DISCLAIMER: The Devil Wears Prada and its characters belong to Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. No infringement intended.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
When You Whistle
Andy looked across the room, and cursed.
She knew there was a chance she'd be there; something in her memory of the thousand invitations Miranda received told her that it was a possibility. Of course The Priestly Foundation donated a great deal of money to dozens of charities across the city, but Miranda couldn't attend every benefit for every one of them, could she?
Of course, of all the events Andy would receive an invitation to, because of a combination of a tiny donation and her status at the paper, Miranda would have to be in attendance.
Andy resolved not to look in her direction for the rest of the night.
The hair on the back of Miranda's neck rose as soon as she entered the ballroom. That could mean only one thing.
Andrea was present.
A little shiver went down her spine. The night had just become far more interesting.
It only took her three minutes to locate Andrea's seat, three quarters of the way to the back of the room at one of the corporate sponsor tables. Miranda, of course, was near the front due to her "Angel" status. But Miranda did not mind that they wouldn't be eating together.
They would have time. Later. Right now, she would scout out a location for the encounter that Miranda was already looking forward to a great deal. In fact, she counted on it.
Andy enjoyed her dinner immensely, and listened to all the speeches with her complete attention. This was a night that she could feel gladshe gavewhat little she could out of her salary to those in need.
The fact that Miranda was less than a hundred feet away was not going to affect her in the least.
Or that's what she told herself.
If she squirmed a little in her seat, thinking of the mouth that consumed so many of her dreams late at night, she would never have admitted it. If her nipples tightened at the thought of Miranda's clever tongue circling ruthlessly, it was an entirely involuntary reaction. And if there was wetness between her legs at the memory of silver hair trailing along her thighs, she would not, could not, blame herself.
It was all Miranda's fault.
When dinner was over, and the speeches were complete, Miranda decided it was time. Just walking across the room was torture, her clit throbbing at the friction. She longed for those full, delicious, perfect lips to send her through the roof as soon as possible. It would be a challenge, but Miranda was up for it. Naturally.
She spotted Andrea chatting up some wealthy businessman, and fastened her gaze on the nape of her neck. She simply adored running her tongue up that sweet line, all the way up to the over-sensitive spot behind her left ear. Miranda felt faint for a moment. It was now or never.
"Andrea," she purred.
Brown eyes hesitantly turned in her direction. "Ms. Priestly," she said. Cheeky thing. "So nice to see you again."
"And you." Miranda leaned in and brushed her lips against Andrea's cheek, lightly trailing her fingernails down one arm. She heard Andrea's sharp intake of breath, and knew her preparations would be worth it.
Andrea turned dutifully to her companion, and opened her mouth. "Uh, um, this is Miranda Priestly. And this " she said, apparently unable to recall the unfortunate bloke's name.
"George Carleton the third," he said smoothly, holding out one hand.
Miranda took it, giving him the cold fish handshake she reserved for those she was entirely uninterested in. "Charmed."
"Andrea, I really must speak with you about Runway's December issue. Would you excuse us, Mr. Carleton? It's simply too important to wait."
"Of course, of course. Andy, here's my card," George said, handing over an elegant white sheet of undoubtedly expensive stock. "I'd like to see you again. Perhaps we could have a drink next week?"
"I'd love it," Andrea replied, and Miranda dug her nails into Andrea's wrist. "It was wonderful to meet you. I'll give you a call, okay?"
"Terrific. Enjoy your evening, both of you."
And then he was gone. Good riddance.
"He was perfectly nice, Miranda," Andrea spat.
"Entirely wrong for you."
"How would you know?"
Miranda blinked slowly, and caressed Andrea's pulse point with her thumb. "I just do."
"Let go of my arm," Andrea said, and pulled away from Miranda's grasp.
"I'd like to speak with you. In private." Miranda kept her voice firm but light.
Andrea straightened her posture and seemed to shake herself. "No. I'm leaving."
"It will only take a moment of your time." And Miranda slid her hand along the inside of Andrea's forearm, just enough to alight her nerve-endings. When she felt the resultant tremble, she wanted to shout in joy. Gotcha. "This way."
Andy wanted to scream. She wanted to punch someone. She wanted to run from the room.
