Sometime in the summer of 2027, I don't fuckin' know.
Gianna barely had time to blink the sleep out of her eyes before her phone vibrated on the nightstand. She groggily reached for it, squinting at the name flashing on the screen.
Bridgette.
She swiped to answer, voice still thick with sleep. "Mmmph. Babe?"
She activated the speaker and dropped phone beside her. On the other end, Bridgette was breathless. Not from running or exertion--no, this was something else entirely.
"Gravitational microlensing," Bridgette purred, low and husky, like she was whispering in Gianna's ear instead of calling from some sterile conference hall. "Light bending around a massive object, warping spacetime itself--"
Gianna shivered, immediately awake. The speaker was on, but still she pressed the phone tighter to her ear, heart pounding. "Fuck."
Bridgette hummed, pleased. "Think of it, cara mia. A star's light stretched, magnified, distorted by something impossibly dense. A black hole... bending space itself. Can you picture it?"
Bridgette's voice. She could be reading a Reddit thread about gardening, and Gigi would get wet.
Gianna swallowed hard. "I--fuck. Yeah."
Bridgette's voice was a slow, deliberate caress. "That's what I'm going to do to you when I get home."
Gianna whimpered, already shifting under the sheets, body thrumming.
Bridgette chuckled, wickedly smooth. "I'm warping your world, aren't I?"
Gianna's breath caught. "Jesus, Bridgette--"
"Distorting your perception? Making you feel like there's nothing but me?"
Gianna bit her lip, heat rushing through her. She clutched the sheets, desperate for something to ground her, but Bridgette pulled at her, drawing her in, reshaping her entire existence around the sheer gravity of her wife's voice.
Bridgette knew exactly what she was doing.
And she wasn't stopping.
Not until Gianna was completely undone.
Gianna barely had time to catch her breath before Bridgette shifted gears. The teasing, the scientific seduction--it was gone. Now, Bridgette's voice was pure, hungry intent.
"I miss my wife's perfect fuckin' tits."
Gianna whimpered, already lost, her body lighting up like a damn circuit board at Bridgette's tone. "Babe--"
"Shut up," Bridgette ordered, voice dark, hot, completely in control. "I should be there. Should have my mouth on you. Should be ruining you before you even have a chance to wake up properly."
Gianna exhaled sharply, heat rolling through her. "God, you're awful."
Bridgette laughed. "Yeah? And you love it."
Gianna clenched the sheets, already nodding even though Bridgette couldn't see her.
"I can hear it," Bridgette continued, voice dropping to a whisper. "You're probably already wet, aren't you?"
Gianna swallowed hard.
Bridgette choked, her own arousal breaking through. "Fuck, you are. My perfect little wife, waiting for me, needing me--"
Gianna squeezed her eyes shut. "Baby, please--"
"No." Bridgette was relentless. "You wait for me. You don't get to touch yourself, Gianna. Not without my hands on you first."
Gianna whined.
Bridgette groaned at the sound. "You better be in that bed when I get home. Naked. Ready. I want my face between your thighs the second I walk through that door."
Gianna's head fell back against the pillow, her entire body trembling. "I--God, yes--"
Bridgette's breath was ragged now, all restraint slipping. "I'm gonna ruin you, baby. Make you forget everything but my mouth. My hands. My fuckin' tongue."
Gianna moaned, raw and desperate.
Bridgette shuddered. "Fuck, I need to get out of this conference right now--"
Gianna gasped out a laugh, still breathless. "You can't."
Bridgette growled. "Then you better be ready when I can."
Gianna clutched the phone like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. "I will be."
Bridgette exhaled sharply. "Good girl."
Gianna said, "I love you, Mrs. DeLuca."
"And I love you, Mrs. Jakubowicz."
The line clicked.
Gianna stared at the ceiling, wrecked, her body still on fire.
Bridgette was going to destroy her the moment she got home.
And Gianna couldn't fuckin' wait.
"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?"
Gianna jerked upright, eyes wide, still breathless, phone clutched in her shaking hands.
Out in the living room, Carina Marie Delvecchio sat up on the couch, looking absolutely wrecked in the worst way--wild hair, drool dried at the corner of her mouth, wearing one of Zach's old hoodies like it was a security blanket.
She blinked blearily at Gianna's bedroom door, eyes haunted.
"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK WAS THAT?"
Gianna froze.
Shit.
