Undisclosed Desires 1/1
Undisclosed Desires 1/1
Title: Undisclosed Desires
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Andy/Miranda
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: All characters, events, settings and situations mentioned in this work are sole property of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for profit, in constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context and are not intended to be defamatory or factual in anyway.
Summary: Andy likes pet names. Set a few months into a fairly new relationship. Smut-tastic.
Author's Notes: This initially began as an original piece. But I started to picture this fandom and it changed fairly quickly. I might still keep it as original work, but for now, these characters can borrow the storyline. For ubiquitousmixie .
**************************
You trick your lovers
That you're wicked and divine
You may be a sinner
But your innocence is mine
*************************
You like pet names.
Not too corny, though. Not cupcake or honey buns. No-no. You draw the line at baked goods. Honey is nice, though. Baby has always been a personal favorite. There's something about being someone's baby. Being someone's anything important enough to apply a title.
Not you've ever cared much for titles. Official ones anyway. Girlfriend, partner, fiancée, lover. It doesn't matter to you. You don't particularly like any of those anyway. But, baby you do like.
Miranda doesn't do pet names. Ever.
Although, you're sure you had heard her direct a few sweet nothings at Stephen. Darling. Sweetheart.
You wonder if you would like being called 'darling' or 'sweetheart'. No one other than your parents has ever called you sweetheart. And darling has been used mostly following a condescending comment or rhetorical question in your life.
You wonder why she hasn't called you any of those.
You literally, have spent countless hours wondering. Picturing her saying them to you. Wondering if she considers you someone worth calling a pet name.
Sometimes she does, though, you have to admit.
Sometimes, she calls you baby. When you're nestled between her legs, usually knuckle deep in Miranda, she writhes and pants and when she says it, it's almost as if she can't help it. As if she's been holding it back for days, and it's a whisper. It's a tiny whisper against your ear.
"Baby..."
It fades into the background and it spurs you on.
The first time she said it, she was on top and you were sitting. She was breathing heavily, the way she does when she's near orgasm, against your neck, her hips were pumping in slow, circular thrusts against your hand. It was a quiet little shiver against your eardrums.
You lost your mind completely and flipped her onto her back. She wrapped her legs around you and you fucked her until she was screaming with her head drooped over the side of the bed, begging you to stop once her body couldn't take it anymore.
She was sweaty and tired after.
You were exhilarated beyond belief.
You have to realize that it's not like you can give yourselves the luxury of being the type of couple that do things together. Like, walk down Central Park with your arms wrapped around one another. Even if you wanted to be. Not when cameras catch Miranda's every move made outside of her own home. It's ridiculous and you hate it. But it's a fact you have to live with because no one made you jump your former boss in the first place.
You definitely did that all on your own. A few hundred times over the past six months.
Your dinners out are usually very formal. And no one ever suspects a thing. Once, you saw a picture of Miranda on Page 6, you in the background. 'Miranda Priestly: Out On the Town With Hot Young Lover'. The hot young lover they were referring to was in fact, a gay fashion photographer that happened to be waiting for the valet to bring his car around at the exact same moment you and Miranda were leaving a restaurant and she had stopped to say hello.
The fact that no one would think you worthy of being Miranda Priestly's 'hot young lover' stung a little bit. But you brushed it off because that was probably more about the press thinking Miranda only dated men. You laugh now, but at the moment, three months into this thing with Miranda, you were hurt and a little pissed at Miranda for not caring.
You're past that now.
You figure, eventually, Miranda will call you darling--or baby--like it's no big deal, and you'll do regular couple things. Like tonight.
Tonight, you feel very much like one half of a couple.
You're making stir-fry and Miranda is standing behind you, leaning comfortably against the sink, glass of wine in her hand as she tells you about her day.
You know a poor designer has had his balls chopped off when she has this particular glint in her eye. It has always amazed you how much glee she finds in torturing poor defenseless souls. But she's good at it. She's good at doing what she does and she will gladly dispose of anyone who stands in her way. It scares you a little bit. It turns you on a lot.
It turns her on knowing that it turns you on.
You recall a particular evening, when you told her how on more than one occasion, you fucked Nate senseless while thinking about her chewing someone out. Her eyes darkened and she pushed you onto your back, and she made you describe, in detail, what exactly you were thinking about with Nate, while she spread your legs and ate you out on your couch.