But Miranda's perfume wove a spell around her, more potent than any drug. The soft touch of deft fingers along her skin dismantled her defenses. And the curve of Miranda's breast, soft and heavy inside the silky confines of her dress was almost too much to bear. Her mouth actuallywatered as Miranda led her behind a heavy curtain. Shielded from the rest of the crowd was a backstage filled with chairs and tables haphazardly arranged, probably thrown there just before the event began. Miranda took no notice of the mess, picking up her pace and barreling toward a door Andy hadn't noticed in the darkness.
In a moment's time, they were alone. The small space appeared to be some sort of a dressing room, complete with an armchair, mirrored makeup counter and, to Andy's unending discontent, a red velvet chaise longue.
She was so totally screwed.
"Goddamn it, Miranda, why do we always do this?"
"Because, darling," Miranda drawled. "It's meant to be."
"Us having sex at various public events? In a car, in an elevator, in a bathroom? Miranda, it's embarrassing."
"This isn't a bathroom. Besides, it's exciting. Don't pretend you don't love it."
"Why can't we like, go out to dinner?"
"And lose the thrill? That's ridiculous. Dinner is so boring."
"What's wrong with boring?" Andy whined.
At that, Miranda's eyebrow tilted in a threatening manner. "Well, if you'd rather not do this, don't let me keep you. You could always convince your new friend George to have intercourse in the missionary position somewhere or another. Perhaps he's more your speed."
The idea of having sex with George made Andy want to puke. Repeatedly. When Miranda stepped away, Andy was bereft at the loss.
So she gave in and hurled herself at Miranda's neck, wrapping her tight in an embrace. To her relief, two hands wrapped around her waist and yanked her even closer. Teeth clamped down on her throat, and Andy sighed in defeat.
It really is too easy, Miranda thought. But god, this girl was a good lay. Better than anyone she'd ever had, and she'd had many.
The thrill was part of it, of course. But it would get old at some point.
She did find herself curious to know more about Andrea. To hear what she thought about beyond which sexual position was her favorite, or if she preferred fucking in an airplane bathroom or an airport bathroom. Andrea was an unusual person. So dedicated to her work, and to the world. So earnest about everything.
And so, so beautiful. Miranda's stomach clenched, even as she held the girl in her arms. It was time to take advantage of that beauty, and put it to good use. Her tongue found its way up the path from throat to ear, and she was rewarded with a tremor that shook Andrea's whole body. She lapped at a tender lobe, and the moan that followed started a flood of moisture between Miranda's legs.
So many choices to make. The counter? The chair? Yes, the chair, first. Miranda locked the dressing room door, and seated herself. "Come along now," she growled, and Andrea obeyed. Her knees trapped Miranda's thighs together when she sat on her lap. The dress would stay on, mostly, but Miranda pulled at one shoulder of it to free an enchanting breast. "Mm," she said, and latched on. Her hands remained active, however, lifting the dark material over muscled thighs.
Did Andrea run to stay fit? It certainly seemed that way.
She did not wear pantyhose, or even stockings. Her pale, pale legs were perfect as they were, and Miranda groaned as she reached beneath the gossamer fabric of her underwear.
"Oh, yes," Andy pleaded when Miranda's fingers pressed against her clit. "Oh!"
She threw her head back, and thrust her hips wantonly.
It was so bad, but it felt so good.
"Christ," Miranda murmured when she slid three fingers inside Andy without preamble.
Andy arched even further. It felt unbelievably hot to be filled like this, filled with Miranda. Especially with that talented mouth sucking at her breast. She tended to use her teeth, and though Andy was embarrassed, she'd grown to love skating the line between pleasure and pain. But only with Miranda at the helm. No one else.
Not that she'd had anyone since this thing with Miranda started.
In fact, she hadn't had sex with anyone since a one night stand with a guy from work, before last Christmas. Fortunately, he'd gotten sacked and moved back to Pennsylvania not long after Valentine's Day. Andy had had a hard time turning him down every other week.
But since Miranda, she'd been hard-pressed to even consider anyone else in her bed.
And she couldn't even explain how their first encounter had happened.
But by god, it was the greatest sex she'd ever had, and to her everlasting shame, it had only gotten better with each successive attempt.
Now Miranda's thumb was circling her clit, the way that made her head sing. She yanked Miranda's hair and thrust down onto her hand, riding it with enthusiasm. And she was muttering the most embarrassing requests in Miranda's ear. Something about sex with her former employer removed the filter between brain and lips.
