Shut Up And Kiss Me

A MirAndy fan fiction

By Gun Brooke

Andy flinched at the all-to-familiar signal of a text message to her work cell phone. What could anyone at Runway possibly want at this hour of a Thursday evening? Wrapping the towel around her, she muttered as she fished her cell out of her purse. She glanced at the screen and nearly dropped it. Miranda! She had just left her demanding boss' townhouse after delivering the Book and Miranda's dry-cleaning. What could she want? Dreading it to be something time consuming that would keep her up half the night, Andy pressed the symbol for Miranda's text messages, a red mini Prada stiletto.

Why on earth would you sneak in and out of the house like a thief? I was waiting to talk to you.


Andy blinked and reread the message. Thief? What? She had tried to be considerate and not disturb anyone. That was what she was expected—and paid, if not very well—to do. Why would Miranda accuse her or sneaking? Tugging at the towel that was slipping, Andy sat down on her tattered couch and typed a response.

I wasn't sneaking anywhere. I was doing my job. What else can I do for you tonight, Miranda?


Andy wondered if Miranda would notice the sarcasm. She doubted Miranda would even reply as one of the editor-in-chief's quirks was to never explain herself—to anyone. To Andy's surprise, her phone beeped again, startling her.

I wanted to talk to you about Paris. We have left it far too long.


Staring at the screen of her IPhone, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest. Was Miranda expecting her to respond to this text? What the hell should she write? Curling up on the couch, shivering in her damp towel, Andy sighed and rubbed her temple. Hesitating, she typed, having to do over twice since her fingers trembled enough to scramble the letters.

I thought we put that behind us. As far as I'm concerned anyway. Don't worry about it, Miranda.


This time, Andy didn't have time to worry about if she'd texted the right thing or not. Her cell phone rang, making her drop it. Of course. Miranda.

"Hello, Miranda." Andy knew she sounded breathless, but who could blame her. She usually lost her breath around Miranda at one point or another. The fact that she was sitting naked in a towel while on the phone with her boss didn't exactly help.

"Andrea, what do you mean by 'put it behind us?' I don't remember doing any such thing."

"But I…I mean, we've worked well together at the office, haven't we?" Andy clutched at the towel.

"You can barely look at me when I talk to you. You scurry out of my office like a scared rabbit and you…you don't smile."

Don't smile? Andy's mouth fell open. What was Miranda talking about? And what was that about not looking at Miranda? She looked at her boss all the time. All the chances she got, she perused her high fashion boss, devoured her elegant curves, her slender hands, and beautiful face. How could Miranda say—

"Andrea. Are you still there?"

"Yes. Yes. I'm sorry. I was trying to figure out why you'd think I—why you'd think we needed to talk about P-Paris. I know we argued. I ticked you off, I get that. I thought…I mean, why would it matter to you?"

"It matters when it gets in the way of our working relationship."

Andy just heard the word relationship. "Do you have any specific complaints? I would be happy to rectify any shortcomings on my part." She knew she sounded stiff and standoffish, but couldn't stop herself.

"You are so infuriating sometimes!" Miranda didn't raise her voice; she never did. Instead she hissed them out in a way that was much 'louder' than if she'd yelled in Andy's ear. "It's the little things."

Certain now that she was in some sort of twilight zone, Andy curled up against the backrest and shuddered at the cold feeling of the towel.

"Why are your teeth clattering? Does your dwelling not have heat?"

"Of course it does, Miranda," Andy said, tired to the bone all of a sudden. "I'm just a bit cold after my shower and the towel is damp—" She stopped herself at the muted gasp at the other end.

"Well then. I won't keep you." Miranda hung up.

Andy sat dazed for a few moment before the tremors became full-blown shaking. She stood and walked into her bedroom. Soft, if ugly and washed until threadbare, flannels made her feel a little warmer. She crept into bed, bringing her cell with her just in case Miranda called or texted again. Andy didn't think she would, but better not take any chances.

