slickness that has coated her pale skin. 

“Colour, Andrea?” you ask again, because whether you think you know the answer or not, you need to hear her say it.

“Green, Miranda. But…”

“But what?” you ask, brow crinkling as you look up at her.

“Can I touch you?”

“Soon,” you agree, smirking wickedly when you add, “But not yet. I do believe you’ll need to hold on.”

You don’t waste anymore time, diving forwards to delve your tongue between desire coated lips. The flavour of her is like nothing on this earth, and the nectar that floods across your tongue draws an involuntary moan from your lips. Her legs shake as you explore her with your mouth, and you encourage her to lift one leg and put it over your shoulder.

With better access, you angle your head so that your tongue just skirts her entrance and she gasps, rocking against your face. “More,” she pleads. “I need more. I need you.”

“I know what you need,” you take the time to say, before moving in once again. With your tongue slowly circling her clit, you slip two of your fingers inside of her, revelling in the way that she clenches around you.

“You can release your hands,” you instruct, and she takes the cue, one hand winding its fingers into your hair, and you assume the other one is still helping her to remain standing.

She’s already on the edge, you can feel it, but you’re enjoying her too much to let her come yet. You slow your pace, and she lets out a frustrated groan that makes you smirk against her skin. It’s ironic how glacial your pace is as you build her up again, and you enjoy the quiet desperation in which she accepts the way you stop her from reaching climax. Andrea doesn’t push. She doesn’t take what you won’t give her. Instead, she plays by the rules and submits to your attention in a way that makes your heart race and your core throb.

Something wet lands on your shoulder and you see the frustrated tears rolling down her cheeks. With barely tamped down defiance and glistening eyes, she’s never looked more beautiful, and in that moment, you decide to give her what she wants. 

Two fingers become three, and she lets out a breathless moan as you finally begin to fuck her as deeply as she needs, slamming with force into her slick heat.

“Fuck, I’m going to come,” she warns you, and when you look up there is a panicked look on her face because she knows it is in your power to stop her. But not this time. This time you want her to come. You want to see the beauty of her climax, knowing that you are the one that has brought her to this height of pleasure.

“Come, Andrea,” you break away from her to say. “Come for me, darling.”

You delve right back in, sucking her clit into your mouth as you circle it with your tongue. She’s so close now, her muscles tensing around your fingers, as you increase the pressure on her bundle of nerves. 

She shudders tellingly, coming with a loud cry as her other hand makes its way into your hair and she moves herself against your face, eking out every last drop of pleasure that she can. You allow it, because Andrea taking what she needs like this is one of the most erotic things you have ever experienced.

“Fuck, Miranda,” she sobs out, as she removes her leg from your shoulder and sinks to the floor.

You pull her into your lap, holding her overheated and slightly sweaty body close against your chest. “Good girl,” you praise her, wiping the tears that are flowing freely down her cheeks. “You have pleased me immensely.”

She smiles against your skin, tightening her arms around you. “That was… that was everything, Miranda.”

You smirk, even though she can’t see you from where her head is tucked against your neck. “The evening is not over yet,” you remind her.

Her head pops up, and her tears dry almost immediately as she discerns your meaning. She raises an eyebrow, looking eager and fresh compared to only seconds ago.

“On the bed,” you demand, and there is no hiding the desire in your voice. Not that you want to. Andrea deserves to know just how much you need her right now.

She rises fluidly, and you’re genuinely impressed with her strength and grace as she effortlessly regains her footing. You accept the hand she holds out for you, because you are older now, and your muscles remind you on a daily basis that you are not as young as you once were.

Andrea slinks over to the bed, and she knows your eyes are on her, if the deliberate sway of her hips is anything to go by. She climbs up on all fours, giving you a view you are determined to explore later, and crawls up to the pillows where she turns to lay on her back.

You grin, and you know it’s borderline feral when she shivers, and eagerly pats the bed next to her, but you have something else in mind. There is no desire to tease, as you unhook your bra and slip out of your thong, leaving both on the floor where they land. You make your way up the bed on your knees, leaning down to kiss her briefly, before moving forwards once more until your knees are either side of her head.

“Eat me, Andrea. Make me come.”

She’s surprised by your choice of vernacular, you can tell, but her eyes darken and she licks her lips. She reaches for your thighs, pulling you down onto her waiting mouth, her tongue sinking deep inside of you.

“Oh, Andrea,” you cry out, unashamed of the pleasure she makes you feel so quickly. “You are such a good girl.”

She responds wickedly, and it’s clear this is not her first time as she moves to your clit and begins to work you at a punishing pace. How she knows exactly what you need, you have no idea, but there is no slow build up at all. There is only Andrea and her devious little tongue, and then suddenly only overwhelming pleasure as you buck against her face. 

Ever-mindful not to stop her from breathing, you ride out your climax, holding onto the headboard for support when your body begins to fail you in the aftermath of your incredible orgasm.

Sliding down next to her, you kiss her deeply, tasting a combination of both of your individual desires. It’s a flavour you are already addicted to and you hum your appreciation.

“We taste good together,” she remarks, and she settles into your arms as if you have spent the last four years falling into bed together every single night.

“We are good together,” you feel the need to correct, because it’s not just any one thing that makes this connection between you so perfect.

“I’ve really missed you, Miranda. It was necessary, but hard.”

“I know, darling,” you reply, brushing the hair off her face to kiss her forehead. “But there is no need for us to ever be apart now.”

“Promise?” she asks, blinking up at you with exhausted eyes.

“I promise. Now, go to sleep darling.”

You feel her heart rate returning to normal, and her breathing becomes steady, slowly deepening. Just when you think she is on the border of sleep, she lifts her head.

“I didn’t say it earlier, but I love you, Miranda.”

“I know,” you reply, because you do. It’s been written all over her face since she saw you. “I love you too.”