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Out Now—Another Dance by Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985) #lesfic #lesbian #romance

Blurb:

Can another dance help them forget the pain of the past?

Eden and Janine were best friends throughout their childhood and early teenage years. Then something happened that shattered their friendship, leaving Eden devastated and confused. Ever since her efforts to sort things out with Janine failed miserably, Eden has avoided her ex-best friend. Unfortunately, she can’t avoid her forever, since Eden’s sister is marrying Janine’s brother.

Thrown together in the same room for the first time in years, can the two women finally put their issues behind them and move on? Or is their shattered friendship beyond repair?

Please note: This story has been previously published in an anthology.

Buy Links:

Amazon (universal link): http://mybook.to/anotherdance

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/another-dance-lucy-felthouse/1127557749?ean=2940154636213

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/another-dance/id1318932407?mt=11

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/another-dance-1

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/762447?ref=cw1985

*****

Excerpt:

Eden had been dreading this day since the moment her sister, Carol, had announced she was getting married. A wedding was supposed to be a happy occasion, a cause for celebration. But not when your sister was marrying the brother of your ex-best friend.

Eden had done a successful job of avoiding said ex-best friend for ten years, crying off any get-togethers, school reunions, and even her sister’s engagement and hen parties. Understandably, it had made her incredibly unpopular with Carol and their parents, but she’d had to put up with their displeasure for the sake of her own sanity.

Today, though, Janine or no Janine, Eden was going to her sister’s wedding. It was kind of crucial, really, given she was chief bridesmaid. She was just thankful that Janine hadn’t been asked to be a bridesmaid. That would have been problematic.

“I honestly don’t understand what happened between the two of you. What made you fall out so badly that you still want to avoid her?” Carol was asking, as the hairdresser put the finishing touches to her up-do, then settled her tiara on top of it, leaving the attached veil trailing down her back.

Well you wouldn’t, would you? Eden thought, trying hard not to let her emotions show on her face. You’ve never been confused about your sexuality and come on to your best friend, have you? But she kept quiet, determined not to ruin her sister’s special day.

“Can you even remember what happened?” Carol continued, thanking the hairdresser and standing up. She moved over to the full-length mirror in the room and examined herself from every angle. The hairdresser held up another mirror so the bride could see the back of her hair. She nodded.

“Yes,” Eden replied shortly, then added, “You look beautiful, sis. Really gorgeous.”

Inside her head, though, she was already reliving that fateful night.

*****

Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award, and an Amazon bestseller), The Persecution of the Wolves and Hiding in Plain Sight. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 160 publications to her name. She owns Erotica For All, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more about her writing at http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk, or on Twitter or Facebook. Sign up for automatic updates on Amazon or BookBub. Subscribe to her newsletter and get a free eBook: http://www.subscribepage.com/lfnewsletter

Release blitz organised by Writer Marketing Services.

 

New Release – Girls Will Be Girls by Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985) #lesfic #lesbian #erotica #ku #kindleunlimited

Girls Will Be GirlsBlurb:

Six sexy Sapphic tales from the pen of popular lesbian erotica author, Lucy Felthouse.

Christmas cheer with colleagues, a driving disaster turned good, hot older women, girls in uniform, gorgeous gardeners and naughty fun in a changing cubicle… this collection contains a variety of erotic tales sure to tickle your fancy.

Available to buy exclusively from Amazon, and to read as part of the Kindle Unlimited programme: http://mybook.to/girlswillbegirls (universal Amazon link)

Add to your Goodreads shelves: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/26218151-girls-will-be-girls

*****

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Excerpt:

She was now mere inches away, but the thickness of the bushes meant she could still only see the boots and now a bit more of the green trousers. Stepping onto the mud, she crouched down beside the feet, carefully pushing the foliage aside so she could see what the hell was going on, and figure out what she was going to do about it.

The view opened up, and Verity, far from seeing a helpless person lying on the soil, was presented with a green-clad arse reversing hurriedly in her direction!

“Hey!” she said, letting go of the branches and shifting back so abruptly she ended up on her own arse on the grass. “Be careful! Are you all right?”

As the body continued emerging, Verity slowly came to realise her mistake. Dirt-covered trousers, a filthy black waterproof coat, gloved hands, and a head topped with a floppy hat were soon visible. Slim white cables trailing from each ear and disappearing into the collar of the coat explained why she hadn’t been heard calling out, or received a response.

