Hey, I tried. What can I say. Pretty cover. Classic Foreigner. But it's better to just say Charlotte Stein is here! Hurrah! One of my favorite dirty writers with an excerpt from her new book:
Hooray! Look at me, all over Sommer’s blog! Yes, I intend to make a mess. Yes, I intend to fling my socks about. Yes, I am v. happy to be here!
Isn’t Sommer nice for letting me be here, when you take all of that into consideration? Sommer Marsden: champion of the little writer, beautiful human being, long-suffering putter-upper of me and my socks.
So without further ado, here’s some stuff about my new steamy twin ménage, Doubled:
Bobbi has been friends with the Hoffman twins for one long, glorious year. They’re sweet, funny and kind, but there’s a problem…they’re also hotness personified. Times two. And when they lure her into a kinky little game involving a blindfold and some rather unexpected fondling, she finds them much harder to resist than she’d imagined.
It seems they want to be something other than just good friends. They want a hot, steamy ménage, and all Bobbi has to do is decide if she’s up to the challenge. One big, gorgeous guy is enough for her.
Two might be more than she can handle…
She tried to tell by feeling out their expressions at first. Sebastian tended to smile more, so that would have been one clue. However both of them kept their faces pretty straight, which left her with absolutely nothing.
He’d been right to test her like this. They both felt exactly the same—smooth skinned, good, strong bones beneath. Those soft mouths beneath the press of her suddenly nervous fingers.
She’d never touched them like this before, after all. It felt too intimate, too real, and with every second that passed the urge to tell them she wanted to stop grew stronger. They seemed to be barely breathing, as though the whole game was really about her uncovering something deadly and dangerous, and she didn’t like that. Not at all.
She didn’t like them suddenly stepping away from her either. For one horrible moment she found herself just reaching out into thin air, pawing through it like a kid playing a game of blind man’s bluff. And then one of them caught her hand and drew her back in, only to reveal something worse.
He’d taken his shirt off. Whoever it was had absolutely, one hundred percent taken his shirt off. She couldn’t even deny it, because he had hold of her hand and he’d put it right on his bare shoulder—all big and thick with bone and muscle.
She could almost hear what he was saying, without any words—Can you tell now? Can you tell who I am now?
How weird that she still couldn’t. She could have seen the difference between them even if they’d both been wrapped in burkhas with only their eyes showing, but nakedness revealed absolutely nothing. It just felt smooth and terrifying and it gave her flashbacks to them both, by the pool. In matching Speedos, dripping wet, asking her if it was cool for them to stop by later. Had she liked the race, and could they stop by later to talk about the work they’d just done in Professor Patterson’s class?
It had been one of the first times they’d talked, one of the first building blocks of their friendship, and there hadn’t been a single moment when she’d looked at their half-naked bodies and thought about them sexually. Of course she’d occasionally thought about them since, in a halfhearted wouldn’t it be nice if they accidentally rammed into one of my boobs sort of way, but nothing with this intensity.
She wasn’t sure what had changed. Was it the blindfold? The feel of one of them, all heavy and firm and then the slight roughness of the hair on his chest? Or was it just the idea that she was touching her buddies Seb and Tobe, really touching without any good or sane idea why?
She heard whispering and turned her face toward it, but it was no good. Massive, swirling, weird thoughts had taken over her brain, and she could no longer use said organ for anything like discerning who was who. She couldn’t even make out what they were whispering about, because something was buzzing between her ears and her face felt hot and God, God.
In a panic, she squeezed someone’s arm. Said Sebastian, even though most of her wasn’t at all certain. Sebastian would have probably been the one to drag her to him, and that was the twin on her right—the one she’s just identified.
But she had the sinking feeling that…
“Victory is ours. Try again, Bobbi,” one of them said, though infuriatingly she still couldn’t tell who it was. The minute she’d squeezed an arm the owner had stepped away, and now they were somewhere toward the dining table, mocking her.
She reached out one flaying hand for the guy she’d just grabbed, pointing and trying to laugh back that there were only two options. So the one on the right, well—it had to be Tobias. The other guy—the one who’d probably just spoken—that was Sebastian.
“Which one of us is Sebastian, again? We can’t tell unless you get a hold and say a name.”
Definitely Sebastian, though she couldn’t get close enough to tag him. She could hear them shifting around—of course she could, they weighed the same as your average Volkswagen—but they were quick. They were quick and annoying and fuck, fuck.
“Come on, guys, this isn’t funny now.”
“It was funny when you were winning.”
She dropped her hands down by her sides.
“Sebastian,” she said, but he just laughed. And for one horrible moment she honestly wondered if she’d gotten them all wrong. Maybe everything they’d shared together had just been building toward this—some nightmarish fraternity prank. Blurry phone footage of her stumbling around, trying to paw their half-naked bodies.
And yes, she knew how ridiculous that idea was. She really did. But knowing how ridiculous something was didn’t stop a little burr of pain catching in her throat.
“I tell you what, Bobs—we’ll throw you a lifeline. We’ll do one more thing, and see if it helps you separate us. How does that sound?”
“Can I take the blindfold off?”
Lord only knew why she was asking. Most of her just wanted to rip the blasted thing away and have done with it. If seventeen of the frat brothers they didn’t have were standing around watching, well, so be it. She’d have the memory of a lovely year with two guys who’d at least seemed protective and caring and good.
“No, no, not yet,” one of them said, but this time she knew for sure it was Tobias. The tone of his voice was too gentle, too full of an imploring sort of persuasion. Sebastian would have just said don’t.
Though he didn’t have to say a word for her to know it was him, when a sudden hand went around her wrist. It reminded her too much of the roof, when he’d held her so carefully like that—as though sensible of how long his fingers were and how huge his palm was, and how she might flit away if he didn’t touch her just right.
It felt as if someone had struck a gong inside her. It felt as though her body was reverberating. He had just one fingertip over the inside of her wrist, over her pulse, and the very edge of his thumb on some tender part of the back of her hand, and it was… She didn’t know what it was.
Though she knew it got worse when he put his other hand on her face.
He did it in exactly the same way—soft, so soft. Just a hint of his fingertips against the curve of her jaw and then his thumb stroking over her cheek, while inside the gong struck harder and the sound sung through her veins, heady and too much. What in God’s name was he doing? Was she supposed to guess based on the way he touched someone?
He had to know she couldn’t really judge something like that. She knew what Sebastian’s hand felt like, but she didn’t know anything about Tobias’. She had no basis for comparison, and even if she’d possessed one it wouldn’t have mattered.
She couldn’t think clearly enough to employ it. One of them was touching her, and after a long, long torturous moment in which she couldn’t think or speak or do anything at all, she felt this same person lean down and press his mouth to hers.