Chapter Text
As Miranda Priestly’s first assistant, Emily Charlton is always prepared. She has got to be—for every last eventuality. Nothing surprises her. No ridiculous mistake or impressive success ever catches her off guard. The word “jaw-dropping” is not in her vocabulary; simply because nothing has ever made her jaw drop.
Emily knows not only Miranda herself, but also her friends, and her enemies, and everything in between. She knows how to handle awful designers, can deal with horrible models and highly annoying photographers, and not one of them ever manages to throw her off.
Nothing does.
Absolutely nothing.
Except for one Andrea Sachs.
Not the girl herself. Ha! No, by no definition of the word is Andrea Sachs a surprise. Emily knows the type only too well, after all: the type who won’t take care of herself, who doesn’t wear flattering clothes, who can’t do her job adequately. The type who doesn’t even own a proper bag to bring to her job interview, just an awful suitcase-adjacent thing that would not even have counted as fashionable in the Fifties.
No, Andrea Sachs’s existence itself does not surprise Emily Charlton.
Not even Miranda’s hiring her surprises Emily. She knows Miranda. She expects her to do unexpected things. Making sure to be prepared for them is her life essence, after all. It annoys her, sure. Having to train yet another person—the third in four weeks—while also having to continue doing her own job is simply cruel.
But it isn’t like Emily didn’t choose to be here. She did. She chose Miranda, and she did it knowing exactly what the woman is like: cruel beyond belief.
And so Emily goes along with it.
Miranda dictates, Emily follows. That’s the Runway way; and it has taught her to always, always, expect the unexpected.
… and then, one day, Andrea Sachs walks in wearing Chanel, and the entire world shifts so abruptly that Emily fears it may have just fallen entirely off of its axis.
The thing is, being prepared for anything and everything is not Emily Charlton’s only trait. There are others. Many others. Too many to count or list, honestly.
One, however, is a big one. The most important one, perhaps, considering that she works for a fashion magazine:
She is a very visual person, reacts most strongly not to scents, or noise, but to what she sees. Her most important assets, therefore, are her eyes; they do all the important work for her. They watch, observe, take in.
it’s one of her best features—and now, it seems, it’s her downfall.
Serena, the bloody cow, will absolutely tease her about it later. Emily just knows this. Though, to be entirely fair, her friend will have every right to. After all, this isn’t a version of herself that Emily ever knew existed. She’s never, never in her life felt this way. This… uneasy. With her mouth dry as a desert, and her chest constricting around her heart. She feels… numb, almost?
But not for long. For a second, maybe. And then, everything starts tingling. Her skin is set ablaze with desire, and she feels hot, hotter than ever. Her nerves are on fire, her brain is in sensory overload; the amount of information her eyes are sending to her brain are making the organ overflow.
She tries to swallow the lump in her throat. Clenches her fist in an attempt to regain composure. But it does nothing. Instead, the quivering of her jaw and the trembling of her thighs get worse, as the goosebumps, too, continue spreading. She feels lightheaded, dizzy, like her legs are going to stop working. They’re barely keeping her upright.
She gets a hold of the nearest desk and clears her throat. When she speaks, her voice is shaking. “Serena, will you, erm—” She blinks. What is happening to her? Who is she to lose control of her body so suddenly? Who is she to react this way to a girl so utterly ignorant to everything she loves? Who is she, Emily Charlton, to feel this way, to feel any kind of way, about someone who hasn’t got a clue about her job? Who is she—who is she—to—to look at what she thought was a hopeless case and—
She takes a deep breath when she realizes the worst part of it—
To get wet at work?
Emily licks her lips. Looks at this—this—this flawless creature in her Chanel boots and black lace and with golden jewelry and perfect bangs and—
And she feels herself gush.
It’s not only her underwear that is now ruined, however. It’s… everything she thought she’d come to know.
All because of—of—Andrea Sachs.
It’s not just her outfit, either, that’s doing it for Emily. It’s the way Andrea is looking at her when their gazes finally meet. It’s the way her tongue parts those luscious lips and caresses them. The way she sensually throws her head back to adjust her hair.