This woman hadn’t hurt herself. She was a fucking gardener!

Frozen in her uncomfortable position, Verity wanted the ground to open up and swallow her. Perhaps as revenge for her landing on it so hard. But she had no such luck. Instead, she heard, “What on earth are you doing down there? Are you all right?”

Struck dumb, Verity nodded and took the now glove-free hand that was offered to her, allowing the other woman to pull her up off the grass. “I—I’m fine,” she finally forced out, breaking the brief eye contact and making a show of brushing herself down, though it was probably only her bottom that was dirty. Her cheeks blazed, and she took a step back, hoping to beat a hasty retreat.

“Well, I’m glad. But it still doesn’t explain what you were doing down there.” The ear buds now hung down the woman’s front, and she was apparently poised, awaiting a reply.

Verity shook her head. “I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”

Narrowing her eyes, the gardener said, “Try me.”

Christ. Just to add insult to injury, it seemed she was now suspected of some kind of wrongdoing, too! “I—I was over there,” she pointed to where she’d come from, “and I saw your wellies poking out from the bushes. I panicked because I thought someone had fallen and hurt themselves. I came over to try and help. I did call out to you, to see if you were all right. But all I could see was the boots and a little bit of your trousers. I had no idea what was going on. Much less that you were the bloody gardener and remained oblivious to what I was up to because you had headphones in! I crouched down and pushed the bushes aside so I could see you better, and the next thing I know you’re shuffling back towards me. I shifted out of the way and ended up tumbling over on my bum.”

It seemed her story was too amusing to be anything but true, because the gardener grinned widely, then clapped a hand over her mouth momentarily. “I’m so sorry,” she then said, “I didn’t hear you, honestly. But I guess I can see why you thought that. Thank you so much for coming to check on me, but it really wasn’t necessary. All I was doing was fighting with a particularly vicious weed.” She pointed down to an uprooted plant at her feet, then widened her eyes. “Are you all right? You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

Twisting to try and look at her bottom, Verity brushed again at the seat of her jeans. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you. Just a bit of muck and grass stains, I think. Nothing that won’t come out in the washing machine.”

“Oh, good. I’m glad. I feel bad enough as it is without thinking you’ve hurt yourself or ruined your clothes, too.”

“No, I’m good. And I’m glad you’re okay, too.”

Silence hung between them for a few moments. Then Verity took another step back. “Right, well, I’d better get going, anyway. Nice to meet you.” She turned to go, but the other woman’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Hey, wait. No need to rush off. I’m just about to go on my tea break. Want to join me? Perhaps a brew will make up for it?” Her green eyes—apt, for a gardener, Verity thought—sparkled with humour and intelligence, and for the first time, Verity realised that, underneath the grubby gardening gear and large hat was a very attractive woman.

Still, an excuse was on the tip of her tongue—she had come here to be alone, after all—but fate intervened. Or the British weather did, anyway. A handful of fat raindrops fell onto her, followed by a few more. Then, the heavens truly opened.

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*****

Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 100 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women’s Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9

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Rebecca Black Talks about Her New Release, LET’S RIDE!

Hello!

Thanks for having me today so I can give my new book Let’s Ride a shout out.

I don’t know about you, but sometimes I really love a good, quick read. Busy lives often don’t leave as much time as we’d like for reading, do they? I’m not always so bothered about the backstory, I just want to live vicariously for a moment through the characters as they experience that first rush of lust and desire in a new relationship – I want to get a little hot and tingly 😉

Well Evernight’s Romance on the Go range is all about fulfilling this reading need and my new release Let’s Ride is a part of that.

 

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Let’s Ride started life as an erotic short that I wrote for Masturbation Monday (a meme that I write for most weeks). I saw a black and white photograph of this gorgeous, androgynous woman sat on a kick ass motorbike in just a pair of knickers and this piece of flash fiction just fired out of me. Talk about inspiration!

She looked like she wouldn’t take any crap and she looked very capable of sweeping someone off their feet. It got a lot of great feedback so I decided to extend it and lucky for me, Evernight liked it too.

I’ve read some great books with well written dominant male characters, both straight and gay, but I really wanted to write a recognisable archetype with a twist. There isn’t one good reason on this earth why the hero has to be male. Let’s Ride completely rejects that assumption. Jo is confident, self-assured and has a dominant streak a mile wide, but she’s also a beautiful woman, inside and out. She rides into town and sweeps Mary-Beth right off her feet and into her bed. I love her (I know I’m not supposed to say that because I wrote her, but I really do!) and I hope you do too.

