Saturday, June 30, 2012

And the random number generator chose...

Linda! Linda wins a copy of my oldie but hottie booked Double Booked. Linda, you didn't leave me an addy (tsk-tsk-tks-where's my paddle?) so I need you to contact me at sommermarsden[at]gmail[dot]com and tell me where to send your prize.

Thanks to all who shared their hot beach memories. Come back soon for another giveaway. I'm feeling the urge to go back in the way back machine and dust off some older works to spotlight.

Happy Saturday, and huzzah that we have power here. We had particularly violent storms here in MD and DC last night. We're still recovering in the neighborhoods. We have power but I am 110% convinced that is only because we share a grid with police and fire. Most homes are out as we speak.

XOXO
Sommer

Friday, June 29, 2012

"Why don't you gnaw on my big fat log?"

No, that is not a suggestion. Ha! It is my favorite line from my favorite B move ever: Lake Placid. No one can beat that line in my eyes and so far, no movie has beat that movie for the number one spot on my "movies they told me were bad but I adore" list.

Recently I asked for some of *your* favorite B movie recs and here's what you gave me:

Black Sheep
The Adventures of Buckaroo Bonzai Across the 8th Dimension
Wild Things
Hudson Hawk
Shock Treatment
Heathers
Return of the Living Dead
Forbidden Planet
Evil Dead 2
The Mummy
The Armadillo
Stayin' Alive
The Last Man on Earth
The Tingler
Black Xmas
Warlock
Zombie Strippers
Nightbreed
and my son's favorite: Dead Snow

Wow! What an awesome list to work my way through. And bonus, a huge amount of these I have never ever seen. It's like Christmas, just with ya know...a monstrous pile of DVD's. If you have any you'd like to add to the list, I would LOVE, LOVE, LOVE it if you'd add them in the comments. I can never get my fill of the B movies. Last week was a plethora of spiders on SyFy and I was in heaven. Ice Spiders, Eight Legged Freaks (number three on my personal top ten) and then Arachnoquake! HEAVEN.

What I did notice from the list above was this: Tons of zombies. So to stay in that vein, I'm going to go ahead and put up a snippet from my highly neglected zombie series. This little bit is from book one WE KILL DEAD THINGS.

Have a super weekend and don't forget to leave me the title of your fave B movie. :)

XOXO
S

~~~~~~~
From WE KILL DEAD THINGS by Sommer Marsden:
“Little help over here,” Noah yelled. I tossed him a small axe from my pack, and he caught it with one hand. Noah’s the one with surfer boy hair, pale skin, freckles and an ass any girl would want to bite.
I watched him take the axe and with three economical blows behead our zombie friend.
“Nice.” Garrity laughed—sometimes I think he enjoys his work too much—and did his own damage with a claw hammer he kept tucked in the back of his jeans. How he sat on that damn thing all day is beyond me. Garrity is the one with the dark, dark hair and the blue, blue eyes. He makes you want to—well, if you’re a girl—he makes you want to take your pants off for him. Hey, he might even make you want to take your pants off if you’re a guy, too. “Head’s up, Poppy,” he called out.
I turned—and lucky I did—because a big, bad and ugly was shuffling toward me like I was his last supper. “Not today, buddy.” My weapon of choice is a gun. I find it cleaner to just put a bullet in their brains. Or what’s left of them. Since my dad was a cop for thirty years, I know my way around a firearm. One shot and the creeper was down.
The boys still think one day I’m going to shoot them. I’ve told them that won’t happen as long as they behave.
“Where’s Cahill?” I called. Noah was sweeping the perimeter and Garrity was checking on his latest kill.
“He’s out back. The owners said the creepers come in through the back bushes.”
“Great. Nothing like sneaking off away from the pack,” I growled. I waited for the boys then we went around the side of the big farmhouse as a unit.
“Where are these bush—” I didn’t need to finish that sentence because Cahill was being tugged by six waving arms into the giant stand of bushes. “Jesuspleezus,” I sighed. “I can’t get a shot. He’s all tangled up with them.”
Garrity moved forward and so did Noah. Together they waded into the overgrown foliage and tugged two of the creepers free. That left Cahill enough room to turn fast and dispatch the creeper with his favorite butchering knife from his shop.
Cahill’s arms are about as big as my thighs and freckled. There’s barely any hair on them but what is there is a ginger-colored down. His eyes are bright green, and they can see right through to your soul. Or, at least, it feels like it. I watched him behead the thing with a fierce grunt and an even fiercer swipe of his knife.
