Title: Power over Me

A/N: I don't own The Devil Wears Prada or any of its characters.

Chapter 1

"Andrea," the editor called from her office in a cold voice.

The young assistant practically ran into Miranda's office, relieved that Miranda was finally using her name and not calling her "Emily."

"Yes, Miranda?" Andrea asked.

"Skirts, Donna Karan. And pickup that thing I liked at Bergdorfs on Tuesday, have it wrapped for Bea's party tonight. Cancel my appointment this afternoon with what's-her-name. Tell Nigel that we need 75, not 50, and to pair it with lace, not rockstuds. Take Patricia to the spa and have her and the girls' luggage packed and ready when they return from school. And my coffee. That's all."

Andrea was exhausted from listening to the litany of Miranda's demands. She rushed out of Miranda's office, still writing notes in her notepad. The woman was insane, but Andrea saw it as a challenge to keep Miranda satisfied, one she did not hesitate to accept. She did her very best trying to please Miranda. She would not leave Runway with a less than excellent recommendation.

Andrea sighed as she thought back to when she started fourteen months ago. Her eagerness, commitment to Miranda's satisfaction—she had no idea what she was getting into. How had it all started, she wondered, just as she received another "confidential" email from Miranda, sitting less than twenty feet away at her desk. The email was simple: "23 — 3 minutes." but Andrea sighed deeply, deleting the message and minimizing her email screen before pushing away from her desk.

"Hey Em, I'm going to check on those layouts," Andrea said as she began walking away from her desk.

Emily glared at her. "Why are you wasting time telling me about it? Bloody hell!"

Andrea shrugged and rushed over towards the Art Department, walking past Nigel and Jocelyn's offices and around the back hallway to reach the stairs. Five flights of stairs was nothing for her, and over the past few months, she had managed to maneuver them quite well even in the highest stiletto heel.

Miranda did not need to say where she was going—her absence was never questioned. Pressing "23" on the elevator, she paced back and forth until it opened at her destination.

The twenty-third floor of Elias-Clarke had been vacant for the past few years after three very promising publications failed in succession in those very offices. It was the only entirely empty—and unmonitored—space in the entire building.

Andrea made her way from the stairwell to the southwest corner office and leaned on the desk in the middle of the room. When she heard the elevator doors open, she braced herself, gripping the desk tightly, as she waited for Miranda.

"Now!" Miranda shouted as she stormed into the office and closed the door behind her. Andrea quickly jumped off the desk as Miranda was barreling towards her. Miranda threw her body over the desk, her ass sticking up in the air because of the added height from her Louboutins.

Andrea quickly stepped closer and assumed her position behind Miranda, sliding Miranda's tight BCBG Max Azaria skirt up her legs, her pinkie fingers dragging along Miranda's thighs above the lace of her thigh-highs. Miranda was not wearing any underwear. Andrea would be lying if she said she no longer had feelings for the woman.

Her left hand anchored on Miranda's left hip, she pressed her fingers against Miranda's slit. "You're so wet, Miranda." Andrea said quietly.

"Silence!" Miranda shouted. "Inside, now."

Andrea quickly pushed three fingers inside Miranda's core, thrusting her hand in and out roughly as Miranda's grip on the edge of the desk tightened, her knuckles turning white.

"Ohhh!" Miranda growled. "Fuck—me—baby!" she panted. "Yes—oh yes!—do it harder—quicker!" Miranda's breathing was ragged, and if Andrea didn't know better, she would guess Miranda was gasping for air. Miranda's body rocked back and forth on the desk, grinding her clitoris into the edge of the desk each time. "Oh—oh—oh—fuuuuuuuck!" Miranda screamed out as her muscles tightened and waves coursed through her body. Andrea carefully pulled her hand out and opened the desk drawer to reach for a tissue to wipe her fingers on as she waited to be dismissed. She never knew exactly what Miranda would want, or how much, but she learned never to leave without being dismissed.

After several minutes, Miranda pushed herself up from the desk, her skirt still bunched around her waist. "Touch me," she commanded. Andrea stepped closer and slowly slid her hands up and down Miranda's body before reaching under her sweater and caressing her skin, massaging her breasts. Miranda's eyes were closed as Andrea's hands roamed her body.

Andrea lifted Miranda's sweater up and over her head, tossing it to the desk as she caressed the older woman's neck and shoulders, moving down to her arms, then back to her breasts. Andrea leaned forward into Miranda's neck, and whispered, "beautiful," before returning her attention to Miranda's breasts.

Feeling the hot breath on her neck, Miranda stopped moaning and immediately raised her hand in front of her. "That's all!" she said, and Andrea turned and left the room. When Miranda heard the elevator, she opened her eyes and smoothed out her clothing and sat for a moment to catch her breath before returning to her office.

Returning to her desk, Andrea was met with Emily's ire. "Where have you been? Miranda will be back at any moment and I have to pee! Ugh, and you didn't even get those layouts. I swear, I don't know why Miranda even hired you, you are so incredibly incompetent and—"

"Emily, go to the bathroom before Miranda gets back." Andrea said calmly, letting her insults wash over her.

"Right." Emily said, running down the hall to the restroom.

The elevator doors opened and Miranda walked into the office. "Why is my coffee not here? I'm sorry, Andrea, do you have other more important things to do?" Miranda said without making eye contact.

"Uh, no, Miranda. I'll be right back with your coffee," she said, running out to the Starbucks across the street. Andrea was so aroused from her earlier activity, she was surprised she didn't come from walking across the street. In the elevator, though, since she was alone for the ride up to the 18th floor, she pressed her free hand between her legs, slightly relieving the ache.

The rest of the day had been a blur. Miranda and Emily were gone by 6:30pm, and as she waited around for the Book, Andrea called her friend Doug to meet her at Tobacco Road around the corner for a quick drink.