It was mortifying.
But it drove Miranda absolutely wild.
"Fuck me, harder," she demanded.
She sought out Miranda's mouth, plunging her tongue between her lips in time with the fingers that drove mercilessly between her thighs. As she was about to come, she broke away for breath and grabbed the back of the chair for leverage.
When it happened, she heard Miranda's exclamation of triumph in her ears, far louder than her own squeal of ecstasy.
Andrea's muscles clenched around Miranda's fingers like a vise, and it was as though Miranda could vicariously experience her pleasure. The unguarded expression of bliss made Miranda wish she could preserve the moment for eternity in her memory.
She wanted Andrea to feel this way always. And Miranda wanted to be the one who made it happen.
That was something to ponder, she thought. But not right now.
Right now, she wanted to get off.
She gave Andrea a few moments to recover. It did not take long for those brown eyes to open and fasten on Miranda's. "How do you want it?"
"Lady's choice," Miranda said.
Andrea blinked lazily. "The chaise. Pull up your dress."
Miranda nearly came at the mere suggestion. Andrea stood unsteadily, but soon found her footing. Miranda followed her request and stretched out against the soft material of the lounge. Her head felt heavy. She inched her gown up and over her bent knees, parting them as Andrea lay down between her legs.
"Oh, Miranda, you are a dirty, dirty girl," Andrea said before making contact.
Miranda had disposed of a very expensive pair of panties in the ballroom bathroom only an hour before. She would not miss them. Especially with Andrea's tongue so delicately exploring her tender flesh.
"God, don't tease," she complained.
Andrea grabbed her ass, and proceeded to eat her out with great thoroughness. If Miranda had the inclination, she would have been humiliated at the short amount of time it would take her to reach orgasm. But the object of this encounter was pleasure, and Andrea was extremely adept at providing such. So when Miranda felt the first flutters of her orgasm take hold, she stilled and allowed Andrea's tongue to draw things out magnificently.
"Heavens," she exhaled when it was over, collapsing against the sofa.
Andrea spared not a moment to scramble up against Miranda, straddling one stockinged thigh, which she proceeded to rub against feverishly. Miranda drew her close, kissing her, encouraging her rather vulgar display with delight. She felt Andrea gasp, breath held for one shining moment as she came a second time in the space of five minutes.
The girl had stamina. Miranda was impressed.
"You turn me on, goddamn it," Andrea muttered, as though unaware of her words.
Oddly touched, Miranda pressed her lips to Andrea's sternum. Her mouth felt burned by the heat.
"Sorry about your stockings," Andy said guiltily. They were probably worth more than Andy made in three days' time.
"Don't be silly. They were sacrificed for a good cause."
Andy always felt weird at this point; they'd done the deed once or twice, and occasionally three times, like in the car that first night. What now?
"So, I should get back." Andy's mouth twisted.
Miranda inhaled, and gazed up with a look that stungAndy's heart. Could it be affection? Might she ever be more than just a quick fuck in the back of an auditorium?
"If you insist."
"Would you prefer something else?"
Blue eyes watched her with not a little suspicion. "Would such an arrangement be amenable to you?"
Andy glanced up at the ceiling in thought. She could deal with seeing Miranda more often than every few weeks. It might be nice, in fact. She took the leap. "Yeah."
Miranda's mouth opened in what may have been surprise. "Well."
Andy didn't allow herself to feel disappointed by Miranda's hesitation. This whole thing was bizarre, so she couldn't ask for too much. "You can think about it."
"I have time on Wednesday, for a late lunch. If you're free."
Andy touched Miranda's lower lip. "Lunch? With actual food?"
Miranda's tongue snaked out to taste Andy's finger. "I won't have time for other indulgences."
"Real conversation, then."
"I'll call you."
"You will?" Andy asked. "Not Emily?"
Miranda sighed. "I will."
Andy felt lighter then. Practically buoyant. "That sounds nice."
"I'll, uh, leave first. In case anyone's out there. Or whatever."
Andy stood and fixed her dress in the mirror before trying to tame her hair into submission. Miranda tended to muss it. Behind her, Miranda did the same, and went to apply a fresh coat of lipstick. Before she could do so, Andy held her hand still, and kissed her.
It was tender this time. Not about sex. It was about the promise of something else. Something more.
She slid a hand along Miranda's hip. "Bye."
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