Then I plopped onto the grass trying to catch my breath and get my heart to slow down. It was too damn fast in my chest. I felt like I was floating. Adrenaline cocktail, anyone?
“Come on, Poppy.” Garrity hauled me to my feet, and we all met up around the owner’s gazebo.
“They’ll be home tomorrow. We’ve secured the area. Those are the only creepers we could find. Anything else pops up they can give us a shout.”
I nodded. “Neighbors?”
“All alive and accounted for so far.”
Unlike the movies you see about the undead, they don’t spring up overnight in waves. They spring up one at a time like a flu victim—and like any other disease, there are some naturally immune. My own mother was bitten by the guy who broke in and killed my dad a few months back when this whole thing started. She’s a widow with a wicked scar but beyond that, totally fine.
You just can’t tell if you’ll be one of the immune or one of the infected. Best bet is not to get bitten.
“Good. Now can we go home and sleep? I’m tired.” I was tired, but I felt like a wuss saying it aloud—occupational hazard when you work with all men.
“Yep. Sleep is on the way.”
Garrity ruffled my short blue hair and I felt the touch reach my pussy. Damn him.
He leaned in, pressed his lips to my ear and said “How long is this stuff going to be blue, anyhow?”
“Until I get tired of the blue,” I growled.
He shrugged, that lazy, sexy boy shrug some men have, and said “Just asking. Don’t get all knotted up.”
I rolled my eyes, and when I turned I caught Cahill staring at me. That made my stomach curl in on itself. Those vibrant eyes on me. We were all messy and gross and banged up, but Cahill wore it well. So did Garrity. Poor Noah, he was staring at Cahill as usual. Noah would climb Cahill like a tree if he could get away with it. Hell, so would I.
“Come on. Let’s get you home. Boys check in when you get to the house. I’ll take Poppy home,” Garrity said.
We split up after one more sweep of the property. Our exterminating service would get paid pretty well for this. Corpse disposal was the job of the owner, plus it helped if they could see the work we’d done. Body count was important. Extra added bonus, the corpses served as a warning to other creepers who might stumble-shuffle-walk into the neighborhood. Garrity pulled me in with an arm to the neck. “Hanging in there?”
“It’s been a long year.”
“No girl should have to kill her dad,” he said softly.
We’d danced around our attraction since day one at the slushy bar. Now it was a steady back beat to every encounter we had. Problem was, as tongue-tied as Garrity made me, Cahill made me the same…just in a slightly different way. Lust is a funny, funny thing.
I figured it best to hang back and do nothing. Plus, we were too busy killing things to fuck. Right?
* * * *
“All’s clear,” Garrity said. We’d given the inside of my house a once over.
The good news with the infection was folks got sick first. High fever, lethargic, sores, coma even. It was pretty easy to spot them if you paid attention. And then if they did die and rise back up, you could take care of business. Problem was that apparently a lot of folks had no one paying attention to them, or they were living with people who couldn’t stomach the taking care of business part. Which I can totally understand, truth be told.
“Thanks for the help. I want a long, hot shower and then a long, deep sleep.”
“Sounds good. Got room for company?”
I opened my mouth but no sound came out. “I—”
“Do you really have to think about it?”
No! But then again, yes…
“Of course,” I joked. “I don’t go jumping into the shower with just any guy.”
“And I’m not just any guy,” he said, tracing the zipper of my black hoodie with his fingertip. Garrity is the kind of guy who takes up space—big, broad, imposing, huge—all of those adjectives worked for him. “I wasn’t just any guy when we were serving up Polar Berry slushies, and I’m not just any guy now.”
“True but—”
“But you lust after the meat whacker, too.” He grinned. Clever description of Cahill. Made him sound both perverse and silly. Honestly, Garrity won hands down. There were feelings there for him, real ones. Cahill was just a hot, hot friend that I wanted to fuck. But I’d never tell Garrity that. He’d probably run around yelling I won! I won!
I rolled my eyes. “I think you’re both…” I trailed off. We were whispering because my mother was apparently asleep already. Her bedroom door had been shut when we came home so I tried to keep my voice down. The whole effect was that of a teenager sneaking in after curfew ended.
“Nifty? Sweet? Groovy? Fun?” He laughed.
“Shut up.”
“Hey, Poppy Cooper, kiss me,” he said and tugged my hoodie hard enough to make me stutter-step forward.
“Garrity,” I sighed. “Christ.”