And Emily? Oh, she needs to have her. She needs her. Desperately. She needs to look into her eyes right before she kisses her full red lips. But even more than that, she needs to feel the beautiful pink tongue that she’s only seen a glimpse of on her clit. She needs to take her, fuck her. Be fucked. She’s so fucking wet. Soaked.
“Will you take care of the phones for a moment?” Emily continues her earlier train of thoughts, “Andrea and I, we have some, er… business to discuss. Assistant business.”
When Emily turns towards Andrea, she notices that her brown eyes have grown ten shades darker. And when Emily looks down at her cleavage, she can see the girl’s delicious nipples poke through her blouse.
Emily swallows shakily. God, she needs to get her mouth on them. On all of Andrea, really. She needs to worship her until those blood-red lips are swollen and purple, bite her until her tits are bruised, spread her legs and suck on her thighs until they’re blue and green and yellow, and pound her wet pussy until she can’t stop screaming Emily’s name.
Emily intends on making all of those things happen. Now. She can’t help wanting it, and she especially can’t wait. Not now that Andrea has teased her like this.
“Andrea?” She’s sure she’s squeaked her name, so she squares her shoulders and repeats herself, hoping that this time, she will sound more assertive. “Andrea—” she swallows— “with me. Please.”
As soon as the realization of what exactly she’s just said strikes her, Emily winces. A shudder makes its way down her back. For God’s sake, she chides herself, a Charlton does not say please! Not to inferiors, not to second assistants who haven’t learned anything, and especially not to Andrea Sachs!
However.
This thing she seems to have for Andrea indicates that, somehow, the girl is different from everyone else; and that makes it quite alright, Emily thinks. Specifically, also, because she needs her dripping wet cunt to be filled to the brim with Andrea’s fingers; and so she can forgive herself for the slip-up very easily and almost immediately.
Truthfully, all she cares about in this very moment is getting out of the office and Andrea’s following her.
The short walk to the barely-used bathroom at the other end of the floor is excruciating, but it has got to be this one. All the other ones are too close for any, ah, noises they might make.
Oh, Emily is aching by the time they reach their destination. Her clit is throbbing, and it’s become worse with every step she’s taken. A few times, she’s even had to stop and take a deep breath to prevent any moans from slipping out. Which, Jesus Christ. She’s never felt like this before. Ever. Like some raging fire is licking at her skin, trying its best to swallow her whole. Her lungs are burning. Her heart is racing. Her skin is tingling. All she can hope for now is for Andrea to save her. To extinguish the flames, to save her from this blazing heat.
She’s not even sure she’s quite a someone anymore. She feels more like a something. A creature reduced to only its most primal urges.
Once inside the bathroom, Emily’s voice, quivering even more than before, cuts through the silence like a dull knife. “Lock the door,” she instructs.
“I really hope you’re not here to, like, kill me or something,” Andrea tries to joke back as she obliges. It doesn’t land; her voice is too weak.
All Emily can focus on is the rosy blush on Andrea’s cheeks. And, oh, no, fuck, now she’s biting her lip again. Emily presses her thighs together to relieve some of the pressure in between them. It doesn’t help, though. Not at all. If anything, it makes it worse. How she hasn’t accidentally whimpered yet is beyond her.
How is anyone—how is Andrea doing this to her?
“We don’t need an ice-breaker,” Emily whispers after a moment.
And then all that Andrea has time to breathe is, “Oh, thank God,” before Emily closes the distance between them and kisses her.
And she doesn’t even pretend that she wants to take it slow. She doesn’t tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She doesn’t start with a gentle peck. No. With her hands in Andrea’s stupid, annoying, perfect hair, she kisses her. She kisses her hard, as hard as she can. Maybe even a little too hard, but she could not care less.
She kisses her like she means it.
When the shock subsides after a second or two, Andrea becomes less passive, too. Her hands settle on Emily’s waist, and she lets out a moan.
Emily almost comes on the spot. She immediately takes Andrea’s hint and licks into her mouth. Their tongues meet wildly, meet savagely, and Emily can’t believe that this is real life. It’s too good. Too perfect. So fucking fantastic. The way Andrea’s soft mouth moves against hers, the way her tongue caresses her own, time and time again, the way her fingers play with her dress… it’s amazing. Emily is convinced that no words will ever be enough to describe this.