She couldn't fall asleep. Pulling her legs up to get warm, she wrapped her arms tightly around them. What if Miranda was waiting for her to reach out again? No. Why would she? Miranda had hung up, like she always did, without saying goodbye. Why should Andy reach out?

"Because of the way she sounded," Andy muttered. God, she was always gutted by the way Miranda said 'well, then.' She sighed, knowing she most likely would end up regretting this, but she couldn't get the thought out of her head that Miranda had sounded…off.

I do look. All the time.


She sent it before she chickened out. Then, rereading it, Andy groaned. That hadn't exactly came out the way she intended. Groaning, Andy pulled the covers over her head. Miranda would kill her—or worse, fire her—the first thing she did tomorrow.

Her cell pinged again. She was afraid to check it. Opening her eyes one at a time, she cautiously pressed the blinking little Prada stiletto.

Do you now? Then that begs the question, do you like what you see?


Andy sat up so fast in bed, she nearly toppled onto the floor. What the hell? What kind of question was that? Had Miranda caught her ogling her perfect butt, or stealing a glance at what was visible of her tempting breasts? This was, after all, Andy's best kept secret. She kept her distance from Miranda since Paris, in every way but the one that mattered. In her heart, she held Miranda closer than anybody else, and had resigned to the fact that this was going to remain her secret. Miranda was not for her, she knew that. She wasn't insane or a complete megalomaniac. Women like Miranda was for pedestals, for girls like Andy to admire her from afar, or below. And, oh shit, now she was waiting for a response. Damn. Gasping for breath now, and whimpering at the onset of nerves, Andy typed a new text.

Yes. I do. And yes. I do.


"Oh." Andy was suddenly way too hot for old flannels. She pushed the pants off and unbuttoned the top two buttons of her jacket. She jumped out of bed and turned off the lights in the apartment, only leaving the bathroom light on, a habit from when she was little. She placed the cell next to her pillow, curling her hand around it loosely. It pinged and she moaned out loud. "I don't want to do this. What the hell is she up to?"

As do I.

Good night, Andrea. Go to sleep.


This wasn't happening. This was so not happening. But it was, and tomorrow she was going to have to face her boss.


When Andy came in to the office the next day, dreading this Friday more than any other day she'd worked for Miranda, her boss was already in her office. She was not ready to enter with the coffee, really, she just wanted to wave her cell like a magic wand and let the coffee levitate and swoosh in on its own. Sighing at her own silly mind, Andy took a fortifying sip from her own mug and place it on her desk.

"Is there any reason that you're stalling out there, Andrea?" Miranda's voice made her jump

"No. No, of course not." Andrea cursed herself and hurried in with the hot beverage. She placed it on the desk and forced herself to meet Miranda's gaze. Normally, Miranda would absent-mindedly accept her coffee and not even acknowledge it, but now she tilted her head and let her eyes roam along Andrea's entire body.

"Thank you." Miranda smiled and Andrea wondered how a smile could look angelic and yet be so thoroughly predatory at the same time.

"Uhm. You're welcome." Andrea fidgeted, eager to get back to her desk, away from the scrutinizing, all-seeing, blue eyes.

"Reschedule the meeting with Demarchelier until next week. I have a working lunch with a new advertiser and I want you there to take notes. Afterward we'll work from home the rest of the day."

We? Andrea coughed to cover up her reaction. "We?"

"Your hearing deteriorating, Andrea?" Miranda's eyes narrowed.

"Take notes. Work from townhouse. Got it." Andrea tried for a smile, but feared it looked rather wobbly.

Strangely, unfathomably, this seemed to mollify Miranda who relented. "That's all," she said, her voice soft.

Andrea hurried back to hear desk, forcing herself to not press a hand to her chest where her heart pounded so hard. What the hell was going on with Miranda? After the impossible texting of last night, now she wanted to be alone with Andy at the townhouse. Swallowing at the dryness in her throat, she sat down with a thud as her legs gave in.