He shook his head. “Unh-unh. Something about watching you dispatch creepers gets my blood pumping.”
He pulled me in, and I considered raising my objections. But then his lips touched mine, and I sort of oozed against him in a highly embarrassing way and got lost in that kiss. I kissed him back after a moment. It was our first kiss. All the flirting and sexual tension made it so intense, I felt like I was vibrating. I felt that kiss in my entire body. Scalp to toe and all the naughty, willing places in between.
“Let me in, Poppy. Let me in your room. Let me in your bed,” he muttered, pulling that traitorous zipper south.
“Garrity, I can’t. My mom…she’s sleeping and…”
He laughed outright, and I heard something in the distance. We both stilled, listening. Could be a roaming creeper, if so, our neighborhood watch would notice and call it in. When the noise stopped, I managed to pull free from him.
“I’m tired.”
“And I’m beat,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to take you to bed and make you—”
“I need a shower!” I blurted. “Creeper brains.”
He cocked his head at me. “I’m not going to win this, am I?”
“No,” I sighed, grateful he saw it now.
“But I will win soon,” he said, leveling a finger at me before taking it and sliding it along my lower lip so that I felt the tug of arousal between my legs.
“I don’t doubt it.” It was the honest-to-God truth.
“Be safe. Lock up. I’ll come pick you up in the morning. Not sure what we’re working tomorrow. But someone somewhere is overrun with zombies. Infestation.”
“Wow, that’s so peppy.”
“Sad, but true, Poppy,” he said.
“Sleep well,” I said, guilt staining me on the inside. I wanted to try to explain to him just how much I actually wanted him. But I sucked at that stuff.
“You, too.” He started for the porch steps and hesitated. “Last chance to take advantage of me. Change your mind and lead me upstairs and ravage me like the easy man that I am.”
I snorted and covered my mouth. “Good night, Garrity.”
“Goodnight, Poppy Cooper.”
And he was gone. I watched his big, lumbering, ugly-ass green truck pull away and patted my pockets. I had my cell, I had my gun. I crept inside being as quiet as I could and locked the bathroom door behind me. I would take a long hot shower and then hit the sack.
It was just what the doctor ordered. You know, before reporting for duty tomorrow morning to dispatch a bunch of dead things.

Blurbage:
Poppy thinks her life is weird working the food court at Parktowne mall, until in one brief moment of creeper killing, things change forever. Now she's a freelance zombie exterminator along with her long lusted after co-worker Garrity (her not-so-secret crush), a somewhat lusted after bad boy Cahill, and pretty gay boy Noah.
When the four are hired to do a ballsy zombie clean up at St. Peter's Hospital, Poppy finds out just what's more scary than creepers: The Evoluminaries, a zealot cult who think zombies are part of God's chosen, who happen to end up thinking Poppy might make a mighty good zombie incubator. She finds herself finally sleeping with Garrity, being hunted by a crazy preacher man and stumbling over the fact that Cahill and Noah have become lovers somewhere in the chaos. And that's all on the job.
Just another day in the life when you kill dead things...
 


Buy Link: http://www.resplendencepublishing.com/101.html?m8:search[keyword]=We%20Kill%20Dead%20things;search[keywordSearchType]=phrase;search[matchWholeWords]=1;search[keywordFields]=string0:code:text0;search[group]=240497;search[nested]=1;search[field_set]=1:0;search[fuzzy_sku]=1

Look for books 2 (No Guilt) and 3 (Lunatic Fringe) while you're there! ;) Mmm. Braiiiiiiinz. Tasty.
 

Thursday, June 28, 2012

Something hot and tasty...

Oh good! I'm starved. ;)

Actually, what I mean is I'm visiting over at KD Grace's blog talking about my novella TASTE IT which is part of The Game, one of The Secret Library books just put out by Xcite. What does my tasty novella entail? Why reality TV and hot chefs and oodles of spicy encounters of course!

Cole is one yummy morsel, I must say, and Jill is one lucky girl...with extremely good taste.

Buy The Game from:
Amazon UK
Amazon US
The Book Depository


Oh, speaking of good taste--comes the ham handed segue--if you like FREE THINGS you can still scroll down and comment on your best beach kiss for a chance to win my novel from the way-back machine DOUBLE BOOKED.

Now back to my regularly scheduled choas. I finished my shifter novel this morning and started some editing and turned in two short-shorts and gasp!...that was all before 11 a.m. Hope your day is absolutely yummy!

XOXO
Sommer

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

I have trouble letting go...