So maybe actions are the way to go.
Which is why she promptly bites down on Andrea’s plump lower lip.
The sound it elicits—a low groan—reverberates through the room, and makes her clit throb.
Emily can’t believe that she’s gone from sitting across from Andrea in the office mere minutes ago to devouring her like this. And that’s what she’s doing, devouring Andrea. There is no question about it. She’s nipping and scraping and biting and sucking. On her lips. Her jaw. Her neck. Every inch of skin Emily can reach, Emily kisses.
And then there’s a spot behind Andrea’s ear that makes her shiver.
Emily smiles to herself and does it again.
It doesn’t take long for Andrea to start grinding against Emily’s thigh. It also doesn’t take long for her to gasp out, “Oh, fuck. Fuck, Emily, keep going.” And this sound, in particular, Emily wants to hear again. And again. For the rest of her life, maybe. Her name, said with such desperation. Such desire. A sign of Andrea’s pure, unadulterated need, her lust. And she will hear it again. But for now, she has got some things to say of her own.
“You can’t walk around like that,” she rasps against Andrea’s neck. She’s breathing heavily, panting, almost. “You shouldn’t be wearing—God, Andrea, you—” Her own groan interrupts her speech. Fuck, she’s never been like this, either; unable to express herself properly. Speechless, even. With another frustrated groan, she bites Andrea’s earlobe.
Andrea moans in response.
“I don’t know what’s got into me,” Emily breathes. “I’m—God, Andrea. I don’t even know.” She knows that she probably shouldn’t be this open, this vulnerable. Not with anyone. Not even Andrea. Especially not Andrea. She shouldn’t give away secrets she’s barely even admitted to herself. But, somehow, it just doesn’t matter.
Nothing matters with Andrea.
Andrea is… different. Unexpected. So fucking unexpected. And Emily always expects the unexpected, so this is—
Fuck, it doesn’t matter. It really, really doesn’t matter. Who cares about semantics? All that matters is her, their, need.
“I just—you’re so fucking lovely like this,” Emily mumbles into Andrea’s neck, and goes back to nibbling her way down her collarbone.
“Emily,” Andrea whispers back shakily. Her nails dig deeper into Emily’s skin. “Emily, holy—oh, Emily, you feel so good. So, so, so good.”
Emily’s mouth latches onto Andrea’s pulse point, and she sucks. Applies pressure, pressure, and more pressure, until she’s certain Andrea will carry home a suspiciously dark bruise on her neck, one which she cannot explain with anything other than passion.
“I—this is all for you, Em,” Andrea pants. “Only for you. You—I—”
For her? Only for her? This, all of it, is for Emily? It—Emily stops her ministrations. Takes a second to simply look at Andrea. The dilated pupils, the lustful expression on her face—they do send a clear message. And Emily understands it, now. She swallows, and licks her saliva-stained lips. Andrea really, truly is doing this for her. A shiver runs down her spine. “For me?” she whispers dumbly, mostly to herself.
“Fuck, yes,” Andrea answers nonetheless. “You’re so fucking mean. I hated it at first. And now I—” She chuckles breathlessly as she runs a hand down her hair. “Now it just makes me wet. Whenever you—oh, God. Whenever you insult me, it just turns me on. You’re so fucking sexy, Em.”
The almost innocent look on her face as she’s saying these things makes Emily want to ruin her. “Shit,” she curses, and attacks the girl’s mouth again. “Fuck,” she mumbles into it, “you can’t say that to me.” The mind-numbing arousal is slowly becoming too much for her body handle, and so she expresses this. “You can’t—” She presses against Andrea harder, and sinks her fingernails into her shoulders, holding on for dear life as she initiates another vigorous kiss. “Touch me, Andrea,” she whimpers when Andrea’s lips find her cheek, then her ear. “I’m burning up. And only you—only you, Andrea.”
“I know, Em. I know,” Andrea tells her earnestly, before promptly swapping their positions.
