Chapter Text
TDWP: The Devil's Mistress Ch. 12
Miranda settled against the armrest of the couch, turning so she could observe the flabbergasted redhead. She was so tempted to smile, to allow a shark’s grin to cross her lips, but instead she allowed her expression to change to an unreadable mask. Then, like an invocation, she whispered an old phrase of summons, one that both knew well from intonation alone. Like Andrea’s name, Miranda’s phrasing for this was unique to the person. It was a skill she possessed, to take an individual’s name and make it her own. “Emily.”
The Brit’s eyes widened and her pupil’s darkened. Her breath caught. “Yes, Miranda.” Both were highly aware that the tone of her voice held shades of the past in it, but it was overshadowed by a new flavor. Desperation and promptness had filled previous incarnations of the phrase, but this time desire smoked through it, curling around Miranda’s name.
Now the silver-haired woman let a tiger’s smile grace her lips and she crooked a finger. No need to repeat herself.
Emily, stood and then glided toward Miranda in three short steps with an unconscious sensuality that neither knew she possessed. The ex-editor raised her hand, palm forward, just before she reached her. “Stop. Stay there. Stand still.”
The words were spoken softly, but with full control behind them. Emily, without even thinking about it, obeyed.
A heated light glinted in Miranda’s eyes. She turned her head just slightly, not even three-quarters, but enough to seem distant and said, “You’re wearing far too many clothes.” Then she waited, glancing out the corner of her eyes for the brief recognition of the hidden demand.
Emily stiffened, then with a care for her clothes born of years of practice, disrobed in careful succession; blouse, skirt, slip, shoes, hose. She paused then, and with a boldness she rarely displayed when she worked for Miranda as an assistant - though as an art-editor she had quite often - asked something. “Would you like to take these off?”
A challenge was in her gaze, a dare, but also a secret hope. Miranda recognized the symbolics, though it was unspoken. Would this relationship be partnership or revolve solely around her wants, her power over Emily?
Miranda had a few questions of her own. “Do you ever wonder why I took Andrea to Paris? I mean, other than the fact you were a broken doll at the time?”
Emily flinched, but having dared once, she was ready to do so again. “I did. I went over and over all the things I could then think of, my mistakes, my qualifications.”
“And?”
“In the end, it did not matter. You wanted Andrea with you, so she went. I thought perhaps because of my flaws, I had failed you, but other than that, and my broken foot, I .... I realized it was one of your mysteries.”
“Hmm.” Miranda slid off the couch, standing, and then walked the rest of the way toward Emily, stopping only a foot away. “Interesting.” She began to pace around the younger woman, like a predator around her prey. “Perhaps a portion of the truth. I think you could see some of it, or assumed you knew some of what motivated me, even then; though you would not say it. Envy is a terrible thing. It gnaws away at us, makes us gaunt and impatient with the world. It also does one of two things, often both, it makes us hyper vigilant or unobservant of the details.”
Emily closed her eyes, recalling and suddenly understanding. It had never been personal. It had always been very personal. “You needed someone who could manage the details and not be crushed by competition.”
“And someone who could walk. The one good thing about your hospital stay, was that you started eating again. The extremes in which you took your dieting was ruining your potential. I needed the mind as well as the body. I can say it now, but it wasn’t my place then. Now, as your lover, I can say, how very much I enjoy looking at your body and how much I appreciate your quickness.” Emily arched as she felt the brush of fingertips run lightly along her skin, brief and startlingly sweet. Her teeth pressed into her lower lip. “Take off the bra, Emily.” She felt a whisper of breath against her ear, “Please.”
A rippling shiver rushed through Emily. She reached back, finding the snaps that held the flimsy, but beautiful clothing in place. Before she could undo it, she felt, again, the briefest of touches. This time on the tops of her fingers. That touch fluttered down, and triangulated until it was on her sides, sliding down in butterfly motions along her trunk. She finished her task, and the strap loosened, forcing a form of modesty upon her, even as Miranda’s fingertips edged into the band of her panties.
She felt a pulse of desire slide from sternum to center, and a desire, immediate, to open and receive.