Of things I love. I still have a flannel shirt procured in my early teens. I still wear the brass half moon earrings I bought my sophomore year of high school. I picked them up on clearance at Pier 1 of all places because it was right next to the bakery where I worked. And yes, up until now, I have still lovingly donned my super soft overwashed peace tie dye that I got the summer I turned fifteen (that would be 25 summers ago for those of you who are counting).

Why up until now? [cue the funeral music]. I think it's offiicially dead. The back has been a spiderweb of intricate holes--small to large--for years now. But the front...ah, the front is finally starting to bite it. There is absolutely no way to wear this shirt any more (for years it's been relegated to just pajama top paired with favorite pj bottoms) without my um...well, there is nip showing, let's just say that. Way too many peakboo holes to be worn around the house when random friends of the minions are popping by whenever they please.

                                                                  BACK

Don't cry, though. I think I will now relegate it to: change into it to go to crawl into bed wear. And I'll wear it that way until, well, let's face it...that fricker falls off my body.

                                                                  FRONT

To the man: I know you are reading this. And I know you're laughing at me :P

XOXO
S
p.s. I originally put 26 summers. Somehow now, I have decided to make myself a year old. Let's not rush it, shall we? 25 summers...25!

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Sizzling Summer 2012: Smoking Hot Excerpt #7 [and giveaway]

Today's steam is brought to you by Sandra Sookoo. Isn't that a fun name to say? :) Sandra is new to my blog so welcome, welcome and thanks for bringing us some sizzling wordage! Make sure to read all the way down to Sandra's generous giveaway!

XOXO
Sommer
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Hi, and thanks for having me on your blog today!  My name is Sandra Sookoo, and I write romantic fiction across genres and heat levels from sweet to sizzling.

Wow, can you believe it June and summer already? Seems like the year has flown by!  Usually summer and I aren’t the best of friends since I’m the type of girl who can get a sunburn just walking out to the mailbox every day.  Beyond that, my favorite summertime thing is ice cream.  I really like the frozen lemonade pops or the fruit popsicles with the cream in the middle.  My favorite summertime activity is visiting the local zoo and hanging out with the animals.

Ready to be heated up?  Here’s a little excerpt from the first meeting of my heroine and hero in my erotic historical novel.

Blurb for Caribbean Heat

Felicity Hartsford lives a sheltered life on Tobago. The daughter of a sugarcane plantation owner, she’s stifled under running the estate, her father’s illness, and her engagement to a man she hardly knows.

Nathaniel Donovan’s haunted by the death of his wife and child. The last thing he wants is the parties of the Carnival season, let alone a new relationship.

Carnival’s magic can’t be denied. Passions ignite into an inferno sparked by the warm, sultry nights of the Caribbean. Before they can stop it, Felicity and Nathaniel are swept away on a tide of desire and love.  

Excerpt from Caribbean Heat:

“I apologize…” Her mumbled excuse became swallowed in the general cacophony of the room as she tipped her head up to meet his gaze. Steely, swimming in multi-hues of gray like a storm at sea, his eyes twinkled back from behind his half-mask. Her stomach clenched, and a flutter of pure desire made itself known between her thighs. “I—”
“I’d say the bulk of this collision is my fault.” The unmistakable twang of an American accent rang through his voice. His lips curved in a sensuous grin that promised dark whispers and forbidden kisses even as his grip on her arms tightened. “Forgive me.”
“I would be delighted to but only for your name.” Shocked at her boldness, Felicity drank in his appearance.
The requisite black evening clothes and white shirt were a tad more relaxed in their cut than the European style—definitely favoring an American influence. From the way he held her in the scant embrace, she could feel his tensed muscles. He wasn’t a stranger to hard work, yet he was here, mingling with the upper crust of society. Not merely an estate worker. She lifted her gaze, taking in the golden waves of his hair that didn’t quite reach his starched collar.
Frowning because the mask obscured part of his features, she would happily do many things for his eyes alone if she could only see them sparkle again.
“My name, huh?” As the orchestra began a new tune, he shifted his grasp, sliding one hand to the small of her back as the other claimed her hand in the classic stance of a waltz. Her fan slipped unheeded to the floor. “To hear you say it with the lips of an angel, I would gladly tell you.”
Heat flooded her cheeks, and she found herself doing the unthinkable. She entered without regret into the bantering game. “Ah, if that were true, I would have had to fall from the heavens, so why then would I spend time here with these people?”