The town car clearly had a malfunctioning air conditioning system. Andy pressed her back into the seat, focusing on the notes she was taking for Miranda. The lunch had gone by in a blur and Andy wasn't sure if she'd actually eaten anything. She'd been completely focused on sitting next to Miranda, the other woman's elbow occasionally nudging her. At one point, Miranda leaned into her, asking her to pass the salt, which made Andy inhale too deeply, overdose on Miranda's perfume and consequently forgot her own name for several moments. When the torture finally was over, Andy was relieved to stand and bid the three gentlemen they'd lunched with goodbye. Her legs had been clenched in helpless arousal for the entire duration of the lunch, and uncertain if she'd be able to navigate on her four inch heels, Andy had stalled by allowing the others to go ahead of her. This didn't work, of course, as Miranda with unprecedented patience waited by her side, then decided to guide Andy through the busy restaurant with a hand at the small of her back.

Miranda kept listing her ideas and impressions. Andy's hand ached and she snorted to herself at the thought of a potential worker's comp suit. That was never going to happen, but she cursed the fact that stenography had never been on her curriculum. How could a person be expected to keep up the same pace as a human machinegun?

"Ah, we're home. Roy, we won't need you anymore tonight." Miranda stepped out of the car without looking at Andy. "Don't dawdle, Andrea."

Cursing inwardly, Andy left the car, pad and pen still in her hand. She hurried after Miranda up the stairs, trying not to blatantly ogle the perfect curve of the back of her neck, or how Miranda's jacket followed the curve of her spine flawlessly. Oh yeah, she was so screwed. They were going to be alone, and thank God, at least they wouldn't be texting. There was no chance that Miranda would keep up a double-entendre game face to face. Was there?

Miranda was already hanging her coat in the foyer closet when Andy stumbled through the door.

"Set the alarm." Miranda made an impatient gesture with her hand at Andy, clearly wanting her coat.

Andy pushed the trench coat off her shoulders and down her arms, her skin erupting in goose bumps. Knowing her eyes would give her away, she let her hair shield her as she turned to the alarm console. Punching in the code, she heard the door lock. Swallowing hard, a lump consisting solely of emotions stuck in her throat, Andy followed Miranda to the den.

"Thirsty?" Miranda asked and motioned toward a small fridge in the far corner. "Help yourself."

"C-can I get you anything?"

"Water. Please."

What the hell did she mean by saying please in that slow purr? Andy whimpered before she had a chance to harness her vocal chords. This was not going well. Not well at all. She grabbed two bottles of Pellegrino and handed one to Miranda.

Miranda took it, and somehow her fingertips slid slowly against the back of Andy's fingers. "You seem…on edge? Something wrong, Andrea?"

"No, not at all." Andrea was just about to give herself a mental pat on the shoulder from sounding so together when Miranda placed a gentle hand under her chin and tipped her head back.

"You certain? You seem flustered."

"I—just…a little warm."

"Oh, by all means, remove your shirt. After all, it's just us here." Fire played at the center of Miranda's blue eyes.

Oh, no, she didn't. She didn't just suggest that Andy work just dressed in a flimsy bra? This situation was getting totally out of control and if Miranda meant to drive her toward the deep end, she was succeeding. Andy tried for a non-committal smile and declined politely. "I'm fine. Really."

"If you say so." Miranda grabbed her briefcase and walked over to the couch. She sat down and then looked quizzically at Andy. "What on earth is the matter, Andrea? You look like I'm finally showing my horns and heart shape tipped tail."

"T-tail. What?" Were they going to sit on the couch together and work? Usually Miranda took the desk and Andrea worked from the couch, but now Miranda was kicking off the Prada heels and pulled her stocking clad legs up under her. This made her skirt ride up, showing just a fraction of the top lace part of the sheer stockings. If she sat down, the angle would probably show even more.

