The Fiancée Farce

by Alexandria Bellefleur

“Look, in the morning I’ll be sober, and I can guarantee I’ll still want to marry you.”

“Say yes now, and later, I’ll spend as much time on my knees as you want.”

“It would be utterly remiss of me to leave without giving my fiancée a kiss goodbye.”

She was a total fucking goner. Whatever magic Tansy was made of, Gemma wanted to drown in it, revel in the honeyed heat burning her up from the inside out. It was better than the finest bourbon she’d ever had the pleasure of sipping.

“Taylor’s lucky all he kept was her scarf.” Gemma pursed her lips. “He made off with a pair of my La Perla panties.”

“The point is that you don’t know a lug nut from your left nut and therefore have no business wielding power tools, my friend.” His brows rose. “Or sports equipment.”

God help her if she ever had the pleasure of tracing the southward spread of Tansy’s flush. If she ever got to put her mouth on parts of Tansy other than her lips. She just might lose her mind.

“Careful.” Gemma took a smaller sip of scotch. “Curiosity killed the cat.” “You’re forgetting the second half of the saying. But satisfaction brought it back.”

“I can think of worse things to be than wanton,” Tansy said. “Really?” Gemma stared at her from beneath heavy, low-lidded eyes. “Because you strike me as a very good girl, Tansy.”

Tansy smiled, lips trembling, not from fear but from nerves. The good kind. “Looks can be deceiving.” “So, what?” Gemma stood. “Are you saying you aren’t a good girl?” Tansy swallowed hard, watching as Gemma prowled toward her, her dress sweeping the hardwood floor, her smooth steps making it look almost as if she were floating. “In theory or in practice?” Gemma stopped less than a foot in front of Tansy and lifted a hand, bracing her palm against the bookshelf. She boxed Tansy in, enveloping her in the warm scents of vetiver and vanilla and old books. “Have you been thinking dirty thoughts, Tansy?” She swallowed hard, breath catching in the back of her throat. “I read a lot. I guess you could say I’ve got an active imagination.”

“You don’t believe me?” Gemma reached out, prying Tansy’s lip from between her teeth, running her thumb along it, making her shiver. “Maybe I should prove it to you. Get down on my knees like I promised. I could show you just how desirable you are.” The hand she had braced against the bookshelf dropped to Tansy’s hip, fisting the fabric, bunching the satin between her fingers and dragging it up Tansy’s thigh. “I’ve lost sleep thinking about you, you know that? Thinking about how you might taste, the sounds you’d make if I was lucky enough to get my mouth on you.” Gemma lowered her forehead to Tansy’s, and her breath—whiskey warm and cinnamon sweet—wafted against Tansy’s mouth, making her ache from the tip of her nose down to her toes. There was a heavy sort of heat pooling beneath her belly button, a pulsing. The hand cradling her jaw drifted lower, wrapping gently around the front of her throat. “The things I want to do to you, the power you could wield over me, Tansy. You have no idea. I’d worship you, if you’d let me.”

Encyclopedia Britannica volumes one through ten had nothing on Gemma’s imagination.

“I take care of what’s mine, okay?” Gemma’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “And you are mine, aren’t you?”

Just to be clear, are we talking cinematic as in Oscars or OnlyFans?

Gemma (8:18 p.m.): Tansy, sweetheart, just . . . I’ve never gotten the chance to woo anyone before. It’s new. All of this is new for me.

“Later,” she promised, the hand she still had resting on Tansy’s shoulder skimming down the bare skin of her arm, settling finally on her towel-clad hip, “I’m going to take the time to show you just how beautiful you are, and I’m going to keep showing you over and over and over again until you believe me.” Gemma leaned in, lips brushing the damp shell of Tansy’s ear, dropping her voice down to a rasping whisper that made Tansy shiver, goose bumps erupting along her bare skin. “And you better fucking believe I’m going to make good on that promise to spend all the time on my knees that you want. Hell, you’re going to have to beg me to stop.”

Gemma’s gaze darkened, green eyes looking black in the back seat. Her thumb lingered, dragging against Tansy’s bottom lip. “Later.” God only knew what possessed her to do it, but she opened her mouth and drew Gemma’s thumb between her teeth, tracing the whirls and swirls of Gemma’s fingerprint with the tip of her tongue. Gemma gasped softly and Tansy’s heart pounded. “You promise?” She pressed a kiss to the pad of Gemma’s thumb. “I promise.” Gemma gripped Tansy’s chin in her hand and stared into her eyes. “And I always keep my promises.” Her gaze traveled down the length of Tansy’s body like a caress, a callback to the moment standing in Gemma’s bedroom, Tansy wearing nothing but a towel. “All my promises.”

“Fuck me,” Gemma chuckled against Tansy’s mouth. “You’re killing me, Tansy. If I didn’t think we’d get caught, I’d lay you out on the hood of Tucker’s stupid, flashy fucking car and make you come. Over and over and over again.” She shivered as Gemma’s thumbs brushed against the skin over her ribs, the wire of her bra. “So can we please get the fuck out of dodge so I can make good on my promise? All my promises.” She leaned in, lips brushing the lobe of Tansy’s ear. “You’re a fucking goddess, Tansy Elizabeth Adams. And I am going to worship you. I’m going to worship you so fucking good. Until you can’t see straight and my name’s the only word you know.” “Gemma,” she breathed. “Just like that.”

“I do believe you’re drunk, love.” “She’s queer.” Yvonne laughed. “Tell me something I don’t know.”