Today, you had an easy time at work. And she seems relatively calm. Yet another piece of evidence pointing to the possible unemployment of some poor bastard at Runway.
The vegetables are done and you lift the pan to place it on a cooling rack after shutting the stove off.
"Let's just give it a few minutes."
You turn around and try not to seem surprised. Miranda is sitting on the counter edge of the sink, legs crossed at the knees promptly, half empty glass of wine in her hand, eyes smiling slightly.
You've never seen her do anything like this. Something this--girlish. She's proper and glamorous and she rarely lets you see her in a casual light. This Miranda Priestly, the one who smiles and sits on the counter, is new to you. You like her.
This moment, right now, definitely feels like a thing couples do. You smile. You want to say something. Something nice. But not too nice, because Miranda can go from On to Off within a second. You're afraid you'll stammer, however, so you don't say anything.
"What?" She asks. She's not annoyed. She doesn't sound it anyway. She sips her wine and a brief image rolls through your mind, of Miranda sipping on grape juice from a juice box. Her cheeks are pink and her eyes are slightly glazed--sign of a pleasant buzz. The kind of buzz that makes her compliant.
"Nothing," You answer quickly and close the distance between the two of you. You kiss her before she expects you to say anymore. Her lips are soft and respondent. And her tongue tastes like wine and coffee, far from grape juice, but still, it's delicious.
You slide your hands up her thighs and the cashmere of her skirt is much too much for you. She's sighing against you already and you nudge her knees apart. You hear her set her glass down. It tips over into the sink and the glass cracks silently. You don't care.
Her back arches just barely as you continue to kiss her slowly, nipping at her bottom lip here and there.
She reaches out to touch you but that's not what you're craving tonight. Maybe later. You pull her hands off your waist and place them on the counter instead, molding her fingers to curve over the ledge. She grunts in her dismay, but obeys the silent request anyway.
You smile against her lips, because you know she's probably drunk. It's a good thing, that she's drunk. It means she'll let you do what you want. And right now, what you want, is to take your time.
Your fingers trial upward, off her hands, up her arms. She's wearing a black long sleep blouse. It's low cut in the front and low cut in the back, with visible white stitching down the back, as if to outline her spine. It's been teasing you since she walked through your door.
Your lips move from her lips to her chin, to the side of her jaw, where you leave one tentative open mouthed kiss. You linger there and out the corner of your eye, see goose bumps rise along her neck as she releases a long breath that tickles your cheek and brings on a tingle down your spine that you have to ignore. You have plans tonight.
Your mouth begins to tease her skin, leaving a variation of short and wet kisses along her jaw line and the length of her neck. She squirms where she sits and you wonder how wet she is. She shifts forward and you give in for a second, reaching around to quickly slip your hands under her ass to pull her forward.
You hips grind against her and she hisses, hooking one silk encased leg over your hip to crush you tighter.
She lifts her hands off the counter but you catch her before she touches you and slam her hands back down.
Pulling back just enough, you meet her glare. Now, she's annoyed.
You smirk and tilt your head sideways. You are very amused. Her cheeks are a deep shade of red now, her lips are parted and swollen and she looks as if she's about to berate you.
"Keep. Your hands. To yourself, Miranda," You say calmly.
Her eyebrow goes up, but her breathing becomes slightly ragged and you know she's turned on beyond belief.
Her heel digs into your ass as your hands move off hers and you chuckle before leaning forward to kiss her earlobe, slowly draw it between your lips and using an expert tongue and just enough teeth, you rid of the diamond stud she's wearing.
You do the same to the other and as you glance down briefly, you notice her knuckles whitening as she tightens her grip on the counter.
You make sure to place the earrings far back against the wall, where they won't get lost. One thing you know for a fact about Miranda, is that she loves her jewelry. She treasures every piece and she would never forgive you for losing an earring, no matter how great the orgasm.
Her breathing is heavy now, her chest is heaving when you tongue her pulse point, nipping at the skin playfully as you slide your hands back up her thighs, fingers slipping under the high waisted pencil skirt. You feel around for the linking of her thigh highs to the garter belt. You can't help but moan against her neck when you find the small clip, indulge in another deep kiss, cradling her neck with one hand while the other slips between your bodies and your knuckles brush her crotch. She twitches and thrusts forward, groaning against your mouth before you tear away and shamelessly lick a path down her neck, to her collar bone, where you suck, and bite, soothing the sting with your tongue.
