It’s a late Wednesday night. Once again, I come home to no one. The twins are with their father until next week.
My skin is hot even when I take off my overcoat. The east coast winter is relentless, and yet I can’t seem to cool off even for one second. I shiver from head to toe.
It hasn’t been a good day. In fact, ever since Andrea came into my life, all days have been awful.
The truth is my heart was hers ever since she walked into my office. Even if I try to disguise it as something else, I can’t essentially lie to myself about what is happening, neither can I conceal it anymore. She’s already noticed it.
Actually, she’s made a point out of testing the extent of my affections by showing up to work with increasingly low-cut blouses and skin tight trousers. And I have had no other choice offered to me other than to be rendered speechless.
God knows I’ve tried to keep her away. I’ve given several quasi impossible errands to run so I didn’t have to be inquired by the severity and ardency of her eyes. I’ve asked Nigel to keep her busy with the most imbecile editing tasks. Everything I did was worthless, because one look of hers is enough to turn me into a mad woman.
I can’t recognize myself anymore. She’s the sole subject on my mind at all times.
Everyday I come home aching with this unfulfillable longing that only she can soothe. I go upstairs and barely take the rest of my clothes off before I lay down on my bed and my hands slip past my underwear to press against my clit. I’m wet, I’m always so wet all the time when she’s around, and it drives me insane, because this isn’t normal. It’s not normal for me to fantasize about biting Andrea’s nipples until I draw blood during a meeting with the Execs at Calvin Klein. It’s not normal for me to have to excuse myself in the middle of a workday to rub myself raw in my private bathroom. It’s not normal for me to cry every time I come because I know I’m ruining my life with this crazy desire.
And, crazed, three of my fingers drift lower and slide inside me with no trouble at all, and I sob at the feeling. It’s unbearably delicious, and incredibly bittersweet. Andrea’s never going to fill me up with her fingers, her fist, her cock, her tongue, her words, her love.
I turn on my stomach and slide another finger in. The rubbing of my lips against my hand in this position is almost too good. There’s no way I can last like this.
As predicted, I couldn’t last, and I come with her name on my lips and tears in my eyes. But I don’t take my fingers out. No, it only makes things worse. I can’t deal with the lack of proximity, I can’t deal with the deep hollowness that remains after I try to put out the fire set by Andrea.
So I keep rutting against my hand, imagining how well she would fuck me, how good she must be with her hands, how delighted I’d be if I could be stretched out by whatever she’d want me to take.
At this point, I’m gasping against the pillow, riding my soaked hand, babbling and dripping on the covers until I shout her name once more, my toes curling and back arching, so amazing it makes my cry harder.
I still can’t bring myself to stop. I turn over on my back again, my fingers never leaving my cunt. My free hand rubbing, pinching and pulling my clit until it hurts, until I’m bursting at the seams and I’m sure that this will be the end of me, and God will spare no mercy for me, and, knocking the air right out of my lungs, I can’t help but let it all go, soaking my thighs and my duvet and every surface around me.
At last, I pull my fingers out of me, pruned and cramping. As I try to get my breath back, the tears can’t seem to stop flowing, and I cry myself to sleep yet another night, dreaming about the end of this torture that is loving Andrea.
Someone knocks at the door of my office.
I’ve stayed after hours at Runway for weeks now, seeing it’s the only time I can actually get things done without... distractions. No one else but Emily and Lauren from Finance stay this late, and I saw both of them leaving earlier.
“Yes?”, I answer, slightly annoyed.
A hand with deep red nails pushes the door open and I recognize them immediately. They have been on my mind since this morning, when they placed my coffee on my table so tenderly, and left me wondering how tenderly they could bruise me.
Andrea walks in and my blood turns to ice instantly.
My heart thrums in my chest.
“Yes?”, I repeat, praying she doesn’t notice the quiver in my voice.
She keeps staring at me by the door. I can’t read her expression for the life of me.
“What’s going on, Miranda?”, she crosses her arms, as if demanding to be answered, and locks the door.
“What do you mean, ‘what’s going on’? You’re the one who knocked on the door, for God’s sake!” I desperately try to feign my uneasiness with anger.
“By ‘what’s going on’ I mean ‘why are you trying so hard to pretend not to see what’s obviously happening?’.”
I’m completely baffled by her audacity and take an embarrassingly long time to gather my words and elaborate a response.
“I- I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re talking about. Now please, if you’re once again looking to waste my time-,” and in a swift motion, she’s right in front of me, her hands on the table, not caring if she’s tousling the papers I was working on. She hasn’t said more than two sentences and I’m already too weak to do anything than look into her demanding brown eyes.
“Miranda, you and I are no longer children. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Or haven’t you noticed me? Everyone else certainly has. Greg from Editing has been specially kind to me the last few days and I know that doesn’t come from the benevolence of his heart. Even Emily called me out on it. She said, ‘as far as I know, you’ll show up naked by Friday, and I would not like to be here to see it, thank you very much!’”
She walked around the table and leaned on it by my chair. “What about you, Miranda? Would you wanna see it?”
She’s rendered me totally and utterly speechless. I can’t talk, I can barely breathe sitting so close to her.
