I can't walk.
I can't even move. My limbs feel like spaghetti.
I will never look at Manolo Blahnik shoes the same way again.
Oh Dear God, thank You for making me female, and thank You for making Miranda a perfectionist.
The first time I ever had sex, the boy I was with got so nervous it took two or three tries before he managed to last longer than five minutes. It hurt. It was messy and sticky, and we were both royally embarrassed.
With Nate, it was sweet, tender, and eventually comfortable.
With Christian, it was hot and fast, and it tasted like alcohol. It also felt awful the next day.
With Miranda it was…God…is mind-bending too much of a cliché?
I thought it might be awkward, especially for her, but it wasn't. I told her to surprise me and she did. I ought to have known that when you're used to being in charge, that quality tends to bleed over into other areas of life.
I have to get off this table. Somehow.
"Andrea, you're going to have to move. I need to put the vases back. Deliciously tempting as you are, I do need to be at the office today."
"Can't" I mumbled, my nose still pressed against the marble.
Stiletto heels clicked across the floor. Long nails trailed down my sides. I moaned. Then she tickled my ribs.
I jumped off the table, only sit right down as my legs gave way. Miranda helped me up with that eyebrow arched. That one little gesture was enough to send me over the edge.
"Tell them you're going to be late" I ordered as I pinned her against the counter.
"I'd love…mmm…love to" she gasped. "But the spring issue calls."
I cursed Runway. The only springs calling me were the springs in Miranda's mattress.
I bit her neck, causing her to drop her handbag and send a shower of change over the kitchen floor. I wasn't about to let her get away. Not after she'd literally had me for breakfast.
"It's rude to eat and run" I whispered into her ear.
"Oh God, you're going to kill me!"
One extra-nice thing about the way Miranda dresses is that she hates pantyhose. There's nothing like traditional stockings for easy access. She ended up calling in late. I ended up on my knees.
I did make it to work by ten. Theo took one look at me and said, "Ms. Sachs, go home."
"Are you firing me?!"
Theo smiled. The first real smile I'd ever seen on him. "I am noticing that your cheeks are flushed and your eyes are glassy. I am noticing you walking like you've had one too many vodka martinis. In short, I am noticing that you have a cold, and must be allowed to go to bed for the rest of the day. I'll see you tomorrow. Try to work in some recovery time."
That's it. The world has officially gone mad. I just got fucked senseless by Miranda Priestly, I just got the day off and a thinly-veiled suggestion that I go back to being fucked senseless by Miranda Priestley, and Theo Marsden, the bitch of all bitches, just winked at me.
I think I'll take his advice. Bed sounds very good.