 

Let'sRideCompleted teaser

 

Let’s Ride Blurb:

“I would do just about anything to be on the back of that bike when she leaves this place.”

Trapped in a small town life, Mary-Beth always knew there was something better out there. Then Jo rides into town and walks straight into the diner where she works. Sexy, dominant and self-assured, Jo is everything Mary-Beth wishes she could be. Their hot, intense meeting crashes through Mary-Beth’s small world and offers her the promise of a new start.

Will Mary-Beth leave everything behind and ride with Jo towards the chance of a new life?

 

Let’s Ride Excerpt:

Standing by the window, I’m trying to take a lunch time customer’s order but my attention is caught by a bike riding into the gas pump out front.

I hold my breath. She is pretty much everything that I wish I could be. Tall and lean. Enough fuck you attitude to tame a horde of marauding Vikings. She straddles that bike like she was born to it, like she never rode a trike. Like she just stepped right onto all that horsepower and with a flick of her wrists rode off into the sunset, giving everyone the finger as she went.

I would do just about anything to be on the back of that bike when she leaves this place.

She kicks the stand and moves the bike smoothly into its stationary position, slinging her long leg over the back wheel.

I jump a little when our eyes meet through the window. I’m supposed to be taking this guy’s order but I got distracted, seriously distracted. She smirks when her eyes roam over the redness in my cheeks.

Heat has suffused my body; a fine sweat has broken out on my skin and I know I’m in trouble. So much trouble.

I manage to scramble my brain sufficiently to take his order and drop it off at the kitchen. Moving around the bar, I grab the coffee pot to do refills. I can’t stop looking at the door.

Will she come in? Or has she just come for gas?

Please let her come in.

I want to see her up close—I want to see her eyes—that flawless skin. I want to run my fingers over the black shaved hair on the sides of her head, run them through the longer top that she has greased back. I want to watch her eyes close with the pleasure of it.

I hold my nerve when I hear the bell ring over the door. I’m pouring coffee—it really wouldn’t do to spill it and burn a customer. I’m bent over slightly to reach the cup, and my skirt brushes against the back of my legs when she walks past me.

I smile distractedly as the customer thanks me, turning my head to see she has taken a seat at the bar.

Walking over on shaky legs, I smooth my damp palms down the front of my uniform apron.

She sits tall, resting her elbows on the counter. Her legs are open, one heel of her heavy black boots hooked higher on the stool than the other. Her jeans are tight, riding low on slim hips, well worn with a small rip over one knee. A tight white t-shirt stops a few inches from the waistband of her jeans, showing smooth lightly tanned skin that I desperately want to touch.

Her knowing gaze follows me as I move around the bar to face her. I can almost feel a pressure on my skin where it touches me.

“What can I get for you?”

“What have you got?” she asks in a low, husky voice. Her eyes lock on mine. Her eyebrows are like a raven’s wings, perfectly shaped, drawing my attention across her arresting face.

“Pretty much anything, as long as it’s deep fried and unhealthy,” I say wryly.

She laughs. The sound is low and rough and strokes over my nipples.

“Always tastes good, though, don’t it?” she replies. That smirk plays across her mouth again as her gaze drops to my lips. “I’ll just take a coffee for now. Think I’ll get something sweet in a little while…”

 

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Thanks for reading!

Purchase Let’s Ride Here:

Evernight | Amazon | All Romance | Bookstrand

 

About Rebecca Black:

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Rebecca Black is a Yorkshire girl born and bred. She is first and foremost a voracious reader and lately an author of erotica and erotic romance. She believes that the hottest sex scenes are the ones where emotions are involved (plus lots of dirty talk, lots of spanking, licking and sucking and well… you get the idea). She is the author of A Taste For Three (m/m/f) from Evernight and has several short stories due to be released in erotic anthologies. Rebecca is a regular contributor to the fantastic Cliterati magazine.

 

Find Rebecca here:

Twitter | Facebook | Facebook Author Page | Tumblr | Goodreads |

 

 

 

Vintage Grace: Wet Dreams Part 1 FREE STORY

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WARNING! This story contains ADULT CONTENT!

