When I wake up, the light has gone entirely and we are in the dark apart from a soft glow of embers in the fireplace, illuminating the room. I sit up, wincing slightly at the stiffness in my back, as I stretch. Without waking, Andrea tightens her arms pulling me back against her and whispers "mine" in her sleep, which makes me smile to myself.

"We have to get up," I am reluctant to inform her, but if I am stiff, then her legs must be numb from sleeping with me on her lap.

"Don't wanna," she mumbles.

I press a kiss to her cheek, and then to the corner of her mouth as she begins to stir, and then finally to her lips. I watch as her eyes shoot open.

"Hi," she whispers, looking adorably cute in her sleepiness. She smiles at me warmly, her eyes full of love.

"Hi," I whisper back, though I am not sure why I do this. It just seems right at the time.

She looks around her in confusion, "it's dark. I can't believe we slept for so long?"

I glance at the clock on the wall that I can just make out in the semi-darkness, "it's nearly 6pm."

Her tummy rumbles then, and she looks at me smiling bashfully, "want some dinner?"

"I'll cook," I offer, "I'll make us a chicken stir fry if you like?"

"Sounds great," she agrees, and I reluctantly get off of her lap, holding out my hand to help her out of the chair. She stands, and shakes each of her legs out, before rolling her neck with a small groan. We walk hand in hand back to the kitchen and I feel like things are better between us. Not perfect, but not quite so 'off'.

I know we need to talk because we keep hitting the same problems over and over again. I only want what is best for her, and her lack of urgency when considering her future concerns me. I feel guilty because I know that she is out of a job because of me, and my haste in asking her to leave with me. I am probably overcompensating for my guilt by pushing her to consider her options so much.

I am not her mother though, and it is her life to make decisions about. She has reacted strongly the two times that money or our careers have come into the conversation, and I want to know why she has become quite so upset and angry with me over it.

I know from conversations I heard in the office between her and Emily, that she doesn't have a good relationship with her parents. I know they have wanted her to leave Runway and wanted her to leave me, for a long time. The nagging seemed to get worse and come to a head about a year ago, and then suddenly she just stopped talking about them.

Are they the reason she hates feeling pressured about her career choices or money? Are her parents that overbearing that they have caused her to be so defensive about it?

We know each other so well, and yet I realise that we don't know each other at all. I am determined to rectify this as soon as possible, so we can learn about the people we are outside of Runway. I know that this is more important at this moment than furthering our physical relationship.

I start to prepare dinner, and she helps me with ingredients. She goes to the fridge and pulls out a selection of vegetables suitable for a stir-fry, onions, bell peppers, broccoli, and carrot, as well as some mushrooms. We work side by side, peeling and chopping vegetables together. Every time I ask her to do something, she answers with "yes, Miranda," in her very best assistant voice, and smirks at me.

I find myself realising that although I enjoy her subservience at work, in our relationship that is the opposite of how things will be for us. She so effortlessly takes control in a way that makes me feel cherished and cared for, and I have never had that before. I have never wanted it.

At Runway, as well as in my personal relationships, I have done everything that I can to achieve absolute control. Every decision that is made at Runway, is approved by me. In my relationships, I have been aloof and never allowed anyone to see past the mask of La Priestly, and this has been both a conscious and unconscious action. On the surface, I have acted deliberately, but it also goes much deeper than that. Andrea is so far the only person that I have ever trusted enough to start to let go of my iron-willed control.

There is a difference though, and I am only just working why. Those who have come before her, specifically my ex-husbands, have wanted to conquer me. They have wanted nothing more than the exhilaration of bringing a woman the world sees as powerful, to her knees. They wanted to take the control from me, and as a result, I have held on to it even tighter. I have refused to let go for even a second.

Andrea is different. She is not trying to wrestle the power or control, from my unyielding hands. She treats me in such a way that I want nothing more than to give it to her. True submission isn't taken, it is earned and freely given, and I want nothing more than to give myself to her. I'm not quite sure what that means for me, or us, but the desire is there all the same. It is a conversation for another day, I'm sure.

I stand by the table and take a sip of my wine. She walks behind, putting her arms around me, and holding me against her. I feel her kiss, and then suck lightly on my neck, and for the first time in my life, I fully understand the expression 'weak in the knees' for someone.

One hand slowly makes its way over the curve of my stomach, and I'm surprised to find I don't mind her touching my least perfect attribute. If anything, I am arching slightly to give her better access to my body. Her other hand slides down my hip and then presses on the front of my thigh, and I want to grab her hand and move it just an inch so she is touching me intimately.