Miranda pressed down until the panties slid as gravity demanded. Emily stepped out, hands still to breast, holding cloth unnecessarily up. Or so she thought until Miranda stepped around her, unwinding up and circling around until they were eye to eye. Her fingers skimmed across the Brit’s surface in a same motion, like she was the pattern for a DNA strand. “Here, allow me.”
Miranda grasped the straps, which had fallen in lazy loops down Emily’s upper arms, and gently pulled; liberating the bra from her soon-to-be lover. Revealing. Emily’s hands dropped and the cloth floated down and away. Miranda’s fingertips now drew delicate circles around the rosy tips of the art editor’s breasts, causing her to gasp lightly. “I always knew they’d be beautiful.”
Miranda withdrew slightly, but just enough so she grasp Emily by one of her hands. “As much delight as we might find in the couch, I think it might be better to enjoy each other in your room, don’t you?”
Emily did not bother to reply, though her eyes did flick to the discarded clothes. Miranda managed not to roll her eyes, smirked and said, “If you must.”
==^==
Miranda might have teased, but she was aware that Emily’s attention to detail was part of what made her a great assistant, and earned wanna-be assistants the lowercase version of her name. And she only regretted moving Emily to her next position in the sense that it was a loss of efficiency, but once the young woman had gained her feet under her again, she had risen to her potential and it had become time. So now as she watched the Brit, still wonderfully nude, took care of her clothes once in the room, what surprised her was that she found an odd comfort in the domesticity. It was so mundane, yet curiously Emily.
The redhead, who was bending over so her heart-shaped hips were displayed provocatively, looked over her shoulder.
Miranda’s breath caught and she felt a visceral response that warmed through her, flushing her skin lightly. Two steps forward and by the time she was there, Emily was upright again. Miranda’s hands and arms slipped around the redhead, sliding up the soft, smooth skin of her side and belly.
Emily leaned back, arching her neck as she felt the whisper of a breath. “Beautiful.” With one hand, Miranda threaded her fingers through the younger woman’s hair, gripping and then pulling her head back gently. The other hand slid up, until she reached the curve of one of Emily’s breasts, which she cupped. Miranda’s thumb brushed against a nipple which ached and stiffened at her touch. “I have dreamed of this for so long.”
“You have?” Emily’s reply was a bare whisper, threaded with surprise and long hidden denial.
Miranda’s tongue flicked the younger woman’s pale earlobe. “Yes. But I was always a professional. Work before pleasure. You know this.” A brief smile curved the kiss that brushed the redhead’s neck and then Emily turned a little more in Miranda’s arms, wanting to see what truth might be in that sharp blue gaze. The older woman, however, had her eyes closed.
Somehow, still, she unerringly found Emily’s lips with her own, plundering with an oddly familiar insistence. As Miranda’s hands softly explored and molded the redhead to her body, Emily closed her eyes too, letting herself surrender and grasp this unbelievable moment to herself. “Miranda, Miranda,” she exhaled the other woman’s name like it was pleasure itself. The words turned into a gasp as one of Miranda’s hands, which had slid up her back in a long, slow caress, grasped her hair firmly, but not hurtfully at the nape.
Miranda tugged, eliciting another gasp. Her lips slid from Emily’s mouth and along the younger woman’s cheek and jaw, with tiny nips, down the curve of neck again. The redhead leaned against her, hands pressed to her ribcage. The younger woman’s fingertips kneaded a little, like a cat. She moaned lightly as she was tilted back a little further so Miranda’s hand could cup a breast until she felt the hardened tip press against her palm. She let her hand circle, pushing without crushing and sensing.
“I could easily get lost in you,” Miranda said. “You so want to surrender and be possessed by me. You feel delicious.”
Emily’s eyes opened then and her finger tips stilled, “Miranda...”
“No need to reply or justify. I want the same. But you...” Miranda drew back and that tiger’s grin returned. She tugged again, causing a small hiss to be uttered. “... need me to go first.”
“I don’t understand...”
Miranda released Emily’s hair and drew her hand down again, until it covered the fleshy portion of the younger woman’s hip. She drew her nails along sensitive skin. “Oh, I think you do.” Then, briefly, she withdrew her touch.
It returned with a stinging force.
“Oh!”