Now it’s Emily who’s pinned against the wall, with Andrea’s leg between hers. The girl experimentally rocks against her, and Emily chokes down another whimper. Her head falls back against the tiled wall. “Please,” she sobs. Her entire body is thrumming, every cell aching for release. If Andrea doesn’t touch her soon, she’s sure she’s going to die. She wants, no, she needs Andrea’s hands on her. “Please,” she begs again, all but writhing in Andrea’s arms at this point. It’s barely even a whisper when she does speak, but Andrea seems to understand her, anyway.
“Fuck, Em,” Andrea breathes, “I’ve been dreaming about this. You saying these things to me. You begging me. It took me so long to understand that this is how I could make you mine. And now—now…” Her tongue licks a scalding path from Emily’s ear down to her collarbone.
Emily sucks in a breath.
“Now, finally, you’re mine,” Andrea growls. “Fuck, I can’t wait to see you. I promise I’ll make you feel so good.”
The old Emily, the version of her that existed before today—hell, it existed until this morning—would have had a comeback ready. The old Emily would have scoffed and told Andrea to get on with it already. This new Emily, however, can do nothing but nod. Ask, “Please…”
Andrea steps back, and says, “Lift up your skirt for me.”
Emily immediately misses the feeling of Andrea’s heated body against hers, and she voices her protest with a whine. But the grief doesn’t last long, because then she sees Andrea in front of her, on the floor, the floor, and—and she bites her lip when the realization hits her. Her legs start shaking in anticipation. “Fuck,” she groans, “you want to—here?”
“Please, Em,” the girl whispers into the scalding hot flesh of her thigh as she nuzzles it, “let me make you feel good?”
Emily nods, still trembling. Seconds later, her underwear is gone, and, oh, fucking Jesus, Andrea’s mouth is right there. On her. And—Christ. That tongue—that fucking tongue! So hot. Burning hot, like lava. Scorching. Andrea is lapping away at her with utter abandon. And she’s humming and moaning as she devours Emily, as she swallows her whole, and that—that sends electric shocks throughout Emily’s system. The fact that Andrea is enjoying this, too. That she’s loving it.
Emily can barely hold herself up, just barely manages to do so by slipping her hands into Andrea’s hair. “Ah,” she makes when Andrea hits a particularly sensitive spot. “Oh, fuck—” she curses, feeling herself gush.
“You’re so wet, Em,” Andrea—Andy—rasps out in between strokes, “so fucking wet. Fuck, I’ll never get enough of this.”
Emily is too busy burying her nails in Andy’s scalp to reply.
Andy growls in response, and buries her tongue further in Emily’s dripping cunt.
And, Jesus, fuck, when Emily looks down, she’s met with the most heavenly image to ever have existed. Andy—sweet, sweet Andrea—on the floor, head buried between her thighs, looking completely and utterly fucked. Her chin, her cheeks, her blood-red mouth; they’re all absolutely drenched in her cum; and her hair—the hair that was perfect earlier, for the first time since she’s known her—is back to being an absolute mess.
A good mess, though. Fuck, what a fantastic fucking mess it is.
When Andrea sits back on her haunches to meet her gaze, Emily’s hips buck. She wants to look at her some more, she really does, but right now, she desperately needs that sensational fucking mouth back on her. So she whines, her body frantically seeking friction. She’s dying for some kind of stimulation. “Please—oh, please, fuck me,” she gasps, her hips still rolling.
Andrea seems to take pity, because she wastes no time before diving back in. and, oh, how she does dive back in. she enters Emily with two cum-soaked fingers, and she immediately starts a quick, unforgiving pace.
“Oh, fuck!” Emily cries out. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” It’s a really good thing that she likes it rough, because Andrea takes that as permission to add yet another finger. Emily can barely bite back a scream.
“Three fingers okay?” Andrea pants while she thrusts them in as deep as they go.
The old Emily would have laughed. Would have snarled, given a sarcastic remark. Would have rolled her eyes at the unnecessary question, and scoffed, What does it look like? What comes out, instead, however, is a breathy, desperate, “Yes. Oh, God, yes, Andrea. Three is—is perfect. Oh—”
Andy finds her G-spot, then, and, just like that, all words, and all the thoughts that Emily might have had, vanish from her mind.
