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Red, Red Lace

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Gloria is wearing that red lace bra. Claire knows it. Well, everyone knows it; Gloria flashes a generous view of her cleavage every couple minutes.

Claire feels her gaze drawn. Gloria catches her eye often, giving her a discreet, coquettish bat of her eyelashes. Claire sighs internally. She hate-loves it when Gloria teases her over extended family dinners.

Gloria brushes against her, throws sweet looks in her direction, carefully avoids addressing her directly, knowing full well Claire is going to have her way with her later. It will be fast and hot and frenzied. Gloria loves when Claire comes undone.



Claire and Gloria are parked in a remote spot, barely able to wait until the car is in park before launching at each other like a pair of virgin teenagers.

They have neither the time nor the space for romance, which is just as well as they never seem to be able to pull it off with any level of sincerity. They love each other - they’re sure about that, they talked - but love and romance aren’t the same thing.

Claire’s thumbs brush over Gloria’s peaked nipples through the lace. Gloria’s desperate moan sends a powerful jolt of arousal through Claire.


Gloria’s car pulls up to the Dunphy house and, throwing caution to the wind, Claire plants one last rough kiss to Gloria’s lips. Gloria cups the back of her head, resisting the urge to mess up her short blonde hair again.

Claire nips at Gloria’s lip, making the other women grin and playfully admonish her.

“Te amo.” Claire whispers, smiling.

“Te amo tambien.” Gloria answers, leaning her head against Claire’s for a moment before the blonde pulls away.

Claire closes the car door behind her. She reaches into her pocket for her key, revealing a quick flash of red lace.