Miranda drew back and she smiled as she observed the blushing color rise along the major observable portion of Emily’s skin. The flushed woman’s blue eyes dilated receptively. The ex-editor caressed the newly rouged skin and Miranda said mildly and yet at the same time with a tone that brooked no argument and full expectation of obedience, “Turn around and put your palms on the bed.”
Emily’s eyes widened, but her lips compressed and, without further word she turned and stepped the short space away, leaving Miranda’s arms. As she bent, though, Miranda was again presented with the beautiful shape of the redhead’s hips. She felt a complicated rush of desire as she was overwhelmed with the need and want to do several things at once.
She forced a breath through her nostrils, forced the sense of urgency down and knew that she was going to enjoy everything that might happen next. “Ten, I think. Five for each side, well.. now four for one, but still...” Miranda was not prone to rambling, but her senses were still in places of delight and she felt a warning was fair, as was the declaration of a limit. At least for this first time.
A purposeful stride later and she was standing close enough behind Emily that she could feel her body heat again. She nibbled her lower lip and her eyes lit with anticipation. Then she drew her hand back and let it fall, sharp enough to sting, heavy enough to cause the flesh beneath to redden and jiggle, but not so hard it would bruise. She saw the way Emily’s hands clenched the bedding and grinned. She caressed the younger woman softly, enjoying the sensual, textural change that her gift enabled and then, she lifted her hand and let fly again.
Miranda paced herself. Each time between, she paused, taking a moment to caress and soothe and feel. She let her fingernails rake across and down, enjoying the way Emily twitched in response. Her own body responded as she took in scent, sight, sound and feeling. She felt an ache of pleasure, her own slickness and throbbing anticipation.
By the time Miranda’s final swat had landed, Emily had unconsciously repositioned herself, spread her legs a little wider. Miranda imagined that if she had done so with Andrea, there might have been a punishment involved for moving without permission, however, all it did was cause a warm possessiveness to fill her. This time, she allowed her caress to rove lower and she brought her hand up between Emily’s thighs, eliciting another call of her name.
Miranda let her fingertips follow the delicate lines and folds without delving, until she reached her redhead’s trimmed curls. They were slick and wet and seemed to wrap around her fingertips and urge her to stroke there, to play for just a moment. So she did, knowing that she was slowly driving Emily to want to open for her, to need her more desperately.
Miranda pressed close, until Emily’s hips were tight against her. Again she felt a pulsing sensation in multiple places and she began to understand that she had the desire to go with the addition. That was new. And that alone told her much about the intended plans of her enemies. Yet, that did not matter now.
“Please,” Emily groaned, not able to ask in full meaning. But needing, so very much.
Miranda removed her hand, letting it skim along the younger woman’s path of desire. “Stand upright and turn around.”
Emily, did so, turning to her and looking through eyes hazy with erotic hunger. Miranda touched the middle of her chest, laying her palm flat against the woman’s heart and then she pushed her, prompting her to sit onto the bed. “Sit.”
Somehow that bare-boned command came out in a near purr, one full of promise. Emily shivered at the tone and her knees seemed to give out on their own.
Miranda knelt, and she pushed her knee-high pencil skirt up her thighs, somehow still managing to appear powerful to the glazed eyes of the redhead. The silver-haired woman undid the few buttons of her blouse, and then shrugged out of her clothing with ease. She was not wearing a bra, which was unusual for her, but oddly not surprising given circumstances. Miranda had always known what to wear or not wear with a particular outfit.
It did not change that Emily’s breath caught or that her eyes widened. “You called me beautiful...,” she said in reverence, “but you have always been ...”
Miranda, let the blouse lay where it fell and laid her palms on Emily’s knees and then she gently pushed the younger woman’s legs apart. Her hands slid along Emily’s thighs, until they reached the point where the joints met. She arched a brow as the redhead lifted her hips slightly, offering. “Yes. Well. As they say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” Her fingertips brushed lightly, moving teasingly forward, before pressing right at the crease and then Miranda gently pulled. Her lips quirked. “You might wish to lay back. As the wolf once said, ‘Red, I am going to eat you up.’”
Emily’s heavily panted “Oh god,” was followed by the sound of cloth compacting and the bed lifting on its springs in response to the redhead's near vibrating compliance. Then she had another reason to cry out.