She's writhing against you now and you can feel her, soaked through her panties. Turning your hand over, you press your middle finger against her and she spreads herself up for you, wordlessly begging you to fuck her. And you want to. Badly. But you have to remind yourself that you have plans.
She's told you in the past, when you bask in the rare occasion, where you have enough time to tease her until she's hyperventilating, that she hates how much you enjoy making her squirm, and that sometimes, making her wait can ruin the actual moment where you actually touch her where she wants you to touch her. But you know damn well it's a ploy to get what she wants when she wants it. You also know that she does indeed enjoy the teasing. You know because her body shivers and reaches to find you every single time, and her hips angle out against your hand.
Kind of like they do now.
She grunts when you move your hand out from between her legs to cup one full breast in your palm. You've always loved her breasts. Even before you jumped her, you could stare at them for hours. You would spend every available minute wondering what they felt like.
They're perfect. Not too small, not too big. Just perfect.
You palm the mound firmly and even as you kiss, she moans, attempting to pull away. You know it's killing her to sit still like this. Sensing she is about to complain, you slip your hand inside her shirt through the wide collar and cup her through the black lace of her bra. You squeeze and pinch the quickly hardening nipple and she draws in a sharp breath, tearing her lips from yours, sending your mouth on a hot trail down the other side of her neck, the side you haven't tasted yet tonight.
She smells of Chanel and something else that is entirely just Miranda.
You want to get her to that point again. The point where she's so overwhelmed, she can't help but call you baby, or sweetheart, hell, you'd take honey just as well. You need to hear it. That term of endearment that means you're more than just her little plaything.
Your hand is confined tightly against the fitted blouse. Unacceptable. With one hand on each shoulder, you hook your fingers inwards, under the material before pulling roughly so that her shoulders are revealed. She bites her lip and moans softly.
She's a quiet lover for the most part. You've only really made her scream a couple of times, and you're pretty sure you were both hammered.
You really want to make her do it again.
You want a lot of things, you realize, as you pull the shirt lower, off her breasts and ribcage and you feast on her skin. You want to be half of a "normal" couple--whatever that means--and you want her to be the other half.
You want to double date with Doug and his boyfriend because you know they worship her, but can definitely stand their own against her in a battle of wits.
You're giddy at the thought in effect.
Her ribcage shrinks and expands and her breathing is ragged as you lick lower still.
She's got the edge of the counter in a death grip and you hear a whimper above you as you nip at her side.
"Oh god..." She moans in a whisper as her head falls back. Your eyes follow the arc of her neck, short silver hair falling against her shoulder blades.
"Fuck..." You groan and grab at her shirt, now hunched at her waist, "...off," you manage to say and she seems almost relieved to be able to do something with her hands other than hold on for dear life. The top is gone in two seconds and you watch her reach behind and unclasp her bra.
Her eyes are dark, her lips are parted and there's desperation in her movements as she disposes of the expensive piece of lingerie, along with a hint of dominance that never seizes to amaze you.
Her nipples are taut and taunting you. Without needed request you take one into your mouth.
"Oh god..." She hisses again.
You're wet yourself, and pulsating between your legs. It's almost painful. But you need this before anything. It's almost essential.
You circle the hardened nub with your tongue, rake your teeth over it, lave it again, then do the same to the other one. It's then that you notice Miranda's hand buried in your hair, holding you steady as she suppressed tiny whimpering moans by continuing to bite her lip.
"Andrea--" She pants.
You know what she wants. You know exactly what it is that she's thinking, but you want her to say it.
In spite of her not so gentle leading of your head downward, you steal a bruising kiss and request against her lips, "Tell me," Another kiss, "Tell me what you want me to do."
You've only talked dirty a couple of times. And both times, it's been you doing the talking. She loves it. She won't admit it, but she does. And you've been wondering when you would get the opportunity to get her to do it as well.
She grunts. She doesn't want to do it. You know she's hesitant. Not because she's shy. Miranda is anything but shy when it comes to sex. You've seen first hand just how not shy she is. But she hates asking. She loves telling, though. So you kiss her again, running your tongue across the roof of her mouth before trying once more.
"Tell me what to do," That has a slightly different connotation and she seems to like that.
You lick the swell of her breasts as she replies breathlessly, "Your mouth--I want your mouth."