I turn to face her, and she's looking at me with mischief dancing in her eyes; our dinner preparations quickly forgotten. She knows exactly what she is doing to me, and I can tell she is an experienced lover. How she touches me, and where she touches me, both speak to that.

I'm no wallflower though and my passion for her is about to erupt, so I lunge for her, kissing her urgently, entering her mouth with my tongue. She allows me a minute of control, but somehow I haven't noticed as she has turned and walked me backwards across the kitchen. With one effortless move, her hands are under my thighs and she lifts me to sit on the counter.

She stands in between my legs and I can't help but move forwards so I am rubbing against her stomach while I experience the most erotic kiss of my life.

"I can feel how wet you are, Miranda. I want nothing more than to rip off your panties and bury my face in your pussy, but I'm not taking you for the first time in the kitchen," she murmurs in my ear, her obvious desire causing her voice to become husky.

No one, and I mean no one, has ever indulged in that type of language around me. I have never been one for any type of talk in the bedroom at all, let alone 'dirty talk', which is what I suppose this is. I am utterly confused with just how much I enjoy the sinful things that she says to me.

"I'm going to take you in every position you can think of and probably some that you can't," she tells me, biting down on my neck, "I'm going to lie back and watch you as you ride my face, looking up into your gorgeous eyes as you come."

"Andrea…" is all I can manage as she runs her hands up under my skirt, and for the briefest moment she runs a single finger down the wetness that I can feel has seeped out of me, and soaked the thin material that separates us. I take hold of her hand and press it to me, desperate for relief but she laughs and pulls away.

"Not in the kitchen." She winks then, adding, "well, not this time."

"You're a tease," I state needlessly, but I know she loves the effect she has on me if the smug look on her face is anything to go by.

"Soon, I promise. Dinner first though," and she steps back, holding out a hand to help me down from the counter.

I wonder when I grew so bold, as I tell her I have to go and change my underwear.

I smack her arm playfully as she laughs again and tells me she needs to as well.

We both decide to take a quick shower before we start actually cooking, and it takes me twice as long as usual. Every time I run my hands over my body, I am imagining it's her. The need to touch myself becomes almost painful, and I can feel my own body buzzing slightly. I resist though, because I know that tonight we will come together and make love for the first time.

I wait for her in the kitchen, dicing the chicken ready to cook, and I wonder where she is. I was sure she would have finished before me. When she arrives, she looks at me shyly and I see that she has taken the time to style her hair and apply light make-up.

She is wearing low slung skinny jeans, and a form-fitting t-shirt. Every time she reaches into a cupboard, or even brushes her hair out of her eyes, a piece of flesh above the waistband is revealed to me. Each time this happens I have to stop myself from pouncing on her.

I don't want there to be any confusion tonight, and I don't want there to be reticence on her part, so I resolve to be upfront with her. Again, I wonder who I have become that I suddenly speak my mind so freely. When did I start talking about these things so easily?

In other parts of my life, I have always been outspoken, and have never had a problem talking about the things that I need or want. However, in relationships, and specifically when it comes to the physical side of things, I have always struggled. Andrea makes me bold though and brings out a side of me that I had no idea was in there, hidden away.

"I'm having wine with my dinner, Andrea, but afterwards, you are taking me to bed and we're going to make love," I state calmly, as her eyes widen and meet my own.

"I'm telling you this now so that you know I want to do this. It's not because of alcohol, although I will be drinking moderately. It's because I love you, and I want you. I think I will die if you don't touch me." I am speaking calmly but I almost laugh at the dramatics my words invoke. I can see how pleased she is with my statement, though.

"Ok," she replies, equally as calmly, "that's all I need to hear. I just want you to be sure, you know?"

"I appreciate you taking care of me, but I can assure you, I have never wanted anything more," I take a sip of my drink but then add, "I have never wanted any person more."

"You know how much I want you. I can't wait to take you to bed. I love you so much and I can't wait to show you," Andrea speaks softly, her eyes glowing, making a promise without the need for other words.

I step towards her, and she instinctively opens her arms as I almost fall into them in my haste to show my love for her. I tilt my face towards her and she kisses me slowly, her hands in my hair holding me close as she devours me. It is such a moment of pure sweetness between us that I feel my emotions rising, and when I step back from her, I can see her eyes have become slightly shiny. We are similarly affected, I can tell, and I lean forward to deliver one final, chaste kiss.

I smile then and turn around to start cooking dinner for us. It doesn't take long for it to all come together, and I am soon ready to serve. We each take our own plate to the table, and sit down opposite each other.

We talk about general things, as though we are on a first date. I find out about her strange obsession with comic books, which I am delighted about because I know they are the same ones that Caroline and Cassidy are currently reading. She can play the guitar, and I make her promise to play for me. She is reluctant but then admits that she has one here in the house.

