Monday, May 23, 2016

Playlist Blog #3: Annabeth Leong

Happy Monday! My intention was to start these playlist blogs and do two a week like clockwork. Um...then prom/graduation season hit. And THEN all these other thing get tacked on. I'll say what I said on Twitter a few weeks ago: What no one tells you about high school graduation is that even before prom hits it's like a rocket ride. And you're not strapped on. And the rocket is on fire!

The good news is I survived this weekend. Saturday being prom (sob!) and Sunday being an art reception for girl child because her work was chosen for a student showing at the Baltimore Museum of Art. Today is a last minute hunt for an all white dress (a quest I just found out about yesterday :/ ) for Friday.

The rocket is still on fire and still going a million miles an hour but I'm back with a playlist blog featuring Annabeth Leong. I'll attempt to be punctual with the remaining posts, but I know I'll fail. So check back often for more playlist blogs because I have more on deck.

XOXO
Sommer



The book: Untouched: A Sensory Voyage of Voyeurism and Discovery

The playlist:
Untouched: The Veronicas
A Little Death: The Neighbourhood
All Time Low: Nine Inch Nails
Lust: Tori Amos
Eye: Smashing Pumpkins



The Excerpt:
Eli moaned and fell to his knees on the hotel carpet. "I won't go," he said. "Just let me touch you with the tip of my finger. Just for a second, and I won't go." It was almost disturbing to see him that way, his hard, finely sculpted face cut by the flaw lines of need—lips parted, brow wrinkled, cheeks drawn high and tight.

Celia dug her heels into the mattress, tensing every muscle in her body to hold herself in place. She wanted to do this for him. "Just... just move as slowly as you can," she told him.

She held her pussy open, her clit framed by her fingers. She knew he needed to touch her there. A brush against the sole of her foot wouldn't mean enough to him.

Her clit seemed to grow by the second, swelling and beating until it felt like the only part of her body that was really in the room anymore. Celia had broken her own hymen with an oversized dildo years before. She had taken her own ass with a set of graduated plugs, then progressed from there to anal hooks and more. It seemed ludicrous to think of herself as a virgin—she wasn't shy about her body, ignorant, or inexperienced.

In this moment, however, staring into Eli's eyes as he crawled toward her with one fingertip outstretched, Celia knew he was about to claim her in a way that no one had before. Never in her life had she let another person touch her pussy in any way. That had always been absolutely and exclusively her own.

She held her breath as he inched closer. She didn't know how she had lived so long without doing this, or how she had lasted so long without doing this with him. Her teeth chattered from the effort of holding still. If he'd been about to kiss her clit with fire, she wouldn't have had a harder time staying in place for him.

"Don't touch me until I say you can," Celia whispered. She wanted to do this, and Eli needed it from her, but she still didn't know if she could go through with it.

Additional details:
The book is about a person who can't stand to be touched but is very sexual, so a lot of these songs include lines about touch. For example, the chorus of "A Little Death" ("I want you to touch me there...") ran through my head for days on end while I was writing. The playlist is short because while I'm writing I'll play things on repeat for hours on end.

Links for the book:



Social Media:

Twitter: @AnnabethLeong

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5295946.Annabeth_Leong

Bio:

Annabeth Leong is frequently confused about her sexuality but enjoys searching for answers. She writes about a range of orientations, in stories from sweet to dark, though recently she has gravitated toward writing lesbian fiction.

She frequents the haunts of H.P. Lovecraft, lives in the midst of a teetering tower of piled-up books, and can often be found at the rock climbing gym.

She has performed her work at events both kinky and literary, including Sticky Stories Boston, Readercon, the Fetish Fair Flea Market, and Bound in Boston. She hopes to win Providence Sex Trivia one day, but so far she's had to satisfy herself with second place.

Friday, May 13, 2016

Playlist Blog #2: C. Garrett



Good morning, good morning! It’s Friday…the 13th, no less. Thirteen’s always been a lucky number for me and today it’s a lucky day for you, too. Today’s guest C. Garrett is offering up a playlist and…I just found out that the book The Neighbor’s Son is currently FREE for a few days. So…bonus!

Happy Freaking Friday, Folks. I’m happy it’s Friday. This week has been full of somewhat hilarious events (unless you’re actually me). I’ve been bruised up and banged up, most current was when I dropped my iPad on my foot yesterday like a mini guillotine. That bruise goes nicely with the ones all up and down my legs from climbing on the washing machine last week to see why it was leaking, and the one on my arm where I got tangled in my own pj pants on Mother’s Day and fell over like a giant redwood and banged my arm all to hell on the dresser. And oh yeah! Last night I smacked a fruit fly on the wall and our giant clock fell off, crashed down, hit my wine glass, shattered it, and glass and wine went everywhere. [HULK SMASH!].

