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It started innocently.
Andrea was sitting on the edge of the bed, sorting through emails, when Miranda walked in, already half-undone from a long day.
Her hair was pinned up loosely, blouse sleeves rolled, a faint flush along her throat from exhaustion.
There was a softness about her, rare and unguarded, that Andrea hadn’t expected to see.
“Oh,” Miranda murmured, dropping a stack of papers onto the dresser.
“I simply cannot look at another photograph today.”
Andrea smiled.
“Rough one?”
“Mmm,” Miranda hummed, a sound so delicate it almost seemed private, like a secret she hadn’t meant to share.
“Unbearably.”
She stood in front of the mirror, fingers rubbing slow circles at the base of her skull.
Then — without thinking — she lifted her arms up high, stretching long, elegant, cat-like.
Her spine arched, shoulders rolling back, a soft little exhale slipping out of her.
And her shirt rode up.
Quite a bit.
Just a sliver at first — the tiniest peek of pale skin above the waistband of her trousers.
But as she stretched higher, reaching for something invisible, her blouse slid up further, revealing the soft, smooth expanse of her lower belly.
Andrea froze.
It wasn’t intentional.
Miranda wasn’t seducing.
She was just… stretching.
Exposing this rare, vulnerable softness she almost never showed anyone.
The kind of softness Andrea had learned only came out in quiet moments, in the safety of home.
Andrea’s eyes locked on the curve of her, the way the skin there looked warm and delicate and— God.
She couldn’t look away.
Miranda spoke, unaware.
“I believe my back is going to mutiny aga— Andrea?”
Andrea hadn’t meant to stare.
She really hadn’t.
But her breath had gone somewhere far from her body, and she’d gone very, very still.
Miranda slowly lowered her arms, blouse falling back down, though not completely — a tiny slip of skin remained visible, enough to taunt.
“Andrea?” Miranda said again, softer this time, eyes narrowing slightly.
“You’re staring.”
Andrea swallowed, voice catching.
“Sorry. I just—”
Her body moved before her mind did.
Her hand lifted.
Her fingers brushed the warm, exposed skin of Miranda’s belly.
Just the lightest touch.
Barely there.
Miranda jumped.
Not violently — not like she was frightened — but like someone whose skin was so sensitive, so charged, that the contact sent sparks through her entire body.
Her breath hitched sharply, a soft gasp escaping her lips.
Her hand flew to Andrea’s wrist, not pulling away — just holding on, as if steadying herself.
“Don’t—” Miranda whispered, eyes wide, pupils blown, her whole body gone tight and still.
“Andrea.”
Andrea froze.
“Too much?”
Miranda shook her head immediately.
Too fast.
Too honest.
“It startled me,” she breathed.
“I wasn’t expecting…”
Her voice faltered as she glanced down at where Andrea’s hand rested, warm and gentle, over the softest part of her.
Andrea’s thumb brushed an inch higher.
Miranda shuddered.
Not a tremble — a shudder, full-body, involuntary, stunning.
“And this?” Andrea whispered.
Miranda closed her eyes for half a second, breath stuttering in her chest.
“I…”
Another breath.
Quieter.
“It’s— sensitive.”
“Sensitive how?” Andrea murmured, stepping closer.
Just enough for their hips to almost brush.
Miranda’s eyelashes fluttered.
Her belly tightened under Andrea’s hand, muscles fluttering like something was breaking loose inside her.
“In the way you enjoy,” Miranda whispered.
Andrea felt her own breath catch.
Her hand splayed wider, thumb tracing the faintest circle on Miranda’s skin.
Miranda gasped — an actual gasp — her fingers clutching Andrea’s arm to keep herself steady.
“Andrea,” she said again, but this time it was nothing like a warning.
This time, it was a plea.
Miranda was already breathing too fast.
Andrea didn’t move her hand at first — just kept her palm warm and steady against that soft strip of exposed skin, feeling how Miranda’s belly fluttered beneath her touch, as if her body couldn’t decide between tensing or melting.
Miranda swallowed hard.
“This is… highly improper.”
Andrea smiled.
“Why? Because you stretched like a sleepy cat and showed me your belly?”
Miranda’s eyes snapped open, scandalized.
“I did not—”
“You did,” Andrea said, stepping closer, letting her thumb stroke a small steady arc.
“Just like a cat. All long and elegant, pretending it was innocent.”
“It was innocent,” Miranda whispered, face flushing a delicate pink she would deny to her grave.
“Mmhmm,” Andrea teased, leaning in just a little.
“You know what cats do when they show you their bellies?”
Miranda’s breath hitched.
“Andrea—”
“They’re asking for touch,” Andrea finished softly.
“Even if they pretend they don’t need it.”
Miranda’s spine straightened as if her whole nervous system fired at once.
She looked away — a fatal mistake — because it exposed the faint warmth rising along her throat, down to the collar of her blouse.
Andrea’s hand slipped slightly lower and—
“Oh—”
Miranda’s voice cracked.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just shockingly human.
Andrea froze only long enough to say,
“Tell me if you want me to stop.”
Miranda shook her head instantly, eyes wide.
“No. Don’t. Just— slow.”
Andrea’s chest warmed.