I tell her how everyone always assumes that I only like the opera, museums or the arts in general, but I like nothing more than sitting down with an episode of Grey's Anatomy, or Friends, when I want to relax. She asks about my family and understands that they are not a happy topic of conversation for me. She artfully changes the subject to something I am more comfortable with. There is an understanding that another day we will revisit it, but tonight we both agree, without the need to vocalise it, that we will keep things light.

We sit down together after dinner and Skype the girls, who are having decidedly less fun at their fathers than they had been. His new girlfriend came back, and since she arrived, they have been up in the bedroom and haven't left since.

My girls are 11 and know all too well what that means. They are of an age where it is disturbing to know that this is happening in a room not far from them. They beg us if they can come and visit, and Andrea gives me a subtle thumbs up to show her agreement, where they can't see. She is telling me that the decision is mine. There is of course plenty of space, and I know from the tour there are a further three bedrooms that could be put to use.

I tell them that they need to check with their father and get him to call me, but that if he agrees, I will make arrangements for them to come here to be with us. I know full well, that if their father is holed up in the bedroom with his girlfriend, he will most likely just want them gone anyway, not that I would admit that to them.

They tell us that they will go and ask now, and call us back. We close the session and I turn to Andrea.

"Are you sure this is ok?"

"I love the girls, it would be great to see them," and she smiles so warmly that I believe her. They are not a burden for her. She genuinely likes them both, so when she tells me they are welcome, I know it is nothing but the absolute truth.

At 11 they are old enough to be escorted on to a flight by their father, and then they can travel alone as long as we meet them at the other end. When they call back ten minutes later and tell us subduedly that he seemed rather pleased they were leaving, I tell them that we can arrange for them to travel tomorrow.

Andrea instantly goes into assistant mode, and before I have even finished my call to them, she has booked them both flights and has check-in times ready to give. They get their father to come online, and I make sure he knows what flight to deliver them onto tomorrow. It's the least he can do, considering they were meant to be staying with him for another week.

After we finish making arrangements and saying goodbye, I realise that Andrea has booked the flights using her credit card. I don't want to ruin tonight with an argument about money, so I thank her and tell her I will pay her back. When she tells me confidently that there is no need, there is a slight warning on her face, which I heed, and I let the matter drop. She flashes me a grateful smile, and I know I have done the right thing.

I don't know how she has managed her money so well, because most people are struggling to survive in New York on her salary, but she must have money put away for a rainy day. I hope to make it up to her by paying for more when we head back to New York because it will be impossible for her to keep up this level of spending. I don't want her to feel like she has to compete with my considerable wealth. I am well aware of her financial status. She has spent the last three years working for an assistant's salary.

We sit in the living room, curled up in each other's arms on the sofa, and it is blissful to just watch the fire and talk. I am discovering so much about her, and I don't know why I have never asked these questions before. Yes, she was my assistant, but why did I shut myself off so much to the people around me? Why did I shut myself off from her? I know the answer is self-preservation, but it seems a ridiculous notion now.

I could spend the rest of my days not working if I chose to. I certainly have enough money to sustain me in the life I am accustomed to. However, I promise myself that if I do decide to go back to work, I will work at being more approachable.

It's a curiously sad thought that maybe if I had been more open, Andrea and I would have found our way to each other before now. Maybe we wouldn't have wasted quite so much time, dancing around our feelings.

She pours us more wine and passes me my glass. I am still clear-headed, but I am grateful for the wine just to take the edge off. I know I want her, but this is a first for me, and I don't want my nerves to get in the way of our night.

She takes my glass, and puts it down next to hers and then kisses me softly, teasing me with her lips as they brush so gently against my own.

"I would like to take you to bed, Miranda," and she kisses me again, harder this time, stroking her tongue against my own, as I let her in.

I don't want to wait any longer, so I take control and stand up, waiting for her to do the same. She picks up our glasses and follows me out of the room. I'm unsure for a minute whose room would be best, but I want her to know that not everything has to be on my terms. Rather than the master bedroom, I lead us to her room instead. We can talk about sleeping arrangements tomorrow.

The glasses are placed next to the bed, and suddenly I am nervous. She seems to see my sudden tension and pushes me to sit on the bed, settling down next to me.

"We're going to take this slowly, ok? If at any time you change your mind, you tell me and we stop. If you don't like what I'm doing or you're not comfortable, you tell me and we stop. Anything at all, any reason, it doesn't matter, ok?"

Her words are exactly what I needed to hear, and I feel my nerves leave me then.

"I want you," I tell her, and that is all it takes to spur her into action.