“You do not like your contemporaries?”
Shivers raced up and down her spine, over her skin, as he led them gracefully through the steps of the dance. “That is not the issue. Being here at all is.”
“I see. Perhaps the festivities are what you find fault with?” As they made it to the back half of the ballroom, he pulled her closer to his body by inches; the warmth of his breath fluttered a tendril of hair at her brow.
Felicity panted, partially due to the exerting dance coupled with the constricting corset and partially because his nearness brought out an intense hunger in her. “Carnival is fascinating, especially away from the structured affairs of the privileged. Their customs infect the blood, prod me to do impermissible things.”
“Intriguing.” With fleeting grace, he drew his lips over her temple. “I’d love to see you in the grips of abandon.”
“Oh.” Her earlier thoughts came rushing back with the strength and heat of a thousand suns. Trails of flame licked over her limbs, and she pressed closer on the next turn, so close now she felt the power in his legs, the tensile strength of his muscles beneath her fingers as they rested on his shoulder. Perhaps this man could be the one she could experiment on. “What is your name, or shall I call you a prince of the shadows?”
A flicker of something dark veiled his eyes for a second, so quick it vanished before she could ponder its existence. “My name is Nathaniel Donovan.”
Ah, the reclusive Mr. Donovan. She relaxed, boldly holding his gaze. If the rumors around the island were to be believed, this man never socialized, preferring to remain on his estate. Rarely was he seen in public, and it was rarer still that he went anywhere except the shore near his property. There was something about him being haunted by the death of his wife. She’d never paid much attention. “Hello, Mr. Donovan. I’m Felicity Hartsford, but please, leave off the formality and call me Felicity. Our subject matter is intimate enough.”
“It would be my honor and pleasure.” Another few dizzying turns passed until he spoke again. “I’m in the mood for quieter conversation. You have the air of a woman who is a thousand miles away.” His fingers on her back traced a line on her spine. It almost branded her for the heat he left behind. “Would you indulge me in a stroll through the gardens? From all the bragging the owner does, I feel compelled to see them.”
She teetered on the edge of a precipice between doing what was proper and what was wickedly forbidden. As if he sensed her hesitation, he pulled her into him another delicious inch. The swell of her breasts brushed his chest, sending a host of urgent pulses through her veins. Her nipples tightened in anticipation. With this man, in their masks, some amount of anonymity was at play, and she didn’t need to be concerned about impropriety. He was the perfect choice to gain what she desired while keeping her name intact.
“I must tell you these soirees hold no interest for me. I would much rather spend my time in rapt devotion of one beautiful woman instead of a room full of false praise and predatory females.” Another few turns put them very near the line of open doors.
The crowded dance floor coupled with the oppressive heat, and Nathaniel’s proximity finally broke down the last vestiges of her reserve. She nodded. “Only if there is a promise of a kiss at night’s end.” She gasped at her boldness then blushed furiously as his eyes darkened with interest and poorly disguised desire. It was heady, powerful, that she could affect a man in such a way and gave her courage to continue the game.
“This I can most definitely give you.”
Her core throbbed at the blatant invitation for much more than a stolen kiss. Everything existed in this one moment as if the culmination of her dreams hovered so close she could reach out and grasp them. If she did, maybe then she could be happy and make peace with her life.
She licked her dry lips, shivering when he followed the small action. “Um…” Perhaps it was time to try her wings and make the one decision she had total control over. “I’ve heard the night-blooming plants within the heart of the maze are prizewinning.”
“Indeed. Being able to look upon the secret folds of a delicate flower for the first time is truly an exquisite experience.” With gentle pressure on her back, he whisked them through one of the doors and onto the patio, leaning into her so his lips tickled the delicate shell of her ear. “Drinking in a bloom’s unique fragrance, feeling its softness on my fingertips, coaxing out its sweet nectar is its own reward.” Slightly, as if she imagined it, he touched his tongue to her earlobe, tracing a moist path down the side of her throat, pausing at the lace edge of her collar.

You can buy the book here:

Publisher's buy link:  http://www.cobblestone-press.com/catalog/books/caribbeanheat.htm

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Caribbean-Heat-ebook/dp/B006UHYPQW/ref=sr_1_44?ie=UTF8&qid=1338691288&sr=8-44

All Romance ebooks:  http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-caribbeanheat-576229-148.html

If you’d like to connect with me, here are my links:

Believing is Seeing blog:  http://sandrasookoo.wordpress.com/
Twitter:  http://twitter.com/sandrasookoo
Facebook:  http://www.facebook.com/sandra.sookoo

Giveaway for this post:  One randomly selected winner will receive book swag (postcards, bookmarks, etc.), a subscription to my monthly newsletter plus a $5.00 Starbucks gift card. Have a cold frap or iced coffee on me to help cool down your summer!