Then, she unbuttoned the first button of her silk blouse. The crimson color matched her nail polish. God, please, I can’t think of her fingers, not right now...
“I’m all grown up, Miranda. I can show you what I know you want to see,” she kept undoing each button as if she had all the time in the world, just like that, as if she wasn’t crossing every single professional boundary, realizing every single one of my fantasies and digging my grave, “Just say the word.”
I follow her fingers until the fabric parts enough to allow me to look at what’s beneath it, when I’m completely incredulous to find see-through black lace and impossibly tight nipples and my eyes can’t drift themselves anywhere else.
My hands are shaking and my breathing’s uneven. My face burns with shame and I can feel myself coating my thighs with how much I wish I could have her.
She finishes her ministrations, her blouse open for my mouth to water over the soft swell of her breasts, and she reaches for her skirt’s zipper-
“Please, don’t do this to me,” I manage to blurt out, in the most undignified manner, and I hate myself for it immediately.
“Do what, Miranda?,” her blouse slides down her arms and back and now lays on top of the mess she made of my papers, “I would never do anything you didn’t want me to do. Tell me what I’m doing and I’ll stop. I swear,” she’s shamelessly staring at my lips and down the neckline of my dress.
“I can’t do this. Don’t make me, please don’t make me-,” she grabs my hand and lays it on her thigh and I actually whimper. “Just give in. Don’t fight it,” she turns the chair towards her and gets on her knees oh so gracefully.
“It’s written all over your face... it has been, for weeks now. And every time you looked at me like you’re looking at me right now,” she slides her hands down my thighs, until she reaches my knees, “Like you shouldn’t want me, but you do, and it kills you from the inside out,” her hands slip under my dress to rub my inner thighs, “I want you too. So much. Please don’t deny me.”
Before I even process what she’s told me, I reach down and kiss her, I can’t think twice about it, not when she’s right here, pleading me with the sweetest voice I’ve ever heard, so willing and so ready to make my every dream come true. So I grab her hair, and she moans obscenely and sinks her red, red nails on my thighs, spreading them apart. I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe she’s real.
Soon enough my dress is hiked up to my waist while her tongue is sliding against mine, her fingers brushing against the damp fabric of my underwear, and I gasp, breaking the kiss, because this shouldn’t be happening, but my flesh is weak. “Don’t, don’t, don’t,” I repeat, in my frailest voice, when she hooks her fingers on the waistband, my hands tightly holding onto the arms of the chair.
She smiles at me so softly that my eyes sting with impending tears of embarrassment.
“But I can make you feel so good,” she pouts and slides the fabric down my legs. When she removes it, she wastes no time in teasing me with light and inflammatory touches at the apex of my thighs. My shaky legs involuntarily part even further for her.
“How does this feel?” She asks, applying pressure on my clit, completely unnecessarily, as she has the answer to her question dripping on her fingertips.
“God!” I manage to squeak, partly in response but mostly in prayer, please give me the strength to push her away...
She smirks mischievously. “You’re so wet. Look at you. You’re divine,” she barely dips her finger inside, and spreads me all over myself. “Have you been wet ever since I clocked in today?”
I’m at a loss for words until she slides two fingers inside me, forcing a shout out of me, “Yes!”
She starts thrusting the two fingers in and out, in and out in a tortuous pace, and I’m holding onto the arms of this chair as if I’ll dissolve into thin air if I let go. Her eyes never leave my face for one minute. She reaches up with her free hand, touches my cheekbone for a second, then swipes her thumb on my lips, and I part them for her, sucking the digit in eagerly.
At this moment, I lose all my shyness. I let out an obscene moan and my hands find Andrea’s shoulders. That seems to have taken her by surprise, since she whines trembles against me. It drove her so wild that she removed her thumb from my lips with a pop and fucked me in earnest, now three of her fingers stroking me and her free hand violently squeezing my thigh, the thought of seeing her marks on me tomorrow making me impossibly wetter.
“Is it good, Miranda? Do I fuck you good?”
“So good! So good, so good...”, I chant, and as if this sweetest of tortures wasn’t overwhelming enough, Andrea places my legs over her shoulders and leans down to kiss me-
She wraps her lips around my clit and it’s over for me. The intensity of my climax takes me by surprise - My hands are glued to her and I don’t have the reflex to muffle, even slightly, the guttural shout that feels like it’s been ripped out of me, and it seems like it goes on forever.
“Oh- God! Oh! Oh! No! I- Ah! Please! I- can’t!”, I gush on her hand, my body once again out of my control and once again I am reduced to babbling and muttering half-words, while I pant and shake and cling onto Andrea for what seems like hours.
Without realizing it, in my blissed out state, Andrea changes our previous positions into an embrace, her arms wrapped tightly around my waist soothing me. With my eyes closed, my hands lazily find her hair and I bury my nose in it.
I can’t think of anything else except the pure preciosity of having Andrea all over me. Her body, her smell, her fingerprints... Every worry I had about getting into this has vanished, even if just for a little bit.
She breaks the silence, whispering in my ear:
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?,” she chuckles, running her hands up and down my back. “Now that we’ve properly broken the ice, will you stop pretending we’re not crazy about each other and go on a date with me?”
And... well. To hell with it.
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