"Andrea. Sit down." Miranda pointed with the backend of her fountain pen.

Dreading what the close proximity would do to her sanity, Andy sat down, her eyes locked on the pad on her lap.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Miranda said, sighing. "Would you just relax?"

"Easy for you to say," Andy muttered under her breath.

"What?" Miranda's head snapped up.

Fuck. Andy really hadn't thought she really said it. "Uhm. I mean. You're always comfortable around other people. In charge and everything. I…I'm not used to…this." She waved her hand between them. "Usually you value your personal space and this couch is lovely, but…it's not, I mean, we're pretty cramped here." She wanted to hide her face in her hands, but knew this would only make everything worse.

"Why do my being close make you nervous?" Miranda tapped her lips with the back of her pen. "Worried I'll…bite?"

"Eh. Ha-ha. No. Of course not." Or perhaps Miranda would bite. Take a big chunk out of Andy Sachs's throat and make sure her, no doubt, most annoying assistant didn't annoy anyone ever again.

"Perhaps it's smart of you to be nervous." Miranda smirked. "I'm known for having things my way."

"And…what way would that be? What can I do for you?" Feeling brave, Andy forewent caution and simply asked.

Oddly, this seemed to please Miranda who relaxed back against the armrest. She squirmed in her seat, obviously getting comfortable, and put her reading glasses on. Glancing at Andy over the frames, she raised a questioning eyebrow. "Well then?"

She was so, so screwed. Andy sat down, realizing that the only way she'd be able to distance herself physically on the loveseat was if she pulled her legs up the same way, thus leaning against the armrest. She moved stealthily as Miranda finally focused on the folder on her lap. Nudging off her pumps, she slowly folded her legs underneath her, tugging at her skirt that was shorter than Miranda's to begin with.

They worked in silence for over an hour and then Miranda removed her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Coffee?" Andrea asked, immediately ready.

"Yes." Miranda rolled her shoulders and grimaced. "I wish I hadn't put off my weekly massage. There just wasn't time this morning."

"I can…I mean, oh, if you need, I…I'm pretty good at massaging." Andy's cheeks warmed and she regretted opening her mouth when Miranda tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at her. Why couldn't she just have rushed to the kitchen to make coffee like was her first reaction?

"What are your credentials?" Miranda looked haughty.

"Apart from not having killed my mother yet? None."

Miranda snorted, an elegant sound of course, coming from her. "It's my trapezius muscles. I don't have to tell you what working at a desk does to your back and shoulders, do I?"

"No. I'm on my feet a lot more than you, but I still feel it."

Miranda looked uncharacteristically indecisive. "How do you suggest we do this?"

"Just sit with your back toward me." Glancing at Miranda's blouse, she frowned. "You might have to remove that. I don't think silk is too forgiving when it comes to being rubbed at." She refused, refused to blush.

"Very well." Miranda turned and tugged the blouse free from her waistline and unbuttoned it. Removing it, she revealed a thin La Perla bra and amazing, creamy white skin.

"All right if I use the lotion in my bag? It's Clinique." Andy wiped her suddenly damp hands on her skirt.


Spreading the lotion on her hands, warming it, Andy hesitated again. "Uhm. The bra straps?"

"Oh. Right." Miranda pushed them down. The back of her neck turned the loveliest shade of pink, and it turned out to be that sign of vulnerability that made Andy relax and steady her hands. She knelt behind Miranda, grateful for her wide skirt.

Andy began by spreading the lotion over Miranda's skin. Never had she touched such soft, silky skin on another adult. "Tell me if you need more or less pressure, all right?"


Andy felt her eyes grow huge. Did Miranda just stutter? That was impossible. Unheard of. Andy began her massage, kneaded the rock-hard muscles under the perfect skin before her. Soon she got into a rhythm, added lotion little by little to keep the friction to a minimum. She noticed that Miranda relaxed more and more and eventually was leaning against Andy to where she had to keep her steady with one hand and massage with the other. When Miranda's head lulled back and ended up on Andy's shoulder, all air left her lungs. "Miranda?"