Sunday, June 24, 2012

Double Booked

I've joined Victoria Blisse's Blisse Kiss this time around. Woohoo. This kiss scene is from an oldie but a goodie. My very first book with eXcessica was Double Booked. Set at a beach house, Double Booked is a story of escape, surrender and tons of hot sex. And as usual, for me, some self discovery in the mix. It seems like forever ago that I wrote it and when I was searching out this snippet, I can see differences in my writing in just a few years. In my humble opinion, it's still hot, though. Maybe hotter for having sat alone and neglected by yours truly for ages and ages. ;)

In honor of Miss Blisse's Blisse Kiss extravaganza, and my first Blisse Kiss ever, I have a copy of Double Booked to give away to a commenter. Tell me about your best kiss at the beach. (If you already have Double Booked you may choose a book from my back list, 2011 or older). Contest will end June 30th and I'll contact a winner so please make sure to leave a valid email address for me.

Kiss excerpt from Double Booked:



  “Let me see you, then,” he growled. It was soft but forceful. And I jumped just a little I had been so entranced.
            “I…” What? Didn’t want to? Wanted to? Was embarrassed? I didn’t know. The words died on my lips.
            “Come on. You want to. You’re trembling. You’re flushed. And I know there’s no way in hell you’d let me fuck you…yet.”
            I swallowed hard and brushed my sweaty blond hair out of my face. He didn’t wait for an answer. He came forward, lifted me up by the hips and planted me on the counter. My ass connected with the Formica with a dull bump. He hiked my nightie up and crushed it around my hips. A pale blue, fabric tutu. With his big hands he forced my thighs wide and when I gasped, his eyes met mine and he smiled.
            “I won’t touch,” he said. But his eyes ate me alive. I felt them as if they were fingers, roving over the swollen flesh of my nether lips, peeking deliberately at the forceful, curious nub of my clit. He grabbed his cock firmly again with his fist and began to stroke. Letting his eyes touch me where his hands would not. He was close enough that I could feel heat radiating off of him like a stone that had been baking in the sun. Not close enough to touch, though. Or spook me.
            I gave in to what I wanted and licked my finger. I started circling my clit in time with his stroking.
            “Ah, that’s right. Just like that. Keep time with me. You’re so wet.” His voice was hoarse and his eyes were still hungry. They stayed glued to my cunt, only breaking to dart up to meet mine. His eyes were the same color as moss that grows in the shade. “I want you to come with me, Blyth. Can you do that?”
            Though I wondered where my sanity had suddenly gone. And I wondered why I was masturbating on a kitchen counter in front of a virtual stranger, I nodded. I nodded because I knew I could. And I wanted to. And I would.
            I was vaguely aware when my other hand joined the fray. I let my finger slide into my cunt. Wet and warm and twitching I was so close. I kept my eyes locked on his fist and his cock. The jut of his slender hips. The way his thighs flexed and relaxed the closer he got. His cock, now a deep purple shade, was the most fascinating thing I had ever seen. I had never really paid attention to all the subtle changes. Now I did. The deepening color, the veins standing out. The contrast of his tan hand on the flesh of his dick. I watched him cup his balls and heard his breath rasp in and out of him like it was difficult for him to breathe.
            Without thinking, I added another finger to the first. I circled my clit with my fingers. Working it hard and fast the way I liked it. Tight circles with lots of pressure. I flexed my fingers deep in my pussy, seeking and finding the hard spongy G-spot, so swollen from watching him. I stroked it perfectly, timing my orgasm to the one Anthony was about to have.
            “Almost there, babe,” he growled and planted his free hand a bare inch from my thigh on the counter. His eyes mere slits, his jaw taut, he watched my hand. When his body bowed and he let out a long groan, I pushed firmly against my G-spot and let go. Let my body trip over that line.
            “Now, Blyth,” he said and his come shot out. Warm sprays of rich cream on my thighs. On the counter. I came with him, his semen so hot it felt like it would burn me. My cunt clutched around my fingers as I gave my own sounds of pleasure up to the silent kitchen.
            A few moments of silence and I lowered my nightgown. My face was hot, my heart thudding almost painfully.
