Be careful what you wish for, Lucy . . .
When mixed-race BFFs Amber and Lucy spend a wine-soaked evening compiling their list of ten erotic things to do before they die, the reserved Lucy never suspects that wildcat Amber has plans to bring some of their craziest sexual fantasies to life.
When Amber lures her friend to the bedroom section of a department store just as the shop is closing, Lucy has no inkling of what lies in store (pun intended).
Amber convinces her BFF that it’d be fun to have a quiet kiss and a cuddle in the biggest, softest bed. After all, she’s acquired the store keys, and no-one is around to stop them… or so Lucy thinks.
READER ADVISORY: Caution: You will never look at a bed store in the same way. Contains fluffy pillows and big, soft marshmallow beds. Oh, and some nudity.
PUBLISHER NOTE: A Bisexual BFF story of 17,000 words
“Come-see-what-I-found,” Amber sang happily, backing up and pulling me with her.
“Amber, what—”
“Nope!” she barked. “No questions. Not allowed!” She grinned at my rising eyebrows. Her voice softened. “Just indulge me, honey,” she said, then threw me a small pout. “Or don’t you trust me?”
“Course I trust you, Amber,” I said. The truth was, I never knew what she was up to. Shortly after we’d moved into the big house together, she’d begun to order me around — in a nice way, though. I wasn’t her slave, but it was always clear that she considered herself to be in charge.
She released one of my hands, spun herself around and dragged me directly towards the biggest bed I’d ever seen. It wasn’t a four-poster or anything like that — it was just BIG. Most trampolines I’d seen were smaller. She slowed and glanced over her shoulder at me.
“Isn’t it GORGEOUS?” she squeaked. I had to admit that it looked inviting. Big, soft and plump, it was begging me to throw myself upon it.
“But . . .”
“Ah-ah-ah!” She wagged a disapproving finger at me. I sighed and pressed my lips together. She grinned and pinched my top lip — hard. I scowled at the pain but elected to remain silent.
“What did I tell you about the white lips, honey?”
“They make me look like a headmistress,” I muttered.
“And that is not a good look for you,” she snapped. “Is it?”
“No, Amber,” I muttered.
“Now, get your stubborn little butt onto that huge marshmallow bed and test it out for me.”
Restraining a deep sigh, I kicked off my heels and settled onto the edge of the bed.
“Uh-uhhh.” Amber sighed and shook her head at me. “Stand up, honey.” I rose to my feet, then squealed as Amber shoved her palm against the top of my chest. I flew back onto the big bed, arms flailing, and bounced once, then a second time. The softness of the mattress was astonishing.
“Better,” Amber said. She jammed her fists into her hips and considered me for a moment — then hurled herself at me with a long squeal.
I barely rolled aside in time. But her impact pulled me back and I ended up pressed against her side, wondering what the hell we were doing.
But I didn’t dare ask.
“So, you’re wondering what we’re doing here?” Amber grinned at the ceiling. I nodded, wondering how she could read me so well. She rolled over to face me, then ran a long, dark finger down my nose and across my lips.
“I just love this bed,” she said. “And I wondered how it would feel to share it with you — when we get our own place.”
How would we ever afford a house that had doors big enough to get this bed through? Unless we bought a warehouse conversion. Or this bed broke down into itty-bitty matchsticks . . .
“Stop it,” Amber sighed.
“Stop what?” I asked.
“You’re thinking up problems, ain’t you? Worrying how we would do thiiis or fretting about thaaat.”
“I . . .”
“Just . . . chill, honey. You’re way too tight.”
“Most guys don’t mind that.”
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