I think I might download a free book today, wrap myself in bubble wrap, and hide from, well, everything, until Monday. J

Be safe out there! Or in there! Just be safe…

XOXO
Sommer

~~~~

Playlist:

Broken Crown: Mumford and Sons
Dark Days: TD Lind & Bernie Larsen
Day is Gone: Noah Gunderson and The Forest Rangers
If I Ever Leave This World Alive: Flogging Molly
Black: Karri Kimmel
Goodnight, Travel Well: The Killers



The Neighbor’s Son: A Gay May/December Erotic Romance

After forty year old Ladd Mason’s husband dies, it takes him months to care about anything again. During his grief the home they shared turns to ruin. He finally makes it a priority to put things right. It’s a big job for one man, and he recruits the help of his neighbor’s son, home on college break, to get the job done. He knew twenty-something Damon Green was looking for odd jobs, but much to Ladd’s surprise, the young man is looking for so much more than the chance to earn beer money.

Excerpt:
“I think I need to move this, Ladd,” Damon said softly.

“Yeah,” he tried but his throat clogged. He cleared it harshly and stepped forward. “I’ll do that,” he said. He hated how his voice sounded. Rusty and wounded. It made his heart ache worse than it did every time he glanced at the picture. It showed Ladd and Christopher grinning from a fishing pier. It had been there first vacation together to Key West. They’d gone back every year until Christopher’s health made it impossible.

His hands were shaking. He took the frame and gently placed it on the table. Ladd found himself convulsively swallowing to keep the tears that threatened so violently at bay.

A large warm hand closed on his shoulder and squeezed. “Hey, Ladd, you know it’s okay if you cry right? I remember, even though I was really little, my mom crying a lot and often for a long time after my dad died. Years, even, if my memory can be trusted.” Damon squeezed again, a comforting touch, and went on. “And to tell the truth, sometimes she still cries for him. Especially, this time of year. The holidays can do it every time.”

Ladd felt himself nodding and nodding, relentlessly. He felt stupid and out of control but couldn’t seem to help himself. He set the picture frame on the dining room table. When he turned, Damon surprised him by pulling him in for a hug. He was much younger than Ladd, so it startled him that he was so much taller. He hadn’t realized. Damon tucked his head atop Ladd’s and his arms grew impossibly tight around him. Ladd stiffened for just an instant and then, caught off guard by the sudden ferocity of his grief, relented and hugged the young man back.

The caring gesture had a calming effect and Ladd was relieved that he was able to pull himself back from the brink of a crying jag so quickly. When he lifted his head to thank Damon he caught a look on his handsome face for just an instant before another unexpected thing happened. Damon kissed him. Ladd’s heart beat turned to a staggering beat when he found himself kissing the boy back. Meeting Damon’s soft mouth with his own. He knew he should stop, but felt powerless to stop.

When he felt Damon’s fingers brush the zipper of his jeans, he froze. Ladd took a step back, a hand planted on the boy’s broad chest. Beneath his fingers he could feel the runaway beat of Damon’s heart.

“Damon—”

Damon’s eyes were intense up close. Vibrant green with flecks of hazel, blue and gray. Ladd thought he’d never seen eyes that intricate before.

Damon cupped the back of Ladd’s head, tugging him in for another kiss. Just as their lips met, he said, “Shh. Just let me make it better. No one should hurt for this long alone.”

It’s wrong. So, so wrong…Ladd’s mind raced. But it didn’t feel wrong. It felt welcome and gorgeous and warm. The first time he’d experienced those things in too long to remember.

Damon’s hand brushed up his zipper again, making his cock jerk beneath the touch. Damon popped the button with amazingly deft fingers and drew the zipper down. Ladd struggled for breath, trying to process that this was actually happening. And should he let it continue?

He pulled back, stilling the hand on his zipper. He felt the hard brush of his fingers and Damon’s pressing his aching cock. His breath was fast and harsh, his mind fuzzy with longing.

“I can’t do this. I’m paying you. You’re my neighbor’s son!”

Damon cocked an eyebrow and moved his hands. He planted them on Ladd’s shoulders. Ladd felt the absence of them on his fly. Felt the lust he’d experienced earlier ramp up a notch or three.

“You’re paying me for this,” Damon said, waving a hand at the walls and the paint supplies. “Not that. Look, Ladd, I’ve known I was gay since I was twelve, my mom’s known since I was thirteen. Now…” He sifted his fingers through the hair at the back of Ladd’s neck and it provoked a shiver. The shiver made the younger man smile. “Now you know. Okay?”

Bio:
C. Garrett lives on the east coast in a tiny house ruled by a big gray cat. A true hermit, C. has yet to dip a toe in the social media pond, focusing instead on telling tales of people falling in love. There’s usually a cup of tea and some window gazing involved.

Links:

Monday, May 9, 2016

Playlist Blog #1: Bianca Sommerland



 A while ago I posted this image. It took me long enough but today is the first installment of author playlist blogs! #1 is Bianca Sommerland. Stay tuned because there's more to come!
XOXO
Sommer

This is such a cool freakin'idea! Thanks so much for having me, Sommer! J

Music is a HUGE part of my writing process. Different song fit so perfectly I'll just put them on repeat. Heres a few of the most listened to while writing Backlash (Winter's Wrath #1)

Break the Cycle: Motionless in White
Angel Eyes: New Years Day (Feat MIW)
Say You'll Haunt Me: Stone Sour
What you Gonna Do?: Hinder
Good Enough: Jussie Smollett
State of my Head: Shinedown
Remember Everything: Five Finger Death Punch
A Tous Le Monde-Megadeth

Since I LOVE Heavy Metal and wanted my metalcore book to have a gritty edge, there had to be a good mix of very powerful, ear-shattering compositions, and deeply emotional tunes. Many of the song resonated with more than one character, which made them even more valuable.

Musicians, like writers, are artists. Which is probably why we often inspire one another! <g>



Excerpt:

Strumming the guitar, as though re-familiarizing himself with the instrument, Jesse ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sing, Alder.”
“Yeah, I only do it around Malakai. Not for any special reason.” Alder curved a hand around the back of his neck, digging his fingers into the muscles. “Helps when we’re putting all the pieces of the songs together.”
“Does Brave know?”
“No. Everyone leaves us alone when we’re composing.” Alder rolled his shoulders. “Look, don’t make a big deal about this. Brave wants three songs ready to start recording in Detroit. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have been doing this out in the open.”
Jesse inclined his head. “So he’s gotten more lyrics written?”
“Nope. Just the one song. But it’s ready.”
“Cool.” Jesse glanced over at Danica, an apologetic smile on his lips. “I’d play that for you—give you an exclusive preview of the next album, but I’m a little rusty. Mind hearing something I’ve played before so I don’t completely embarrass myself?”
She reached out and patted his knee, giving him a crooked grin. “The two hottest guys on this tour are about to perform for me. I’ll take whatever you give me.”
Crimson spread over the tops of Jesse’s cheeks. “That sounded suggestive as hell.”
Alder looked from Jesse to her, his brow furrowed. “What?”
“Nothing, hot stuff.” Danica took Alder’s hand, lacing their fingers together. One of the things she loved about the man was how clueless he was about his own appeal. “Just the usual. Everyone wants you.”
He snorted, casting an amused look at Jesse, as though he expect his best friend to laugh as well. When Jesse didn’t, he cleared his throat. “All right, how about music? Do you know ‘A Tous Le Monde’?”
“Megadeth? Fuck, of course I know it.” Jesse played a few unfamiliar notes on the guitar. Apparently the right ones, because Alder nodded. “Let’s do this, ‘hot stuff’.”
Both men were blushing a little, and Danica wanted to pat herself on the back. Fine, this didn’t mean anything serious, but they were closer than she’d ever seen them. What happened later today, or tomorrow, didn’t matter. Brave couldn’t use Jesse to lash out at Alder, while carelessly trampling on Jesse’s feelings, if he wasn’t coming between them.
As Jesse played the guitar, and Alder began to sing, the beauty of the music tightened her throat. They were both too damn modest. Jesse had a natural talent and his fingers moved over the strings as if he’d been born to hold that guitar in his hands.
But even that didn’t compare to the sound of Alder’s voice. He didn’t have the immeasurable power Brave possessed, but his tone was deep and soulful, drawing emotion into every word, the raw expression of longing he brought out making goose bumps rise all over her flesh.

Buy Backlash (Winter's Wrath #1) on Amazon: http://www.im-no-angel.com/backlash-winters-wrath-1.html

For other links and the first three chapters of Backlash, check out the book's page: http://www.im-no-angel.com/backlash-winters-wrath-1.html

Author Bio:

Bianca Sommerland was born and raised in Montreal, Quebec. When not reading neurotically or writing as though the fate of the world rests on her keyboard, she is either watching hockey or teaching her daughters the beauty of a classic, steel pony while reminiscing about her days in Auto Body Mechanics.

Her time is balanced with utmost care between normal family life, and the internal paranormal realm where her characters reside. For the most part, she succeeds. 


Connect on twitter: https://twitter.com/BSommerland