Summer is almost over, but I like to keep the sizzle going as long as possible, keeping that in mind, I thought I’d make this a story sort of weekend and prime you for the next instalment of IN THE FLESH with something really filthy vintage K D Grace. Wet Dreams is one of the first stories I had published and, like a lot of my early stories, WET DREAMS is very filthy and not for the faint of heart. It is erotica … XXX all the way.  As some of you are aware of my attitude about condoms in erotica, especially when it’s very strictly fantasy, be warned, even without a condom, this story is safe sex because IT IS FICTION! Please enjoy it for what it is.

Part 2 will be up next week. 

 

 

Dr. Joe Nevins jerked to wakefulness nearly falling off the control room chair. He yawned, rubbed his burning eyes and returned his attention to the bank of monitors, which were attached to cameras designed for low light and placed strategically about the sleep room. Almost all of the test subjects under the camera’s watchful eye were in REM sleep. The stuff dreams are made of, he thought. He could tell by the EEG of their brain waves and by the rapid movement of their eyes beneath closed lids that they were dreaming. He wished he could join them. The early hours of the morning were always the hardest, the time when he was completely alone, the only waking soul in a world of dreamers, longing to share in their slumbers.

At six thirty in the morning, the alarm would go off; everyone would rise, write down what they remembered of their dreams and return to life in the waking world.

Life in the waking world — not something a sleep researcher saw an awful lot of, Joe thought morosely. Once his subjects left, he reviewed their dream journals, correlated his data and made notes. Then he tried to catch a few hours of REM sleep himself, though it was never enough. When he was working with a test group, he seldom left the facility. It had everything his apartment had, plus state of the art equipment. Hopefully these test subjects and one more batch would give him a large enough sample to prove the validity of his data.

He yawned again and his head fell to his chest. Somehow attempting to study dreams from the waking world seemed fundamentally wrong at this hour. Movement on one of the monitors caught his eye. Subject number three was sitting on the edge of her bed. It wasn’t unusual for subjects to wake in the night. Portable EEGs made it possible for them to visit the bathroom, get a drink of water, or even have a midnight snack in the canteen next door. The facility was designed to allow subjects to emulate their normal sleep patterns.

He blinked and rubbed his eyes again to make sure, but subject number three was definitely standing by the side of her bed unbuttoning her nightie. He nearly fell off his chair as the woman, who looked to be in her late twenties with short dark hair and lovely cheekbones, shoved the nightie off her shoulders and began to caress her breasts. They were small firm breasts with large dark nipples, growing larger as she rolled them between her thumbs and forefingers.

Her EEG seemed to be malfunctioning, but adjusting its monitor didn’t help. He switched on the microphone, allowing him to hear sounds coming from the sleep room. There was the usual mix of deep breathing and light snoring along with the soft moans of subject three. One hand left the caressing of her breasts and snaked down her belly to shove aside the nightie. With little grunts of frustration, she wriggled out of miniscule panties, and her hand went to work between her legs.

There were no sleep disorders among the test subjects, he’d made certain of that. Surely the woman was awake. But another glance at the EEG proved inconclusive. The front of Joe’s trousers pressed hard against his expanding cock. Damn it! He wasn’t a sex crazed teenager jacking off to women’s underwear ads. He was a scientist doing important research, research that could improve people’s lives, research that could…

Suddenly Subject Three slipped under the blankets with the woman in the next bed. Joe held his breath.

“What the? What’s going …,” subject four mumbled, waking up.

Three stopped her words with a deep kiss involving plenty of tongue. For a tense second, Joe feared the two women would wake up the rest of his subjects, but as Three pulled away, she placed a silencing finger to her lips. Four seemed happy to comply. Three’s EEG was completely off line now, yet everyone else’s was functioning perfectly.

She pushed up Four’s night shirt to reveal large breasts, expansive areole rising and falling with the woman’s accelerated breathing. Then she suckled and kneaded her way into Four’s deep cleavage, flicking a pink tongue over the contours like a cat licking a kitten.

Joe fumbled with the controls, zooming in on Three’s tongue, on Four’s heavy breasts, on Three’s hand slipping into Four’s panties.

“Come for me,” Three whispered as she pulled away from Four’s engorged nipple to kiss her ear. “Please come for me.” Then there was only the sound of heavy breathing and muffled moans. And the sound of a zipper.

dark moon image_xl_6338206It took Joe a second to realize the zipper was that of his own fly, which he had opened to give his expanding cock some relief. Easing his penis free, he stifled a groan as his fingers closed around his growing girth. My God, he really was like a teenager.