No answer. Miranda instead turned her head and seemed to settle in for a nap or something. Was she even aware of Andy's presence anymore? She tried to shift away from Miranda, but that's when she understood that her boss wasn't asleep at all, merely relaxed.

"Don't move," Miranda ordered, her voice husky. "Just…just sit still, unless you're uncomfortable.

Was she kidding? Not even if both legs had locked up in cramps had Andy moved an inch when Miranda was virtually snuggling. Part of Andy's arousal turned into tenderness, which made her choke up. Miranda's hair tickled her skin above her neckline, and the scent, Miranda's perfumed, combined with the lotion, was heady when it flooded her senses. Not about to let this moment pass, Andy carefully wrapped her arms around Miranda and held her close.

She had no idea how long Miranda sat curled into her, but eventually she pushed Andy's arms away and put her blouse back on. "Thank you. I suppose I needed that." Miranda looked questioningly at Andy. "I hope I didn't crush you."

"Not at all. It was…nice."

Miranda blinked. "Nice? Y-yes. Yes it was. Now, let's go back to work. I have a function tonight, I need to be done with this in less than an hour."

But didn't she just tell Roy she didn't need him more tonight? Andy frowned. Of course. Miranda had a date for whatever function. Go figure. Why wouldn't she_ After the separation, no doubt the eligible bachelors in New York and then some, all lined up to take her anywhere she wanted to go.

Andy kept a polite smile going throughout the rest of their work session. She could tell Miranda was curious, mystified even, but the arousal and tenderness had drained from her, leaving only cold emptiness and all she wanted was to go home and take a long, hot bath.


Flannels, ice cream, a crime show marathon. What else could a girl ask for a Friday evening. Andy looked sadly into the empty carton. Well, it had been a small carton at least. Hagen-Dasz was expensive after all.

Her cell phone beeped, the Runway signal. Andy dropped the empty carton as she scrambled for the phone. Glancing at the time, she gasped. Almost midnight. What the hell?

I wish you were here.

I need another massage after being persuaded to dance with a maniac.


Andy snorted against her will. She really had gotten fond of moping this evening, and it wasn't fair that Miranda could make her laugh despite feeling miserable. She curled up and pulled her blanket around her.

I wish I could rectify whatever he broke. You are not ACTUALLY hurt are you?


The thought of some brute yanking Miranda into a tango dip and damaging what Andy had just fixed, infuriated her. She cradled the cell phone in her hand while hoping for a response. If Miranda found her reply silly enough, she was not about to answer at all. Andy knew this. A new signal made her squeal. Reeling in her giddiness, in fact, she might get a written skin-melting reprimand for being nosy.

No. Not actually.

Why did you offer to give me a massage when you clearly regretted it later?


Whoa! Andy flinched. What was that about? What could possibly have given Miranda the impression—oh. Oh. Andy covered her face. Of all the stupid…how could she not have figured out her silly bout of jealousy could be misconstrued? Miranda had no way of really reading her mind after all. Andy knew she could be pouty and childish sometimes, but she was working on it. It never lasted long, but now it was not time for self-recriminations, but for damage control.

I enjoyed the massage.

I was just being silly. Don't you often call me that? A silly girl?

I apologize that I made you feel bad.


She closed her eyes, praying for mercy. Nobody made Miranda feel bad; she never let people get close enough to do that. Then Andy pinched herself for being obtuse and, yes, silly again. The memory of Miranda's tears in Paris when Stephen had emailed her the news of having filed for divorce while his wife was out of the country. How she agonized over what this would do to the girls. Of course she felt bad like everybody else, she just never let it show, normally. Andy sighed and felt like an idiot. And then the phone pinged again. Now she took a few moments to gather courage before she punched the little Prada heel icon.

Why were you so distant, then?

Apology accepted.

