Not Nearly Enough


Summary: Miranda lets Jacqueline know just how deeply she has disappointed her.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Miranda/Jacqueline
Disclaimer: Not mine.




Miranda couldn’t help but glimpse at Nigel as she made her announcement, but found even she couldn’t stomach the anguish she saw on her dear friend’s face. Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she looked instead at Jacqueline. The smile on the younger woman’s face didn’t quite ring true and it wasn’t difficult to understand why, compared to the idea of bringing down the Dragon Lady, crushing Irv’s dreams was hardly an achievement.

Their hands brushed as Jacqueline came to take the podium and Miranda returned to her seat. The shiver it caused to run through Miranda was perceptible enough for Andrea to give her a concerned look, and it made her hate Jacqueline all the more. Not only had she tried to steal her job, she’d made her want her too. Damn her.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of speeches and handshakes as Miranda was assaulted by memories, almost twenty years old now, of Jacqueline’s creamy skin and how it felt flush up against her. By the time they returned to the hotel, the ache between her thighs was almost painful and Miranda had made up her mind. Forget the consequences, Stephen, Pierre and the increasingly complicated between herself and Andrea, she was going to let Jacqueline know just how very deeply disappointed she was, and damn if she wasn’t going to enjoy it.

She rang Jean-Paul, her preferred driver in France, herself in an attempt not to let Andrea know what was going on, though she doubted it would help - the girl was uncanny. The journey across Paris was far too slow for Miranda’s liking and the gentle thrum of the car engine did nothing to relieve the throb between her legs. Twenty minutes later she was almost a nervous wreck but took some comfort in the fact that they were finally parked outside Jacqueline’s townhouse. Now all she had to do was make it inside and convince the woman, who’d never quite forgiven or forgotten her, to have some no-strings sex for no other reason than that she was horny. Simple.

Pierre answered the door but Jacqueline appeared behind him as soon as Miranda started speaking. Pierre was quite clearly clueless, but the look in Miranda’s eyes was obvious enough for Jacqueline to send him away for the first feasible reason she could think of.

“Jacqueline, it’s been too long,” Miranda started as soon as the door closed behind the other woman’s husband, the French rolling off her tongue as though she spoke it every day.

“Perhaps not long enough,” Jacqueline responded, her eyes narrowing. “What makes you think you’re welcome here, Miranda, what makes you think you can waltz back into my life after twenty years and expect me to do your bidding? I’m not one of your lackeys and I’ll be damned if I let you treat me like one.”

The angry words that had been echoing in Miranda’s head for the last hour evaporated, even as she grasped desperately for them. She had no words. There were no words.

“Jacqueline,” was all she could think of to say, her tongue suddenly feeling too big for her mouth. Reaching out her hand, a desperate attempt to close the gap between them, her fingers closed around empty space and the air she sucked in tasted like disappointment.

The smirk on Jacqueline’s face screamed of triumph and as she stepped into Miranda’s personal space she could see the victory in her eyes – she’d brought down the Dragon Lady after all.

“What do you want, Miranda?” Jacqueline asked, cupping her hand too Miranda’s face, not quite close enough to touch.

Miranda hummed with need. She was of a mind to beg and, had she been anyone else, she probably would have. It was almost enough to make her wish she was someone else, make her wish she was just a woman reaching out for the woman she loved, asking to be loved by the person she hadn’t stopped thinking of for twenty years. Perhaps it showed on her face because she suddenly had Jacqueline’s tongue in her mouth and it almost brought tears to her eyes. It was the most welcome of violations.

“What do you want, Miranda?” Jacqueline asked again, pulling away enough to speak but making sure their lips were still touching.

It suddenly made sense. “You,” Miranda gasped, “it’s always been you.” At least she wasn’t begging, not quite.

Jacqueline pushed her roughly into the door frame, the small of her back making contact with the handle. “I haven’t forgiven you,” Jacqueline hissed before she plundered Miranda’s mouth once again, her hands tearing desperately at a three thousand dollar Versace shirt. She’d probably rip the buttons off before she was done. Being a fashion editor, that should probably bother her.

“I’m not asking you to,” Miranda panted, pulling away from Jacqueline’s bruising kiss for just long enough to pull the sweater over her head. Raking her eyes down the younger woman’s suddenly exposed frame, her eyes softened. “I’ve missed you,” she admitted, for once letting her vulnerability darken her features.

Jacqueline sucked at the soft spot just under Miranda’s ear, and Miranda wasn’t quite aware of what was happening for a short while after that. The next thing she knew was she had her fingers buried tightly in Jacqueline’s centre and was rubbing herself against her thigh. She couldn’t even remember taking her pants off.

They came as one, a collection of breathy sighs and grunted promises. It was messy, vulgar and not nearly enough, but as they collapsed in the doorway in a pile of sweaty limbs and ruined couture, Miranda knew Paris would never be the same again.