Soon, Andrea’s tongue joins in—that sharp, cutting, soft, loving tongue—and she starts lapping at Emily’s clit; and that’s it.
Emily falls apart.
She comes so hard on Andy’s fingers that she sees stars; and she comes so fucking much that she soaks not just Andrea’s fingers but her clothes, too; as her cunt releases more and more of her juices. By the time she’s ridden out the explosive high, she’s pretty much drenched the woman in her cum.
She’s ruined her. All of her.
Including the Chanel she’s wearing.
Emily doesn’t really give a damn—yet another unexpected surprise—but for a moment, she’s worried that maybe Andrea does care, and she panics. Just slightly, but she panics.
Until she looks down at her. And—well. What she sees in Andrea’s eyes is definitely not worry. Emily’s anxiety instantly subsides, and she goes back to focusing entirely on how incredible it feels to be so full of Andy; to have the girl’s fingers stuffed inside her like this.
She decides on the spot that they have got to do this again. It’s only been a minute, and, already, she misses Andy’s tongue on her.
Jesus, she’s in deep. (No pun intended.)
Andy eventually pulls her fingers out, and only then does Emily notice that her thighs are wet all the way down to her knees. And, fuck. There’s even a puddle on the floor.
She’s squirted. She’s squirted all over Andy, and all over this bathroom floor. A Runway bathroom.
Her face turns crimson. Oh, God. How embarrassing. She knew, of course, that she’d come hard, but this—oh. “I’ve—” she clears her throat— “Sorry. I’ve never done that before.”
Andy gulps. Whispers, “Fuck. Don’t apologize. That’s—” she shakes her head— “fuck. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. The most amazing thing I’ve ever felt. Jesus, Emily…”
Emily looks at her, then. And, good Lord, Andrea looks perfect. Emily didn’t think the girl could get any hotter because—because, well, she’s Andrea, but—but she has. Face glistening with cum, forehead soaked with sweat, jaw quivering, hands shaking, pupils completely black…
Emily doesn’t think she’s ever seen anyone as hot, as beautiful, as Andrea.
Her embarrassment disappears as quickly as it came.
She steps aside and signals for Andy to move up against the wall in her stead. Once Andy is where she wants her to be, she takes a step towards her and places her chin in between her index and middle finger. With a whisper, she asks, “What do you need, Andrea?”
Andy’s hips buck, and the girl whines. “I’m—I’m so close.”
When their eyes meet, Emily feels like she’s just been hit by lightning. Her stomach clenches. “You want me to make you come?”
They’re so close together now. So close, in fact, that Emily can’t ignore the pull. The urge to kiss Andy is so strong, so absolutely inescapable that she feels like she has to lean forward or else she will perish. And so she does; she kisses Andy before the girl even has the chance to answer her question.
And this kiss? Wow. It’s something else entirely. So full of hunger that Emily thinks her world might never be the same once it ends.
They continue kissing for a long while. Emily gives it her everything, and she doesn’t stop kissing Andy until she’s tasted every last corner of her mouth, and she doesn’t stop until both of their faces are glistening with cum and sweat and saliva, and she doesn’t stop until she notices that Andy’s trembling legs can barely support the weight of her anymore.
Oh, indeed, this one kiss has Emily back to feeling like a woman possessed. A woman taken over by desire, by want, by need. The need to feel Andrea Sachs milk her fingers is stronger than anything she has ever felt in her life, and as she pulls away after finishing biting Andrea’s lower lip, she promises, “I’m going to fuck you as hard as you deserve, Andrea.”
Once again, Andrea doesn’t have time to reply—she can only moan her appreciation—before Emily leans back in for another kiss. It’s just as dirty, just as sloppy as the last one, but not nearly as long. Just a couple of seconds into it, Emily leans back and asks, “You want my tongue?” with a string of saliva still connecting their mouths.
“Your fingers, Emily,” comes the sobbed reply.
“Jesus,” Emily says. She gives Andy’s neck a long lick.
Andy’s reply is a whine. It echoes through the room. “Please?” she whispers in a trembling voice. “Want to be so full of you. Please. Am so, so close,” she whimpers. “Need you.”
“You want me inside you? You want to come all over my fingers?” Emily teases. It’s unnecessary, to make Andrea squirm like this. To make her wait.