Are you in bed?


Andy had never known texting could be detrimental to your health. She felt the pulse on her wrist and vowed to go running more often. This could not be a good sign of being fit when your pulse felt like a hummingbird on speed. She thought perhaps it might be better not to answer, but also knew for certain she could never leave Miranda hanging. That would be cruel, and selfish, and ultimately not do one bit of good as Andy would toss and turn all night, thinking about it.

I realized that you had a date.

It made me worried.

I'm on my couch in my flannels.


Andy couldn't stand sitting there waiting, instead she went to the bathroom and took care of her teeth and used the toilet. When she returned, the blinking Prada heel icon showed there was a new message. Taking the phone with her into the bedroom, she turned off the lights and crawled into bed.

Why worried?`

Flannels. I prefer to imagine you in silk

In bed.


Andy groaned and pressed her legs together. This was insane. Utter, unabated, clear cut insanity. Why would Miranda imagine her in silk, and in bed? Wasn't she aware how that sounded? Or how it made Andy feel? Not to mention the fact that Andy might need a change of panties soon if Miranda kept this up. Her body tingled in all the right places and a few she'd never considered erogenous before.


Have you any idea how such statements make me feel?

I worried about my own reaction to you having a date. I have no right to be even remotely jealous.


There. Some more of the humiliating truth. Andy wiped at an errant tear, because somehow she knew that she'd crossed a line even more so than Miranda. Flirting could be chalked up to a moment of being inebriated, or temporary lack of judgment, but admitting to jealousy. A whole different matter altogether. The phone pinged so loudly she nearly sent it flying.

May I call you, Andrea?

No initial, just the one sentence. If this had been about business, Miranda would have simply called, no matter what hour of the day. Andy waited, hovered with her fingers over the keys, close to being nauseous.


It took Miranda a good ten minutes before she called. Andy had begun to think she would not call after all and was just wiping at more tears when the phone rang with yet another well-known signal.

"Hello, Miranda," Andy said, self-conscious how breathless she sounded.

"Good evening, Andrea." Miranda sounded like her usual self, but there were strange rustling sounds in the background. A tiny echo suggested Miranda had put her on speakerphone. Somehow that made her feel even more vulnerable, as if she was…overheard.

"Hi." She wanted to hide behind small talk, but knowing how Miranda detested mindless chatter and niceties, Andy figured she might as well be brave. "I felt special for being allowed to touch you. The massage I mean. When you said you had a function, and I knew Roy wasn't driving you…I guessed you had a date and…Oh God, I'm sorry, Miranda. I was jealous and petty." She waited for Miranda's response, and realized that Miranda had stopped doing whatever created the background noise.

"You surprise me."

"I know. I wouldn't have said anything about it, if you hadn't thought…I mean, you thought I resented the massage. I couldn't let you go on thinking that."

"Why not?"

"Because it wasn't true!" Andrea used her sleeve to mop at her cheeks. "No matter what, I screwed up, right?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Miranda. Please. Don't answer a question with a question. Just tell me if I'm fired."


"Oh. Oh, good. That's good, right?" Andy could finally breathe. "I was sure—"

"Are you still in bed?"

"Uhm, wha—yes?" Confused, Andy sank into her pillow, pressing the cell phone tightly to her ear.

"As am I. Finally. I didn't want to go to bed without hearing your explanation first."

Why would this matter to Miranda, and to a degree where she asked to call Andy in the middle of the night? Andy shifted in bed, trying to get comfortable.

"What are you doing?" Miranda said, sounding exasperated. "Whatever it is, it's making a very strange sound over the phone."

"I just find it hard to get comfy. I was such a basket case just before, thinking I would get fired, and now…now I'm finding it hard to relax. Perhaps I should pop over so you could massage me?" Andy joked, lamely, and not very amusing really. She groaned at her own words. "Don't listen to me."