Miranda’s tongue slid along and in the silken folds, exploring and tasting without inhibition and glorying in it. She drew Emily’s essence in, surrendered to the color and texture, and found the sweet hub that beckoned. Her long, flexible tongue flicked and circled around it, before she drew in for an intimate kiss. Then, as the art-editor moaned, she let herself get lost in the pleasuring, in the pursuing, until pale hands clutched the bedspread tightly. The redhead’s skin shone like a pearl in the soft light of the moon. Her hair was thrust back so her face and expressions weren’t hidden from her lover. Her legs were spread, feet planted on the floor by the edge of the bed and knees slightly bent. She pushed back with aching desperation, needing to be filled.
Miranda obliged, needing to taste more. She pushed in deeply with her tongue and groaned with the glorious pleasure of it as Emily’s nectar spilled and coated her. Then she groaned, as she pressed against the deeper end, felt its soft give. Now she understood the value of a long, thick tongue, embraced it with sweet abandon. The young woman bucked against the intimate intrusion, pushed in response, needing. Miranda’s hands slid back around her thighs, until she was grasping the younger woman by her hips and dragging her closer.
She kept her word, consumed her, drank her up with a delicious abandon until Emily was incoherent and her sole existence a pivoting point of pleasure and release, pleasure and release. She sang it out, crying out Miranda’s name until it formed one long syllable and keen, until she shook and quaked as the electric song shivered through her, again and again.
The redhead was in no shape to beg for even mercy, and Miranda could have gone for much longer, as she loved the taste of the normally high-strung woman. However, all her senses were very much in tune now and while she dragged herself away, reluctantly, she somehow managed it. Her lips trailed wetly up along a smooth, pale belly; straight-lining until she reached tender, aching globes. Again that long, agile tongue proved a wonderful thing, as she looped it around a thickened blush reddened nipple, while her hands held and caressed Emily’s breast.
Miranda’s hips pressed up tightly between the redhead's open thighs, and Miranda rocked them softly, just enough to spike Emily’s pleasure in new ways, and cause her to cry out with each, gentle rhythmic thrust.
Scraping her fingernails along the redhead's sensitized skin, Miranda finally released the younger woman’s breasts and continued her slow trek up. Teeth nipped and lips caressed, until they finally rested on Emily’s own, plundering with soft insistence.
When a point of “Enough, no more,” had been reached, Miranda moved, until she reclined by Emily, laying on her side. Even though she no longer caressed to stimulate, her hand rested on Emily’s hip, drawing slow circles.
The younger woman’s eyes were closed, eyelids fluttering lightly as she breathed deeply, trying to recenter. Her chest was heaving. Her body trembling with the reverberating aftershocks of pleasure.
She found a word, a prayer and praise. “Miranda.”
The older woman smiled, couldn’t help the very relaxed tease. “So it was worth the wait then?”
Emily, who never in her life would have thought she’d have this moment, started to laugh.
----- TDWP -----
Nan might have hesitated in her manipulations if she hadn’t gained confidence in Andrea’s company and hadn’t been thoroughly aware of Miranda’s subtle signals of approval. She also knew she was, in a way, seeking Andrea’s mark of acceptance. It was one thing to open to an idea, and quite another to take it that next step further. Nan was no stranger to relationships that went past the traditional couple-dom and she knew the hazards as well as the joys. And even with that knowledge, given Miranda’s new circumstances, she was not entirely sure how this would all work.
The younger woman led her back to the room where she’d been napping. Despite their exit, she’d made no other move than to offer her arm as an informal guide. Nor did she say much on the way.
The silence made Nan slightly nervous, as she had no doubt that Andrea would have something to say. Yet the younger woman remained serenely quiet, waiting.
Once in the room, the door clicked shut behind them. Andrea led Nan to the edge of the bed. Then, with slow and deliberate care, she removed the older woman’s robe, sliding the belt away first.
“Just so you know,” Andrea said gently as her hands delicately brushed cloth away and down, “It does not have to go further than this. I am perfectly content to simply help you to bed.” The younger woman smiled. “After all, we did awaken you.”
Nan rallied, grasping one of Andrea’s hands in her own. She kissed the palm. “I’ve rested and the truth is, you still owe me quality time. I did win, after all.”
Andrea’s smile quirked in amusement. “So you did. And what would you like for your prize?”
Nan smiled easily. “You.”