“Let me see you. Let me look at you down there.” Three pealed the panties over Four’s full hips and ample buttocks. This time, Joe got the zoom just right. Four’s vulva filled the monitor as she shifted, opening her legs to reveal a well trimmed pubis with thick, swollen lips, open and responsive to Three’s exploring fingers. Three whimpered softly, then lowered her head. And suddenly it was Three’s vulva and her whole heart-shaped bottom that filled the monitor as she positioned herself on hands and knees, nightie shoved high over her hips, ass raised like a bitch in heat. She licked Four’s cunt in long lingering slurps, pausing to suckle and nip at her clit.

Joe watched in fascination as Three wriggle two deft fingers into her own swollen slit, and the wet, slippery sounds of pleasure filled the sleep room. With each stroke of his cock, he imagined his erection replacing Three’s fingers, thrusting in and out of that exquisite grip. The weight of his engorged balls shifted heavily in the cupping caress of one hand. This was so wrong. But the thought of his bad behavior only served to make his cock stiffer, make him pump even harder, until his muscles ached and tensed, and his buttocks clenched tighter with each thrust.

Orgasm began as a ripple up Four’s body. The ripple erupted into a spasm, and Four gasped and bucked against Three’s insinuating tongue, struggling not to wake the other sleepers. Then Three gave a little sigh and collapsed on top of her, Four’s moisture still glistening on her mouth and chin. “You came?” She whispered, stroking Four’s nipples.

“Yes.”

“I’m glad.” She kissed the other woman’s breasts in turn then went to her own bed, stopping to slip into her panties, giving Joe one last glistening view of her cunt.

He awoke, cock in hand, with just enough time to pull out his handkerchief before he squirted it full. He thought he’d never stop coming, his cock convulsing again and again into soft white cotton. As the pheromonal tang of ejaculate and male sweat displaced the disinfectant smell of the control room, he collapsed in the chair feeling a strange combination of confusion and post coital drowsiness. What the hell happened?

A quick look at the monitor and the perfectly functioning EEG revealed that both women were in their own beds, both in REM sleep. A glance at the clock told him he had only just dozed briefly, and yet it had been enough for him to dream vividly, extricate his cock from his trousers and come. How could this be? He knew he was under slept, but even when he wasn’t, he seldom remembered his dreams. Strange that, considering he made his living studying dreams.

 

Dream Journal

Subject # 3

February 18

I’m with a woman I don’t know. We are admiring each other’s tits. Hers are big and heavy. She agrees to let me touch
hers if she can touch mine. Then we’re at my house, in my bed. We take off our tops. She’s wearing a black lace bra that caresses and cups her deep cleavage. She lets me take it off her. I’m astounded at how full she is, how swollen her nipples are. I’m sucking her like she’s somebody’s yummy mummy, whose engorged titties need to be nursed on. Her hand is in my panties fingering my fat, slippery cunt. Just when it’s getting good, we realize there’s a man watching us. He’s stroking his cock hard, about to ejaculate.

Then I’m in a park walking. I see a woman sitting on a bench masturbating. She has her skirt up. I can see her pussy. It’s such a beautiful pussy, it’s nice and hairy — I like hairy cunts — with big dark lips all wet and pouting. She’s crying. I ask her what’s wrong. She says she needs to come so badly that her pussy hurts. She asks me if I’ll help her. Then we’re lying on the grass and I’m licking her pussy. She’s sweet and salty and so turned on that her tight quinny kisses me back while I tongue her. She’s moaning and bucking against my mouth, telling me she’s about to come. My own pussy aches too, and I’m suddenly desperate to orgasm.

The man is watching us again. It’s like he’s everywhere. He sees everything. He has his cock out, and his balls are so full. I want to watch him, I want him to watch me, so I start playing with my own cunt, while I lick. He pumps his cock harder and harder until it erupts like a fountain, and he keeps coming and coming, like he’ll never stop.

I woke up feeling horny.

 

Breathing hard, Joe put down the journal and quick-stepped to the bathroom in the back of his office. Standing over the toilet, he fumbled with his fly, feeling a quiver down his spine at the freeing of his cock. In one hand he cupped balls that felt like they were loaded with lead and with the other, he stroked the thick length of his erection hard and fast, only a half a dozen strokes or so. That was all he needed after reading Three’s journal. There was no making it last. He came in great shuddering spasms, grunting hard with the intensity of his release.