"I wouldn't mind if you were here. I could even see myself returning the favor." Miranda's voice sank. "Yesterday you said you look at me a lot. What did you mean by that? Between Paris and today, what is it, five months, I've barely made eye-contact with you for more than a few seconds at a time. So how can you say that you look at me a lot?"

"I do. Just not your eyes. As much."

"What?" Miranda sounded confused.

Wincing, Andy curled up in a fetal position. "I tend to admire you. All of you."

"Are you talking about my body?" Miranda gasped out loud.

"Oh, God. Can we hang up now before I do get myself fired?"

"No. God knows when I'll get a chance to talk to you like this again—"

"Tomorrow!" Andy blurted. "I'll come by tomorrow and you can talk to me as much as you want. Just let me off the hook tonight."

A muted chuckle, low and sexy, came via the cell phone. "Silly girl," Miranda said, sounding remarkably tender. "Very well. I have errands in the morning, but come for dinner tomorrow. Five PM."

"All right, see you the—"

"Not so fast. Before you go, I want to know what is making that sound."

Andy stopped moving. She hadn't realized that she'd pushed her hand between her thighs, rocking against it. "I…Oh, please, you don't want to know." She hid her burning face in her pillow.

"I do not appreciate repeating myself. I do want to know. Why would I have asked, if I didn't?"

Was there no mercy for her tonight? Andy whimpered at whatever deity that found it fun to toy with her like this. She had two options. Make up a really good lie, or tell the truth. Both seemed completely impossible. Miranda was a super-snoop and would not be easily fooled.

"Why are you moaning?" Miranda's voice sounded closer, as if she'd placed her lips almost directly on the phone.

"You…your voice. Y-you do things to me."

"What?" Miranda was clearly not about getting breathless either.

"You make it impossible for me to lie still."


"By being you. By talking like this and sounding so close like you were here…in my bed…" Pressing her hand back between her thighs, Andy rubbed against it, drawing a trembling breath when wetness seeped through her cotton panties.

"Tell me what you are doing. Exactly." It was an order, but spoken with the sweetest voice.

Andy thought things could probably not get much worse after all. Miranda had to guess what was going on, right? "Just rocking…"


"…against my hand."

"Oh, God," Miranda whispered. "Are you wet?"

Whimpering again, this time much louder and longer, Andy pressed the base of her palm against her aching clitoris. It was probably not smart, but she needed some sort of relief. Instead it merely furled her arousal, made her legs twitch and her toes curl. "Yes. Very wet."

"Oh, Andrea. As am I." Miranda sounded like she was almost in pain. "All day. Ever since you massaged my shoulders and let me rest, I've been on edge, and completely horrible to everyone else for…for keeping me from talking to you, being with you."

Andy couldn't breathe or even think. All she heard was the impossible words 'as am I' and then she lost what little control she had of her body. "I wish you were here," she managed. "I wish I wasn't alone feeling like this."

"Silly girl, you're not. You're not alone." Miranda's voice was as close as if she actually was there, speaking with her lips against her ear. "Just imagine that it's my hand. My voice, my hand…"


"Where is my hand exactly, Andrea?"

"B-between my legs. Rubbing…oh God…"

"Andrea!" Miranda breathed fast and deep now, whether from arousal or from trying to stay in control, Andy had no idea. "Are you wearing panties?"



Andy wiggled out of her drenched underwear as fast as it was humanly possible. Back under the covers, she clutched her phone with one hand, the other one pushed back in between her legs. "Done."

"Good." Miranda was purring again now. "Very good. Now, use two fingers and go inside. I want to be inside when you come, understood." Her words were bossy as ever, but Miranda's voice was soft, coercive in the most seductive of ways.

Andy parted her legs and pushed two fingers inside herself. Hot, slick, trembling. She just knew without asking that Miranda had done the same thing. A muffled keening sound came through the cell phone.

"I want the same. I know your fingers are deep inside you too, Miranda and those fingers are mind to command, aren't they?" Andy didn't know where her courage came from. "Curl them, just a bit, and press up toward your belly."