She softened her touch, letting her fingertips trace the gentle curve of Miranda’s lower belly, brushing just enough to make her shiver.
Miranda’s breath came out trembling.
“God,” she whispered, almost to herself.
“It is… horribly embarrassing how responsive I’ve become.”
Andrea stroked up again, appreciating the subtle softness there — not fat, not something Miranda would ever criticize, but the natural, delicate give of someone who was finally allowed to relax in her own home.
The softest part of her.
The human part.
“It’s beautiful,” Andrea said simply.
Miranda’s head snapped toward her.
“My— what?”
“This.” Andrea’s hand moved in a slow, reverent glide, fingers spreading across the warm, faintly rounded slope of her lower stomach.
“This part of you. You hide it all day under stiff fabrics and impossible posture.”
Miranda made a helpless sound — half protest, half surrender.
Andrea continued, gentler still.
“And when you stretch, it shows for just a second. Soft. Real. Yours.”
Miranda’s knees wobbled.
Andrea slid an arm around her waist automatically, supporting her before she could lose her balance.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” Miranda whispered, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy with sensation.
“I can’t— I can’t think when you’re touching me like— like that.”
“Like you’re something precious?” Andrea murmured.
Miranda’s breath broke.
Her hands clutched Andrea’s forearms now, not to push her away but to hold herself steady.
Vulnerable.
Exposed.
And wanting.
Andrea dipped her head, lips brushing Miranda’s ear.
“You don’t show anyone this. Not at work. Not in Paris. Not in the car. Only here. Only with me.”
Miranda shuddered against her.
“Because you’re a cat,” Andrea whispered, thumb circling the softest part of her belly, “and you only show your vulnerable places to someone you trust.”
Miranda nearly whimpered — actual sound, soft and shocked — her fingers tightening on Andrea’s arms.
“Andrea,” she breathed, voice cracking open.
“Please.”
Andrea smiled against her cheek.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart.”
Miranda melted — beautifully, helplessly — her belly softening under Andrea’s hand as she gave in completely.
Andrea hadn’t meant for it to go anywhere.
It was just accidental softness — Miranda stretching, shirt lifting, that unexpected strip of pale, warm skin catching the afternoon light.
Andrea laughed softly.
“You’re so jumpy.”
And then, without thinking, she leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss right above Miranda’s waistband.
Miranda whimpered.
A tiny, high, startled sound — like a kitten noise she’d never let anyone else hear.
Andrea froze, lips still hovering against her skin, stunned by how delicate it was.
“Oh my God,” Andrea whispered against her belly.
“You’re actually purring.”
Miranda made another involuntary sound, this one even softer, her stomach tightening under Andrea’s mouth.
Her fingers curled reflexively into Andrea’s shoulders — gripping her for balance, not sheets or anything they weren’t near.
“Andrea—” she managed, voice thin and frayed at the edges.
Andrea placed another feather-light kiss, unable to resist.
Miranda’s breath hitched sharply—
And then her hands shot down, pushing Andrea’s gently away.
Not hard.
Not scared.
Just desperate.
Andrea instantly pulled back, hands up in alarm.
“Hey—hey, sorry! Did I hurt you? Did I do something wrong?”
Miranda shook her head quickly, chest rising too fast, cheeks flushed a deep, helpless pink.
“No. No, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then what—?” Andrea reached out but stopped herself halfway, giving Miranda space.
Miranda turned her face away, mortified.
“Andrea, I’m just… I’m too worked up.”
Andrea blinked.
“From… that?”
Miranda groaned into her hands.
“Yes, Andrea. That. You kissing me there— I can’t think straight. It’s too much.”
She swallowed, voice trembling with frustrated embarrassment.
“I don’t want to fall apart on a technicality.”
Andrea’s expression softened instantly — worried but warm.
She gently touched Miranda’s elbow, grounding.
“You could’ve told me, sweetheart. You don’t have to push me away like I burned you.”
Miranda peeked at her through her fingers, eyes wide and flustered.
“If I had opened my mouth, the sound I would’ve made would’ve been worse.”
Andrea’s breath hitched — half sympathy, half fondness.
“Okay,” she said quietly.
“We stop. Right here. Nothing else. Just you and me, breathing.”
Miranda exhaled shakily, relief loosening her shoulders.
Andrea guided her carefully to sit beside her on the edge of the bed — where Andrea had been originally — and wrapped an arm around her waist, tender and cautious.
Miranda tucked herself in immediately, forehead pressing to Andrea’s collarbone.
Still trembling.
Still flustered.
Still hers.
“I didn’t mean to push you,” Miranda whispered.
“I know,” Andrea murmured, stroking her back.
“You were overwhelmed.”
Miranda huffed a small, embarrassed laugh.
“That’s an understatement.”
Andrea smiled into her hair.
“Being wound up isn’t a crime, kitten.”
Miranda made another soft, involuntary noise — the exact one she’d been trying to hide — and buried her face deeper in Andrea’s neck.
Andrea held her closer, gentle and careful, until all that frantic tension finally melted out of her body, replaced with slow breaths and quiet, contented little hums.
Not purring, of course.
Except… yes. Absolutely purring.