It’s also absolutely delicious.
A broken whimper lets her know that, yes, it’s what Andrea wants.
And that’s it. This is it. Emily unceremoniously drops onto the floor. Her knees are going to pay for this, but she doesn’t care. Just like she doesn’t care about the clothes. She simply doesn’t give a fuck. She’s going to have Andy in her mouth, she’s going to feel the girl clench around her fingers, is going to make her come all over them.
She rips the girl’s ruined underwear off and goes for her prize.
If someone hears Andy scream, it matters just as little as everything else does today.
Emily lets her tongue glide through Andy’s absolutely dripping folds a couple of times to simply taste her before settling on her clit. There, she licks softly at first, but when she realizes that Andy needs it harder, she carefully starts applying more pressure, making sure that it’s more, but not too much. She uses the flat of her tongue to stimulate the swollen bundle of nerves once she’s set a rhythm that Andy likes, and it doesn’t take long before she can feel Andy start trembling again.
A grin spreads across her face. She can’t prevent it from happening. It’s just—she is doing this to Andy. She’s the one bringing her this much pleasure. She’s the one making her cry and scream and shake.
Of course she’s going to revel in this knowledge for a while. Possibly even forever.
“You ready for me?” Emily eventually asks, letting her fingers circle Andy’s—clearly very sensitive—entrance.
Andy’s eyes close, and she nods.
Emily complies. She slowly presses one finger in, just to tease, but then quickly pushes all three in when Andy whines in protest. From there, it only takes a couple of thrusts before Andy’s sopping wet cunt starts fluttering around her. Some of her juices start running down her thighs, which Emily immediately laps up. Andy is close. Only seconds away. She knows she has got to give it her all now. Has to go back to licking her clit before she loses it.
Emily swears to herself that she’s going to make this good for Andy. No, she’s going to make it perfect. And the only way she knows how to is—
“Play with your tits for me, Andy.” Because, fuck, the girl deserves to have all the pleasure in the world. She deserves everything at once. She deserves to come harder than she ever has in her life.
And Emily really hopes that this is the way to go, that she’s sensitive there, that this will do it. And—
Andy has just cupped herself and pinched a tight pink nipple when she comes with a loud cry. Her walls clamp down around Emily’s eager fingers, and then she’s crying out her pleasure while Emily drinks as much of her cum as she can. The girl comes so hard that some of it goes to waste, drips onto the bathroom floor, and it’s a damn shame, but Emily just continues to drink what she can. And, fuck, she can’t stop. Can’t stop drinking, can’t stop fucking. She keeps thrusting in and out through the violent contractions, and, even when Andy begs her to stop, she doesn’t.
She can’t. She won’t. Andy’s pussy is the best thing she’s ever tasted, the best meal she’s ever had, and she’s not sated yet. Far from it. If she was hungry before, she’s ravenous now. She slows down her pace considerably, though, and her tongue relents, too, applying softer, gentler strokes on Andy’s clit.
Until the girl has come down from her high. Then, Emily adds another finger, and starts fucking her again, nice and hard.
Andy cries out hoarsely at the stretch, but rolls her hips into the motion, pulling Emily even deeper.
“I want you to come again. I know you can, baby,” Emily says boldly. “Just focus on how full you are.”
“Emily, I—oh, fuck—”
“Can you feel me? Feel all of me?” Emily asks, entranced. Four fingers, I have four fingers inside of you. She looks up to meet Andy’s awed gaze, and she knows she’s mirroring it.
Andy meets her next thrust so enthusiastically that Emily is sure she’s just touched Andy’s cervix with her fingertips. She moans when she feels Andy’s body shudder above her, and she watches as the girl’s eyes roll into the back of her head.
“Em,” Andy whispers a moment later, voice stricken with desperation, “please fuck me deeper. Deeper, please. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, Emily, deeper, please—oh, God!”
And Emily does. She fucks her as deep and as hard as she can, curling her fingers exactly right every time she presses into Andy’s cunt, and she increases her pace further and further until she’s all but pounding Andy. Pounding her into oblivion. The rhythm is so fast that she can barely feel her hand anymore, but this, too, is something that doesn’t matter. Nothing matters at all, except for the fact that she’s almost got her entire hand inside of Andrea Sachs, that her fingers are being swallowed by Andrea Sachs’s hot wet cunt.