You shiver and feel another pooling of moisture between your legs. Still, you want more, "Where?" You inquire, pushing at the hem of her skirt until mid thigh is revealed.
You kiss her rib cage and prompt again, "Tell me."
She groans in a mixture of lust and frustration and says commandingly, "Andrea, if you don't eat me in the next two seconds, I will KILL you..."
You grin back at her as you reach up her skirt and tap her hips lightly, once she lifts them, you pull the lace down and off slowly, letting it fall on the floor before gently lifting one ankle after the other, propping them on your shoulders.
Her eyes don't leave yours until they're forced to.
Her hands are back on the counter and you hear her moan as, with just the tip of your tongue, you trace her slit.
She thrusts forward, and you know she will not wait. So you nip at her inner thigh and tell her gently, "Spread your legs for me."
She moves one leg off your shoulder, revealing herself to you and you heart races in anticipation.
She's so wet and the fact that you made her this way, makes you lose your mind almost completely. You, Andy Sachs, have made Miranda Priestly a quivering mess.
You lick her once, twice, coming up briefly to kiss her belly, holding her gaze as you tell her firmly, "I want to hear you."
She nods slightly and her eyes shut as you sink between her legs again. You exhale against the slick folds and she grunts as your breath licks at her.
You spread her with two fingers, dipping your tongue inside her teasingly. You circle her clit, short, quick circles with the tip of your tongue, slow, wide ones. You suck and kiss, never lingering long enough, until the sounds she's making reach your ears in an even, loud tone.
You hum against her as you flatten your tongue on her labia. She cries out and her hips move in cadence with your ministrations, following the painfully slow pace until her moans are louder than you've heard them before.
"oh god...fuck.." She half moans, half grunts, "Fuck me...please..."
Please. You've never heard her say please before. And who are you to object? You plunge two fingers inside, stilling them as your tongue works in over time at her clit. You turn your digits downward, massaging the small bundle there, then back up to curve them against the other spot that makes her legs like jelly.
She screams, and you have to close your eyes to keep from coming right then and there. You moan instead and the vibration against her cunt has her groaning and moaning your name up at the ceiling.
She pulls at your hair with a growl and she kisses you with everything she's got. She whines against your mouth as your fingers pump harder.
Reluctantly, you pull away from her mouth, watching her hooded gaze as you ask in a breath, "Does that feel good?"
A single bead of sweat slips between the valley of her breasts and you lick your lips. She does the same. She's breathing so heavily, it is the only sound in the room for a while.
You still your hand inside her and she gasps, "Don't stop--" It's more of a warning and her eyes widen in as you pull out, then push three fingers inside.
She sits up and clings to you, panting against your ear as her hips move forward to find your hand.
"Fuck..." She curses again, over and over in a low whisper in between grunting and moaning.
"Jesus Christ, Miranda..." You moan yourself. She feels amazing. She's slick and tight around your fingers and milking them as you fuck her harder, "--tell me..."
And then she does, "It feels...so...fucking good..."
You think you might pass out, and you are so glad that you didn't keep the apartment when things ended with Nate, because otherwise you wouldn't have enough room on the counter to climb onto it to push her onto her back on the cold marble top.
Her movements are frantic as she searches for the zipper to your jeans, sighing when she gains entrance. You're already trembling when she touches you and she smiles as she finds this out.
You kiss her and fuck the smirk off her face.
She wraps her legs around your waist and circles your clit, then moves inside, then back out in repetition. She's so close and she wants you right there with her. Not that she has to try very hard.
You slam into her and she grunts against the crook of your neck.
You hear it.
"Baby..."
It's so low, you almost miss it. You pull back and kiss her, hard, as you come and she follows, her hips lifting and pushing against your hand until your both panting and sweaty, and clinging to one another on the counter top.
"Oh my god..." You breathe out, your forehead slick against her shoulder.
"Hmm," She hums agreeably, rubbing slow circles over your back.
You move, because if this continues, you will fall asleep on top of her, and you don't think she would appreciate that very much.
And then, she does something unexpected. She holds your face in her hands, and lifts her head halfway to meet your lips. She smiles up at you, and says, "We'll go public soon."
It isn't a promise. She isn't asking, she isn't reassuring you. It's simply what she wants.