Carrie shoved the blanket off her legs, rubbing her face like she was trying to erase the last few minutes from her brain. She grins and lets Gianna have it. "Jesus Christ, Gigi, I wake up to what sounds like the entire concept of lesbianism collapsing in on itself, and it's you? In this nice, wholesome, high-end Drexel housing? Just desecrating it?"
Gianna flopped back onto the bed, groaning into her pillow. "Carrie--"
"NO. No, don't 'Carrie' me. I thought you were a good girl, Gigi. I thought you were out here, waking up, making a cup of coffee, doing, I dunno, normal wife things. But NO. Instead, I wake up on this too-nice couch to you getting obliterated by a goddamn phone call--"
Gianna whined into her pillow.
Carrie gasped. "Wait."
Gianna peeked out.
Carrie's grin was downright unholy. She faked a revelation. "Was that Bridgette?"
Gianna threw her pillow at the door. "Shut UP."
Carrie cackled, catching the pillow and hugging it like it was a newfound source of entertainment. "Oh my God. That was your wife turning you into a mess from an undisclosed scientific location. Jesus Christ, she got you from a conference hall."
Gianna groaned. "I hate you."
"No, you don't," Carrie said, stretching, voice thick with sleep but still full of shit. "I gotta admit, I never expected Bridgette to be the aggressive one--"
Gianna sat up so fast Carrie actually flinched.
"Don't you dare talk about my wife."
Carrie howled with laughter. "Oh, my God, she owns you."
Gianna, cheeks burning, flopped back down, pulling the blanket over her head.
Carrie leaned back, smug as hell. "Guess that science brain really knows how to break a bitch down, huh?"
Gianna said nothing.
Carrie grinned wider. "Microlensing, though?"
Gianna grabbed another pillow and threw it harder. "GET OUT."
Carrie, still grinning like the menace she was, stretched her arms over her head and turned toward the door. But before she left, she paused--just long enough to smirk over her shoulder.
"Nice tits."
Gianna launched the bedside lamp.
Carrie ducked--barely--and cackled all the way out of the room, hands up in mock surrender as she disappeared back into the living room.
"Love you, Gigi!" she called, flopping back onto the couch like nothing had happened.
Gianna groaned, shoving her face into the pillow.
Bridgette wasn't even home yet, and she was already ruining her.
Carrie padded through the high-end Drexel housing like she had just broken into a different reality. Barefoot, Zach's old hoodie hanging off her like a security blanket, she moved from room to room, staring. She'd been here before, but every time, she felt the same way.
This wasn't real.
This wasn't the Gigi she grew up with.
She flicked a light switch. The fixtures were fancy. Like, actual glass (or crystal, fuck, she didn't know) instead of the shitty plastic covers she was used to. The bulbs dimmed smoothly instead of flickering like they were deciding whether to explode.
The kitchen? A dream. Stainless steel appliances. A fridge with an ice dispenser. The countertops--real marble. She ran her fingers over them just to feel it.
"Jesus Christ," she muttered.
The stove had six burners. Who the fuck needed six burners? Bridgette, probably, with her scientist brain and her excessive competence.
Carrie opened a cabinet, half-expecting to find normal shit, but no. No Great Value peanut butter. No suspiciously off-brand cereal in a ripped box. Just neatly arranged organic snacks and expensive European chocolates.
She whistled low. "Gigi, you made it."
She wandered into the bathroom and stopped dead.
Heated floors. A bidet. A goddamn rainfall shower with one of those wand attachments that she knew Gianna wasn't just using for showers.
Carrie grinned at the thought.
Then she moved into the bedroom, where Gianna was still huddled under her blanket, recovering from her phone call-induced breakdown.
Carrie leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Hey, Gigi?"
Gianna groaned. "What."
Carrie smirked. "You live like a fuckin' queen."
Gianna peeked out, still flustered, cheeks red. "Shut up."
Carrie gestured dramatically. "Marble counters! Six burners! A bidet, Gigi! You wipe your ass with warm water now!"
Gianna whined into her pillow.
Carrie put her hands on her hips, shaking her head in fake disappointment. "And yet, despite all this wealth, all this luxury--you still let Bridgette absolutely wreck your shit over the phone like you're some desperate, struggling little housewife."
Gianna grabbed another pillow.
Carrie bolted.
Carrie and Gianna sat at the massive, borderline obscene kitchen island--Carrie in one of the nice barstools that felt way too fancy for her ass, Gianna nursing a cup of expensive coffee that probably had some French-ass name Carrie didn't recognize.
For a while, they just sat. Let the quiet settle. The sun streamed in through the pristine windows, casting warm light over the marble countertops and the absurdly expensive appliances.