            “Wow,” he said. His eyes now staring directly into mine.
            I nodded and laughed softly. “Yeah, wow.”
            Then he leaned forward and kissed my forehead. Almost a brotherly kiss. Not the kind of kiss one would expect from a man who had just watched you finger fuck yourself. Or a man who had just jacked off in front of you.
            I wanted to grab him and kiss him. It dawned on me that I had never seen a man do that before. Not to conclusion. Unless you count porn movies. There was something extremely trusting in the act. I wanted to say that but kept my mouth shut.
            “That’s about all you can handle right now,” he said and brushed my hair across my forehead. “But I’ll be back. And you won’t get away with just masturbation.”
            “Is that a threat?” I laughed as he started to walk to his bedroom. My pathetic attempt at a joke.
            “Nah. It’s a promise.” He grinned at me and started to shut the door. Then he paused, “And Blyth…”
            “Yes?”
            “You need a shower. You smell like sex, darling.”

Friday, June 22, 2012

Sexy, sexy makeover...

My novella TASTE IT got one. Thank you Xcite for the new gorgeous cover. And thanks to you who are buying it. When I check it's not a wallflower at the dance. Which makes me happy since it's a story I fell in love with while writing it. I also sorta fell for Cole...don't tell the man. Well, you can tell the man, because some key points of Cole are based on the man. Yes, I am that lucky. ;)

Happy Friday. Round here, Friday means pizza night and pizza night means no cook night and no cook night means happy Sommer night! I love to cook, don't get me wrong, but by Friday, I'm ready for a break. And then this weekend. Crabs! Courtesy of a nice writing check. Woohoo! Good stuff :)

Have a lovely weekend.

XOXO
Sommer

Thursday, June 21, 2012

Sizzling Summer 2012: Smoking Hot Excerpt #6

Today we have Justine Elyot. [wild raucous shouting and cheering] I love Justine's writing sooooo much. Obviously, I'm thrilled to offer you a little taste today. You can thank me later ;)

Here we go!~~~~~~>

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Games of Summer

Ah, a British summer, spent sitting outside London pubs at pavement tables, with half a lager top and a packet of salt n vinegar. I've done this too often not to translate my experiences into erotica for one of my books – in this case, it's Game.



Lloyd knew when he and Sophie got together that her sexual tastes were on the wild side – it's what attracted him to her, after all. But Sophie is permissive with every part of her body except her heart. If Lloyd is to succeed in winning that, he will have to think creatively. A series of challenges takes Sophie deep into the core of her fantasies, not to mention her fears. She experiments with kink of all flavours, multiple partners, exhibitionism and more, in a bid to understand what she really wants. As the game intensifies, each new step into extravagant sinfulness reveals different options for her future. Will Lloyd feature in her final decision? Or will the ultimate risk he takes drive her away from him?


'Has he stood you up, love?'
He's Australian, big and beefy with a blond crop and a square chin.
'Looks like it. I guess I'll finish this and go home. Unless…'
Bingo! He pats the bench beside him.
'Sit yourself down. He's a loser anyway.'
I scurry over and plonk myself beside the large lager-drinker.
'Do you know him?'
He laughs. 'If he's stood you up, he's a loser. Trust me.'
This is going to be easy.
It takes the duration of one more pint.
There's five or ten minutes of general chat about London, then his hand lands on my thigh, heavy as a brick.
Then, another five minutes discussion about Australia with specific reference to his home town of Melbourne while his hand moves up and down and he shifts ever closer along the bench, his two friends looking on in amusement.
An intensely boring description of the rugby tour of Britain they are on provokes me to put my hand on his and move it to the hem of my skirt, encouraging his thick fingers to pull it slowly up to thigh level.
I don't know how many pints they've had, but I guess four or five, because inhibitions don't seem to be anywhere in evidence. Soon enough, he has managed to wedge my skirt almost to the top of my thighs.
Granted, they are under the table and nobody else outside the pub would be able to see – even the passers by wouldn't be looking so low. The Mayfair streets are not busy, the main traffic being taxis gliding past at a stately pace.
Their passengers will be the ones who might catch a glimpse and guess what's what. From their windows, they will be able to see my legs, sideways on, bare to the very top, with a large man's hand wedged between them.
They'll catch a flash of the image, but not for long enough to know that what they saw is what is actually happening.
They might look back, but by then the backs of the other drinkers and the table will obscure their view.
I think we can get away with this. But how the hell am I going to get a picture?