"Okay." You nod and kiss her again. It's going to be a while before you get off the counter, you realize very quickly. You also realize, that it won't be long before you get your very own Miranda pet name.
fin
Title: Undisclosed Desires
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Andy/Miranda
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: All characters, events, settings and situations mentioned in this work are sole property of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for profit, in constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context and are not intended to be defamatory or factual in anyway.
Summary: Andy likes pet names. Set a few months into a fairly new relationship. Smut-tastic.
Author's Notes: This initially began as an original piece. But I started to picture this fandom and it changed fairly quickly. I might still keep it as original work, but for now, these characters can borrow the storyline. For ubiquitousmixie .
**************************
You trick your lovers
That you're wicked and divine
You may be a sinner
But your innocence is mine
*************************
You like pet names.
Not too corny, though. Not cupcake or honey buns. No-no. You draw the line at baked goods. Honey is nice, though. Baby has always been a personal favorite. There's something about being someone's baby. Being someone's anything important enough to apply a title.
Not you've ever cared much for titles. Official ones anyway. Girlfriend, partner, fiancée, lover. It doesn't matter to you. You don't particularly like any of those anyway. But, baby you do like.
Miranda doesn't do pet names. Ever.
Although, you're sure you had heard her direct a few sweet nothings at Stephen. Darling. Sweetheart.
You wonder if you would like being called 'darling' or 'sweetheart'. No one other than your parents has ever called you sweetheart. And darling has been used mostly following a condescending comment or rhetorical question in your life.
You wonder why she hasn't called you any of those.
You literally, have spent countless hours wondering. Picturing her saying them to you. Wondering if she considers you someone worth calling a pet name.
Sometimes she does, though, you have to admit.
Sometimes, she calls you baby. When you're nestled between her legs, usually knuckle deep in Miranda, she writhes and pants and when she says it, it's almost as if she can't help it. As if she's been holding it back for days, and it's a whisper. It's a tiny whisper against your ear.
"Baby..."
It fades into the background and it spurs you on.
The first time she said it, she was on top and you were sitting. She was breathing heavily, the way she does when she's near orgasm, against your neck, her hips were pumping in slow, circular thrusts against your hand. It was a quiet little shiver against your eardrums.
You lost your mind completely and flipped her onto her back. She wrapped her legs around you and you fucked her until she was screaming with her head drooped over the side of the bed, begging you to stop once her body couldn't take it anymore.
She was sweaty and tired after.
You were exhilarated beyond belief.
You have to realize that it's not like you can give yourselves the luxury of being the type of couple that do things together. Like, walk down Central Park with your arms wrapped around one another. Even if you wanted to be. Not when cameras catch Miranda's every move made outside of her own home. It's ridiculous and you hate it. But it's a fact you have to live with because no one made you jump your former boss in the first place.
You definitely did that all on your own. A few hundred times over the past six months.
Your dinners out are usually very formal. And no one ever suspects a thing. Once, you saw a picture of Miranda on Page 6, you in the background. 'Miranda Priestly: Out On the Town With Hot Young Lover'. The hot young lover they were referring to was in fact, a gay fashion photographer that happened to be waiting for the valet to bring his car around at the exact same moment you and Miranda were leaving a restaurant and she had stopped to say hello.
The fact that no one would think you worthy of being Miranda Priestly's 'hot young lover' stung a little bit. But you brushed it off because that was probably more about the press thinking Miranda only dated men. You laugh now, but at the moment, three months into this thing with Miranda, you were hurt and a little pissed at Miranda for not caring.
You're past that now.
You figure, eventually, Miranda will call you darling--or baby--like it's no big deal, and you'll do regular couple things. Like tonight.
Tonight, you feel very much like one half of a couple.
You're making stir-fry and Miranda is standing behind you, leaning comfortably against the sink, glass of wine in her hand as she tells you about her day.
You know a poor designer has had his balls chopped off when she has this particular glint in her eye. It has always amazed you how much glee she finds in torturing poor defenseless souls. But she's good at it. She's good at doing what she does and she will gladly dispose of anyone who stands in her way. It scares you a little bit. It turns you on a lot.
It turns her on knowing that it turns you on.
You recall a particular evening, when you told her how on more than one occasion, you fucked Nate senseless while thinking about her chewing someone out. Her eyes darkened and she pushed you onto your back, and she made you describe, in detail, what exactly you were thinking about with Nate, while she spread your legs and ate you out on your couch.