When he could breathe again, when his balls were well emptied and his cock was more manageable, he tucked himself in and went back to work. Dream journals were confidential. The subjects were asked to write in present tense with no comments. At the end of each entry, they wrote a sentence or two about how they felt that morning. Before now none of the dreams had been blatantly sexual. There were the expected scenarios of being caught in the office naked, or being caught taking a dump in public. But Joe knew that people in general weren’t very good at telling the truth. Three was brave to be so honest.

A look at subject four’s journal revealed only a short ‘late for work’ dream.

Nothing had happened between the two women. The EEGs were proof. Yet how could Three’s dream be so similar to his?

From the files, he looked through the extensive questionnaire Three had filled out her first day. There was nothing out Sleeping woman reading181340322466666994_IswNAb85_bof the ordinary. In fact he had chosen subjects particularly for their normal sleep patterns. A look at Three’s EEGs revealed normal REM sleep cycles, as he would have expected. That meant the only person with unusual sleep patterns was him.

He half hoped that when he made it to bed mid afternoon, he’d dream about Three again. Normally he didn’t want to know his subjects’ names. The less he knew the better. Still he couldn’t help thinking it would be nice to call her name in his dreams just before he made her come, just before he came inside her. But he hadn’t managed to get to sleep that afternoon. There was too much to do.

Tune in for the conclusion of Wet Dreams next week!

 

One Flesh by Annabeth Leong

One FleshBlurb:

Leticia and Rosalie are planning their wedding, wanting very much to make their special day one to remember, but Rosalie has something else weighing on her mind, one more thing she wants to make as special and as memorable as the ceremony itself—their wedding night. Rosalie wants to be with Leticia in a way that neither of them had ever been with anyone else. But finding something that would be a first time for both of them turns out to be harder than expected.

As it turns out, there is one thing Leticia has wanted to do but has never trusted anyone enough to allow herself to overcome the fear of it. And it’s something that Rosalie has never done either.

The women discuss the idea of fisting as a means of connecting and forming an intimate bond with each other, one that they’ve never formed with anyone else. They’ve never loved or trusted anyone else they way the love and trust each other, and they are determined to find a way to make it work.

Excerpt:

“I’ll call tomorrow to tell the church how many flowers we want to order,” Leticia said, sighing and folding her notebook closed. No matter how many neat lists she made with her favorite purple pen, the sheer quantity of wedding-related details was overwhelming. “Can you call the caterer back, Rosalie? I still feel like they sneaked a charge in somewhere, but I can’t get a straight answer out of them about it.”

Her fiancée smiled indulgently. “Better yet. I’ll go in person on my lunch break, and they won’t know what hit them.”

“Great.” Leticia rubbed her temples and closed her eyes. She’d wanted to go to bed early, but another evening of wedding planning had made that completely impossible. She was excited to be marrying her one true love and all, but it was easy to lose track of that when she had fourteen phone calls to make and her mother demanded an e-mailed progress report every single night. “That’s got to be enough for now.”

Leticia stole a quick glance at Rosalie. She’d changed into a cute pair of pajamas when she got home from work, the childish pattern an odd contrast with her sophisticated coppery makeup. Leticia briefly fantasized about peeling the clothing away, revealing her lover’s curves and smooth brown skin. Unfortunately, at that very same moment, she had to stifle a yawn. She was so damn sleepy. They would need to get to bed immediately if she was going to give Rosalie proper attention.

“We can’t quit planning yet,” Rosalie said. “We haven’t discussed the most important thing, and it’s coming up soon.”

Leticia groaned. She flipped her notebook open again and paged through her color-coded, highlighted lists. “We’ve talked about everything I had listed for the day, and we even went over things that have deadlines coming up in the next few days. I don’t see what we’re—”

“The wedding night,” Rosalie purred. “We haven’t discussed that at all.”

There was no mistaking the sparkle in her eyes. Leticia actually blushed, the way she had at Rosalie’s makeup counter the first time they met, when the other woman’s soft words of praise, roughened by the obvious desire in her voice, had gotten Leticia so hot and flushed it had been impossible to identify the correct shade of foundation for her skin tone. She’d been forced to come back later, not that she’d minded.