I widen my thighs just a fraction, enabling his big ham of a fist to make its way to the apex. Just as it does, I take my phone and snap a photograph.
I am examining the rather disappointing shot of some bunched fabric and a wrist, when Jayden's fingers whizz back down my thighs as if my pussy has actually burnt them.
'You…no panties!' he exclaims, loud enough for his fellows to hear and crease up with laughter. 'And what's with the photos?'
'Just a little hobby of mine,' I say, as matter-of-factly as I can muster. I need to keep him on task, get him hot and bothered so he'll carry on regardless of his pals.
'Hobby?'
'Yeah. I like to take photos of myself getting fingered. Does that seem weird to you?'
His eyes are so confused, bless him. He runs a hand over his buzz-cut hair and says.
'In a word, yeah.'
'I know I'm different,' I tell him, placing his hand back on my bare thigh. 'But I just love the feel of a strange man's fingers between my pussy lips. I just love the way they stroke and rub and make my clit want to burst with heat. When I look at the photos after it gets me so wet to see how I let a man get his hands right up there, pushing his fingers all the way up inside my cunt…'
I break off. All three of them are like waxwork figures captured in a state of hypnosis, leaning over their pint glasses.
'Is that so wrong?' I finish, pouting at Jayden.
'No,' he breathes, letting me push his hand down the slope, into the dark place in the gap of my legs. 'You're a special girl, Sophie.'
I smile at his friends, who lean further, trying to see over the ledge of the table. Jayden's fingers find my slit, confidently this time, fitting themselves between the lips with ease.
I hand my phone over to Sean, the lad on the left.
'Get under the table,' I suggest. 'And take a photo.'
Jayden's fingers push against my clit and my bottom squirms on the wooden bench.
'You might need to put the flash on though.'
Sean looks at his friend, looks at Jayden, looks at me, looks at the phone.
'Is this a set-up?' he asks uncertainly.
Jayden's fingers slip and slide. I lean over the table so as to make sure it's invisible to anyone standing behind us. He's getting close to my cunt, readying himself for the full impalement.
'I mean, like a porn version of Pranked. This isn't like that, is it?' He cranes his neck, looking for a non-existent camera crew.
'Trust me,' I say in a strange gaspy voice. Jayden has found a very good place to rest his weary fingers. 'It's just me…and my little foible…ohh.'
Those thick fingers feel so good, even if they blunder a little bit around the opening. What he lacks in technique, he adds in enthusiasm, though. He wiggles them around inside me while I sit on the bench like butter wouldn't melt. It would though. It would melt in the time it took to place it on my clit.
My thighs already feel as if butter is running down them, warm juices clinging to my skin. Luckily the cigarette smoke in the air neutralises any telltale odour.
Sean bobs down beneath the table. His friend makes to join him but Jayden holds up his free hand.
'Don't draw attention, mate,' he says. His voice is slow and syrupy, like somebody caught in a dream.
'Are you really doing it?' the friend contents himself with asking. 'Really getting your fingers in there?'
'I'll show you the picture,' says Sean from his low-down position. 'Hang on.'
I put my hands under the table and spread my pussy lips wide, hoping that they will show up in shot along with Jayden's knuckles and his big fat thumb on my big fat clit.
The flash of light is brief and a few heads turn towards us.
Nobody can see, I tell myself. Nobody. Except Sean, who has the ringside view.
'Fucking hell, you're really doing it. She's not wearing panties either.'
'Really?' The friend compromises, leaning to the side to get a swift peek under the table. 'Wow, she's dripping, man. That's one wet pussy.'
Jayden bends to speak in my ear.
'Do you want to come?'
I hold back from screaming Of course I do! Retrieving some braincells from somewhere, I consider the question.
Lloyd didn't say I had to come. In a sense, it might be easier if I don't. I'll be on edge and horny as hell for the next task, whatever it might be. Something tells me it won't be vanilla-sweet.

Author Bio: Justine Elyot has written extensively for publishers including Black Lace, Xcite Books, Carina Press, Mischief, Total E-Bound and more. When she isn't exercising her lurid imagination, she's imagining lurid exercises. She lives in the UK, by the sea.

And a summer memory? My first trip to London, on my seventh birthday, when the muggy city heat broke over our heads into an immense thunderstorm. Nothing beats looking up at Big Ben while rain pelts down and lightning flashes around the clock tower. Shivery in the best possible way.




Thanks, Sommer, for making summer real on a typically dripping June day in the UK! At least we have a little oasis of heat at your blog.