Today, you had an easy time at work. And she seems relatively calm. Yet another piece of evidence pointing to the possible unemployment of some poor bastard at Runway.
The vegetables are done and you lift the pan to place it on a cooling rack after shutting the stove off.
"Let's just give it a few minutes."
You turn around and try not to seem surprised. Miranda is sitting on the counter edge of the sink, legs crossed at the knees promptly, half empty glass of wine in her hand, eyes smiling slightly.
You've never seen her do anything like this. Something this--girlish. She's proper and glamorous and she rarely lets you see her in a casual light. This Miranda Priestly, the one who smiles and sits on the counter, is new to you. You like her.
This moment, right now, definitely feels like a thing couples do. You smile. You want to say something. Something nice. But not too nice, because Miranda can go from On to Off within a second. You're afraid you'll stammer, however, so you don't say anything.
"What?" She asks. She's not annoyed. She doesn't sound it anyway. She sips her wine and a brief image rolls through your mind, of Miranda sipping on grape juice from a juice box. Her cheeks are pink and her eyes are slightly glazed--sign of a pleasant buzz. The kind of buzz that makes her compliant.
"Nothing," You answer quickly and close the distance between the two of you. You kiss her before she expects you to say anymore. Her lips are soft and respondent. And her tongue tastes like wine and coffee, far from grape juice, but still, it's delicious.
You slide your hands up her thighs and the cashmere of her skirt is much too much for you. She's sighing against you already and you nudge her knees apart. You hear her set her glass down. It tips over into the sink and the glass cracks silently. You don't care.
Her back arches just barely as you continue to kiss her slowly, nipping at her bottom lip here and there.
She reaches out to touch you but that's not what you're craving tonight. Maybe later. You pull her hands off your waist and place them on the counter instead, molding her fingers to curve over the ledge. She grunts in her dismay, but obeys the silent request anyway.
You smile against her lips, because you know she's probably drunk. It's a good thing, that she's drunk. It means she'll let you do what you want. And right now, what you want, is to take your time.
Your fingers trial upward, off her hands, up her arms. She's wearing a black long sleep blouse. It's low cut in the front and low cut in the back, with visible white stitching down the back, as if to outline her spine. It's been teasing you since she walked through your door.
Your lips move from her lips to her chin, to the side of her jaw, where you leave one tentative open mouthed kiss. You linger there and out the corner of your eye, see goose bumps rise along her neck as she releases a long breath that tickles your cheek and brings on a tingle down your spine that you have to ignore. You have plans tonight.
Your mouth begins to tease her skin, leaving a variation of short and wet kisses along her jaw line and the length of her neck. She squirms where she sits and you wonder how wet she is. She shifts forward and you give in for a second, reaching around to quickly slip your hands under her ass to pull her forward.
You hips grind against her and she hisses, hooking one silk encased leg over your hip to crush you tighter.
She lifts her hands off the counter but you catch her before she touches you and slam her hands back down.
Pulling back just enough, you meet her glare. Now, she's annoyed.
You smirk and tilt your head sideways. You are very amused. Her cheeks are a deep shade of red now, her lips are parted and swollen and she looks as if she's about to berate you.
"Keep. Your hands. To yourself, Miranda," You say calmly.
Her eyebrow goes up, but her breathing becomes slightly ragged and you know she's turned on beyond belief.
Her heel digs into your ass as your hands move off hers and you chuckle before leaning forward to kiss her earlobe, slowly draw it between your lips and using an expert tongue and just enough teeth, you rid of the diamond stud she's wearing.
You do the same to the other and as you glance down briefly, you notice her knuckles whitening as she tightens her grip on the counter.
You make sure to place the earrings far back against the wall, where they won't get lost. One thing you know for a fact about Miranda, is that she loves her jewelry. She treasures every piece and she would never forgive you for losing an earring, no matter how great the orgasm.
Her breathing is heavy now, her chest is heaving when you tongue her pulse point, nipping at the skin playfully as you slide your hands back up her thighs, fingers slipping under the high waisted pencil skirt. You feel around for the linking of her thigh highs to the garter belt. You can't help but moan against her neck when you find the small clip, indulge in another deep kiss, cradling her neck with one hand while the other slips between your bodies and your knuckles brush her crotch. She twitches and thrusts forward, groaning against your mouth before you tear away and shamelessly lick a path down her neck, to her collar bone, where you suck, and bite, soothing the sting with your tongue.