"Oh…oh, yes…" The way Miranda sounded when she was aroused and ready to be loved, was like nothing else Andy had ever heard.

She wished more than anything that she'd be able to do a Star Trek transport thing over to the townhouse and make love to the woman of her dreams. Trembling all she could think was 'tomorrow, tomorrow'. Andy began thrusting her fingers in and out, the whole time listening to the telltale sounds of Miranda doing the same. How their passion could've ignited the way it had, and sent them into this phone session long before they even hugged like normal people, she had no idea. They had of course checked out each other since long before Paris. After Paris, the glances had become furtive rather than obvious, but still there, perhaps even more so.

"Andrea…so close." Miranda could hardly speak, she was breathing so fast.

"Mm-me too. Me too. I want you to come."

"Ahhhhh…" Miranda's shuddering moans stole Andy's last remnants of control.

She pushed in hard and ground her palm against her clit, pressing in firm circles, and came so hard, she nearly blacked out. "Miranda, Miranda…" She chanted the beautiful woman's name over and over.

"That's it, Andrea. So beautiful."

"I…oh, shit, I can't believe we just did that." Andy held the cell phone close, her only link to Miranda. "Never done anything like that before."

"Neither have I." Miranda drew a deep breath and let it go with a chuckle. "Only you, Andrea, would ever be able to convince me to have phone-sex."

"I convince you? As I recall, this was your idea."

"I think not, but I enjoyed it." Miranda seemed to settle down into bed, judging from the sounds. "But not as much as I'll enjoy having you over for dinner tomorrow."

"Oh, yeah, I know. I mean, I look forward to it."

A brief pause lasted a few moments and then Miranda's voice returned, suddenly sounding very careful. "I don't mean to suggest that you are r-required to…we don't have to…" She stopped talking.

"Miranda, don't hang up. Wait." Andy sat up, hoping this would clear her mind.

"How did you know I was going to?"

"I just did. And you don't have to second-guess anything about tomorrow. I'm not coming to dinner as your employee. I mean, I am, which I guess has to be considered if we're, I mean, if this is going to, you know, happen again. What I mean to say is, I look forward to actually hugging you. What we then do, or don't do, will be fine. Trust me?"

"You should know by now I trust you more than anyone else."

Andy melted into the pillow, a big smile in danger of turning into tears of joy. "I will see you tomorrow. Go to sleep, Miranda. I'll disconnect in a bit. I just want to hear you breathe a little."

"Silly girl…" Miranda yawned and seemed to settle in after that.

Andy kept smiling and wiping at foolish tears while listening to the woman she loved breathe.


Andy rang the doorbell and waited with her nerves pretty much hovering around her for Miranda to open. Fortunately it only took Miranda a few moments to open the door. Neither of them said anything while Miranda took Andy's coat and hung it in the closet. Then Miranda turned slowly and let her eyes roam Andy's face and body.

"So stunning," she murmured.

"You're beautiful." Andy took a hesitant step closer and Miranda did the same. Next thing she knew they had their arms wrapped tightly around each other, hugging fiercely.

"Time stood absolutely still today," Miranda whispered. "I have never looked at my phone clock as many times as I did today."

"Me either. And every time I saw your little icon on my phone, I was trembling." Andy giggled.


"I have a Prada heel as my shortcut icon for you on my iPhone."

"Oh. You have to show me. Later."

"Yes. I know. Dinner."


"Oh." Andy gasped. "Then I just have one more thing to say, Miranda. We're not texting right now, but it still fits."

"Yes?" Miranda ran her fingers along Andy's face, cupping her cheeks.


"What?" Miranda blinked.


Miranda did just that. Their lips met and the kiss was better than any other kiss, ever. Andy opened her mouth, let her tongue play with Miranda's and knew this woman was right yet again. Cell phone icons could wait. Dinner could wait. Even talking.

Until later.