Now that she’d figured out what Rosalie was hinting at, Leticia played innocent. For all her lover’s passion, her Catholic upbringing had left her with an adorable aversion to using direct language. Leticia loved to watch Rosalie get flustered while trying to explain her naughty desires. She batted her eyelashes and focused on her notes again. “We’ve reserved our hotel room the night of. We’ve got our plane tickets to Puerto Rico for the honeymoon a couple days after that. Everything appears to be in order.”

“The wedding night,” Rosalie said, apparently oblivious to Leticia’s teasing. She rolled her hands through the air, one over the other, the gesture an invitation to take the word “night” and run with it. “The whole reason I wanted an afternoon wedding was so we could have plenty of time together. Afterward. In the hotel.”

“You mean to take a good, long nap? I’m sure we’ll be tired after dealing with all the guests, and coming down from pre-wedding nerves, too.” Leticia couldn’t resist continuing the act.

“Not a nap. But I am talking about what we might do in bed.” Now Rosalie colored, a deep red undertone becoming visible beneath the screen of her makeup.

Leticia composed her face as much as she could manage and shrugged. “Oh, are you talking about sex?” A giggle threatened to slip through at Rosalie’s incredulous, exasperated expression. “I don’t know. I’ve read tons of articles about how people get so exhausted from all the things leading up to a wedding that they don’t even really want to have sex by the time the day is done. We’ll have plenty of time for that later in the honeymoon, won’t we?”

“Don’t even really want to have sex,” Rosalie repeated slowly, as if the phrase was a math problem and she couldn’t quite work it out. Her forehead wrinkled in utter puzzlement. A snort burst from Leticia. Realization dawned on Rosalie’s face. She grabbed a tissue from the box on the table and tossed it at her. They’d both collapsed in giggles by the time the thin paper floated airily to the floor beside Leticia.

Leticia allowed the force of her laughter to pull her off the chair. She crawled the short space to Rosalie’s chair and raised one brown foot to her lips. Leticia did enjoy a little foot worship now and then, but her current mood was far from reverent. Slowly, carefully, she slipped her mouth over Rosalie’s polished big toe. She licked until Rosalie’s breathing changed, confused between laughter and moaning. Then Leticia lifted off the toe and pressed her mouth to the sole of Rosalie’s foot. She inhaled, gripped the ankle tightly, and blew a powerful raspberry.

Rosalie squealed and tried to get away. Leticia smiled but kept up the wet, ticklish vibrations. Rosalie’s foot jerked in her hands. Leticia kept hold easily. She had plenty of practice restraining patients, which happened to have fun applications at home.

Rosalie writhed as she laughed. Leticia drew breath for another raspberry, but cut her eyes up as much as she dared. She didn’t want to miss the sight of her lover, breasts bouncing under her shirt as her rib cage shook, hips rolling as she struggled to get away, face squeezed tight as if to ward off the unbearable sensation of being tickled. Effectively, this previewed Rosalie’s orgasm. Warm arousal spread through Leticia’s body as she forced Rosalie to stay in this state, and as she looked forward to seeing the real thing very soon.

Rosalie rained playful blows onto Leticia’s head. “Why the hell am I marrying you?” It took forever for her to get the sentence out, as she had to gasp each word between shrieking laughs.

Leticia grinned and tugged at her lower legs. Her lover took the hint and rolled out of the chair to join her on the floor. Leticia wrapped her arms around Rosalie, who felt small and hot and curvy. She slipped one hand down to tickle between her ribs, rewarded by another delicious howl. Rosalie shoved at her chest. “You are evil, I swear.”

“I’m sorry,” Leticia said softly, managing to sound sincerely regretful. She kissed Rosalie’s temples with great tenderness, until her lover relaxed and stopped wriggling. Leticia murmured more soothing words, rubbing Rosalie’s back… then licked the side of her face.

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Bio:

Annabeth Leong has written erotica of many flavors—dark, romantic, kinky, vanilla, straight, lesbian, bi, and menage. Her lesbian stories have appeared in the Lambda Literary Award-nominated Lesbian Cops, Circlet Press’s love-spell anthology Like Hearts Enchanted, Lovecraftian erotica book Whispers In Darkness, and others. When not writing erotica, she is frequently reading it. She has lived in six states in various parts of the United States, and traveled to most of the others. Annabeth believes passionately in freedom of speech, rights for people of all sexual orientations, and the need for compassionate religion. She loves shoes, stockings, cooking, and excellent bass lines.

 
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© 2017 K D Grace
The Romance Reviews

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