She's writhing against you now and you can feel her, soaked through her panties. Turning your hand over, you press your middle finger against her and she spreads herself up for you, wordlessly begging you to fuck her. And you want to. Badly. But you have to remind yourself that you have plans.
She's told you in the past, when you bask in the rare occasion, where you have enough time to tease her until she's hyperventilating, that she hates how much you enjoy making her squirm, and that sometimes, making her wait can ruin the actual moment where you actually touch her where she wants you to touch her. But you know damn well it's a ploy to get what she wants when she wants it. You also know that she does indeed enjoy the teasing. You know because her body shivers and reaches to find you every single time, and her hips angle out against your hand.
Kind of like they do now.
She grunts when you move your hand out from between her legs to cup one full breast in your palm. You've always loved her breasts. Even before you jumped her, you could stare at them for hours. You would spend every available minute wondering what they felt like.
They're perfect. Not too small, not too big. Just perfect.
You palm the mound firmly and even as you kiss, she moans, attempting to pull away. You know it's killing her to sit still like this. Sensing she is about to complain, you slip your hand inside her shirt through the wide collar and cup her through the black lace of her bra. You squeeze and pinch the quickly hardening nipple and she draws in a sharp breath, tearing her lips from yours, sending your mouth on a hot trail down the other side of her neck, the side you haven't tasted yet tonight.
She smells of Chanel and something else that is entirely just Miranda.
You want to get her to that point again. The point where she's so overwhelmed, she can't help but call you baby, or sweetheart, hell, you'd take honey just as well. You need to hear it. That term of endearment that means you're more than just her little plaything.
Your hand is confined tightly against the fitted blouse. Unacceptable. With one hand on each shoulder, you hook your fingers inwards, under the material before pulling roughly so that her shoulders are revealed. She bites her lip and moans softly.
She's a quiet lover for the most part. You've only really made her scream a couple of times, and you're pretty sure you were both hammered.
You really want to make her do it again.
You want a lot of things, you realize, as you pull the shirt lower, off her breasts and ribcage and you feast on her skin. You want to be half of a "normal" couple--whatever that means--and you want her to be the other half.
You want to double date with Doug and his boyfriend because you know they worship her, but can definitely stand their own against her in a battle of wits.
You're giddy at the thought in effect.
Her ribcage shrinks and expands and her breathing is ragged as you lick lower still.
She's got the edge of the counter in a death grip and you hear a whimper above you as you nip at her side.
"Oh god..." She moans in a whisper as her head falls back. Your eyes follow the arc of her neck, short silver hair falling against her shoulder blades.
"Fuck..." You groan and grab at her shirt, now hunched at her waist, "...off," you manage to say and she seems almost relieved to be able to do something with her hands other than hold on for dear life. The top is gone in two seconds and you watch her reach behind and unclasp her bra.
Her eyes are dark, her lips are parted and there's desperation in her movements as she disposes of the expensive piece of lingerie, along with a hint of dominance that never seizes to amaze you.
Her nipples are taut and taunting you. Without needed request you take one into your mouth.
"Oh god..." She hisses again.
You're wet yourself, and pulsating between your legs. It's almost painful. But you need this before anything. It's almost essential.
You circle the hardened nub with your tongue, rake your teeth over it, lave it again, then do the same to the other one. It's then that you notice Miranda's hand buried in your hair, holding you steady as she suppressed tiny whimpering moans by continuing to bite her lip.
"Andrea--" She pants.
You know what she wants. You know exactly what it is that she's thinking, but you want her to say it.
In spite of her not so gentle leading of your head downward, you steal a bruising kiss and request against her lips, "Tell me," Another kiss, "Tell me what you want me to do."
You've only talked dirty a couple of times. And both times, it's been you doing the talking. She loves it. She won't admit it, but she does. And you've been wondering when you would get the opportunity to get her to do it as well.
She grunts. She doesn't want to do it. You know she's hesitant. Not because she's shy. Miranda is anything but shy when it comes to sex. You've seen first hand just how not shy she is. But she hates asking. She loves telling, though. So you kiss her again, running your tongue across the roof of her mouth before trying once more.
"Tell me what to do," That has a slightly different connotation and she seems to like that.
You lick the swell of her breasts as she replies breathlessly, "Your mouth--I want your mouth."