All Emily can do now is wait for the inevitable as Andy rides her hand and her face. As Andy ruts against her, as she’s humping her like a fucking dog in heat, using her for her own pleasure. Emily can’t do anything at all, can simply give while Andy takes, and it’s the best goddamn thing that’s ever happened to her.
And then Andy’s nails dig into her scalp, and she’s tugging on her hair, and it’s really fucking painful but pain is irrelevant because Andy is coming, Andy Sachs is coming again. She’s clenching around her hand, squirting into her mouth and onto the floor, and Andy is—Andy is coming for her. It’s a sight she’s never going to forget. Andrea Sachs lost entirely in the throes of pleasure, Andrea Sachs’s cheeks turning red and hot, Andrea Sachs’s swollen cunt gushing around her and clutching at her until the girl is nothing but a boneless mass.
And then, without warning, Andy slumps to the floor. Emily barely has time to catch her and sink down with her. But she does. She catches her. She’s got her. She sits with her, holds her as she comes down, lightly strokes her clit with her thumb until she’s done riding the last wave.
When Emily pulls out a while later, more cum dribbles out of Andy’s cunt, running down to her ass and onto the tiles.
Emily can only smile. This is the most relaxed she’s ever felt. And judging from the dopey grin on Andy’s face, the same goes for her. She wonders if a kiss would be okay right now. But before she can ever make a decision, Andy leans over and kisses her, instead.
Emily kisses back, of course, and their lips meet over and over again until neither of them can breathe. That’s when they break apart, heaving.
“My clothes are ruined,” Andy says once her breathing has evened out. She tries to pout, but a smirk ruins it for her.
Emily snorts in response. An unladylike, ungraceful sound that, just this morning, she would have been absolutely horrified by. Now, she just lets it be. In fact, she wouldn’t want to take back for the world. Because it makes Andy open her eyes, and the look in them is so warm, so full of hope and maybe even love that she almost swoons.
She clears her throat, and says, “Whatever,” trying to feign her usual annoyance. She fails miserably, but Andy doesn’t mention it.
The girl just playfully rolls her eyes and carries the conversation forward. “How, uh, do we get out of here?”
The panic Emily expects never sets in. How could it? She’s so satisfied, so deeply satisfied, that it is physically impossible for her heart rate to accelerate. And her mind is so filled with the bliss of what’s happened that it can’t torture her with what ifs. There is no space for dread and anxiety at the moment. She just shrugs. “I’ll ask Serena to cover for us.”
Andy doesn’t look convinced. She says, “Okay,” anyway.
“Do you maybe… want to take me home?” God, she must sound so entitled. But she wants more of this. No, she needs more. She needs to get Andy completely naked before the day is over. She needs to see her, look at her, watch her. She needs to grind down against her, to fuck her, to suck on her tits. She needs to be fully connected to her as she comes. And, fuck, she needs it now. She’s never wanted anything as much as she wants to have sex with this girl as often as humanly possible. Yeah, maybe she does sound entitled, but she’s got every right to be. Andy is hers now.
“You? Home?” Andy squints at her. “In the middle of the day? Who are you and what have you done to my colleague Emily Charlton?”
“Excuse me.” Emily clicks her tongue before faking a cough. “I’m clearly sick. You should know that. After all, you made me ill. I mean, you waltz in here, you—you look like that, and you expect me to be normal about it? Well, I’m not.” She forces out another cough. “See? I need to go home! Make sure I don’t infect anyone.” Her eyes wander down Andy’s front and settle on her cleavage. She licks her lips at the thought of what’s to come. “And look at you, too. I mean, you’re… wrecked. A mess.” She leans in for another kiss. Whispers, more seriously now, “Fuck, I need more, Andy. Please. Take me home.”
“Okay,” Andy says. “Fuck Miranda. Fuck Serena. Let’s go.”
And then, far away from the prying eyes at the other end of the floor, Andy drags her out of the bathroom, and into the elevator.