You shiver and feel another pooling of moisture between your legs. Still, you want more, "Where?" You inquire, pushing at the hem of her skirt until mid thigh is revealed.
You kiss her rib cage and prompt again, "Tell me."
She groans in a mixture of lust and frustration and says commandingly, "Andrea, if you don't eat me in the next two seconds, I will KILL you..."
You grin back at her as you reach up her skirt and tap her hips lightly, once she lifts them, you pull the lace down and off slowly, letting it fall on the floor before gently lifting one ankle after the other, propping them on your shoulders.
Her eyes don't leave yours until they're forced to.
Her hands are back on the counter and you hear her moan as, with just the tip of your tongue, you trace her slit.
She thrusts forward, and you know she will not wait. So you nip at her inner thigh and tell her gently, "Spread your legs for me."
She moves one leg off your shoulder, revealing herself to you and you heart races in anticipation.
She's so wet and the fact that you made her this way, makes you lose your mind almost completely. You, Andy Sachs, have made Miranda Priestly a quivering mess.
You lick her once, twice, coming up briefly to kiss her belly, holding her gaze as you tell her firmly, "I want to hear you."
She nods slightly and her eyes shut as you sink between her legs again. You exhale against the slick folds and she grunts as your breath licks at her.
You spread her with two fingers, dipping your tongue inside her teasingly. You circle her clit, short, quick circles with the tip of your tongue, slow, wide ones. You suck and kiss, never lingering long enough, until the sounds she's making reach your ears in an even, loud tone.
You hum against her as you flatten your tongue on her labia. She cries out and her hips move in cadence with your ministrations, following the painfully slow pace until her moans are louder than you've heard them before.
"oh god...fuck.." She half moans, half grunts, "Fuck me...please..."
Please. You've never heard her say please before. And who are you to object? You plunge two fingers inside, stilling them as your tongue works in over time at her clit. You turn your digits downward, massaging the small bundle there, then back up to curve them against the other spot that makes her legs like jelly.
She screams, and you have to close your eyes to keep from coming right then and there. You moan instead and the vibration against her cunt has her groaning and moaning your name up at the ceiling.
She pulls at your hair with a growl and she kisses you with everything she's got. She whines against your mouth as your fingers pump harder.
Reluctantly, you pull away from her mouth, watching her hooded gaze as you ask in a breath, "Does that feel good?"
A single bead of sweat slips between the valley of her breasts and you lick your lips. She does the same. She's breathing so heavily, it is the only sound in the room for a while.
You still your hand inside her and she gasps, "Don't stop--" It's more of a warning and her eyes widen in as you pull out, then push three fingers inside.
She sits up and clings to you, panting against your ear as her hips move forward to find your hand.
"Fuck..." She curses again, over and over in a low whisper in between grunting and moaning.
"Jesus Christ, Miranda..." You moan yourself. She feels amazing. She's slick and tight around your fingers and milking them as you fuck her harder, "--tell me..."
And then she does, "It feels...so...fucking good..."
You think you might pass out, and you are so glad that you didn't keep the apartment when things ended with Nate, because otherwise you wouldn't have enough room on the counter to climb onto it to push her onto her back on the cold marble top.
Her movements are frantic as she searches for the zipper to your jeans, sighing when she gains entrance. You're already trembling when she touches you and she smiles as she finds this out.
You kiss her and fuck the smirk off her face.
She wraps her legs around your waist and circles your clit, then moves inside, then back out in repetition. She's so close and she wants you right there with her. Not that she has to try very hard.
You slam into her and she grunts against the crook of your neck.
You hear it.
"Baby..."
It's so low, you almost miss it. You pull back and kiss her, hard, as you come and she follows, her hips lifting and pushing against your hand until your both panting and sweaty, and clinging to one another on the counter top.
"Oh my god..." You breathe out, your forehead slick against her shoulder.
"Hmm," She hums agreeably, rubbing slow circles over your back.
You move, because if this continues, you will fall asleep on top of her, and you don't think she would appreciate that very much.
And then, she does something unexpected. She holds your face in her hands, and lifts her head halfway to meet your lips. She smiles up at you, and says, "We'll go public soon."
It isn't a promise. She isn't asking, she isn't reassuring you. It's simply what she wants.
"Okay." You nod and kiss her again. It's going to be a while before you get off the counter, you realize very quickly. You also realize, that it won't be long before you get your very own Miranda pet name.
fin