Unapologetic Fiction

And then after that very Zen observation...

2012-01-27T06:57:00.000-08:00

You curl up on the sofa and/or bed and watch a season of Monk, surrounded by books and your iPad because you are sick. Hmph. Stupid self-awareness and positive attitude.

But it is Friday, so yay Friday! Have a great end of week everyone.

XOXO
Sommer

BSTs

2012-01-26T15:57:00.000-08:00

My goal this year has been to say yes, basically, to Big Scary Things. Things I have in the past avoided--even when they might have benefited me. So the first one came along and I said *gulp*...Yes. Not long after that BST something else good came along. Something I worked very hard for. Something I have been trying to manage but didn't know if the project would fly and/or if I was good enough and *sizzle*... It did fly. So again, I said...yes. That yes led to me having to--as we speak--embark on something I have avoided like the proverbial plague for over four years. And it is nerve wracking and definitely a B(ig) S(cary) T(thing), but I'm doing it anyway. And then today, after a lovely dinner party for my mother-in-law's birthday, I got an email. Another BST. See, I think if you get rolling along and face your fears and good things happen, you make room for more good things.

At this point, I just need to remember to breathe. And laugh at the BSTs. They seem less scary that way. I try to remind myself that most likely, one day I'll look back and wonder what the hell I was so scared of.

XOXO
Sommer

Hey, look at me and my boys...

2012-01-24T17:41:00.000-08:00

#68 in Gay and Lesbian Fiction (short stories). Very proud of my studly little M/M book right now. :)

XOXO
Sommer
p.s. Yes, I would have been super pleased with #69. It would have amused me.

A toast...

2012-01-23T12:55:00.000-08:00

to the man for passing his big scary certification test for work. I was teasing him the other day that it sounded as daunting as The Bar Exam. I hope I sounded like I was teasing...because I was sort of serious. But he passed (as I knew he would) so that particular stress is off. Yay, the man, go you!

And I have been up to my earlobes in a new short story for an antho sub, wrapping up the current book and editing this little ditty that...*gasp*...no lie, I cannot wait for it's release. (This is from final edits so forgive any boo-boos)

From RESTLESS SPIRIT by Sommer Marsden
Xcite April 2012

He shook his head. ‘Never mind. You’d have to live here to get it.’

His eyes were riveted to my red tee and I was starting to feel naked. ‘I do live here,’ I whispered.

I touched his beard. I couldn’t resist. Normally I despised facial hair but with him it fit so well. It was so aggressive and yet seemed like something he hid behind. I petted it with the tops of my fingers feeling its wiry yet soft texture against my skin.

‘Just for a while,’ he said. He caught my hand, stilling it.

I stood on tiptoe and kissed him. ‘I’d like to live here a long time.’

‘Maybe you should go,’ he said.

‘Why’s that? You don’t like me any more?’

‘I do. I like you too much. And I’m not a good pick for someone like you.’

‘What kind of someone am I?’

I tried to pull my hands free but he wouldn’t release them so I played the sneaky card and pressed my body tight to his. I rocked my hips and felt the press of his erection to the split of my sex.

‘A nice person.’

‘You’re nice too. What you did earlier was nice. And I want to be nice with you again.’

His eyes were so fucking dark. Impossibly dark. And full of lust so staggering I felt it run along my skin like an electrical current.

‘Take your clothes off.’

I stood up straight and did my best to meet him eye to eye. ‘You take them off,’ I said.

He bully-walked me back, trapping my hands between his much bigger ones at my chest. He nudged me along until the backs of my thighs met the lip of his table. In front of one of those big blind-eye windows. I wondered if people could see our silhouettes outside. I wondered if they could see what we were doing.

The possibility that they could sent a thrill through me and my pussy clenched up tight, wanting him, wanting this so damn bad I could taste it.

Shepherd pushed me back – rough enough to make me break out in goose bumps. He tugged my red tee over my head and dropped it in my dinner chair. He worked my button and zipper with ease, shocking for such big fingers, and tugged them down.

‘Black,’ he said.

‘What?’ My head was buzzing. From him, not wine. I stared up at him, relishing the feel of his palm sliding along my belly just above my panties.

‘Your panties are black.’ He stroked them. From waistband to gusset making sure to scrape along my clit. I arched up mindlessly, holding my breath and feeling my heart in my temples. ‘And silk.’

‘Satin,’ I laughed.

‘Same thing basically.’

He tugged them free and I was aware of every inch that scrap of soft fabric slid. Shepherd dropped those on top of my jeans and slid his hands under my ass. I felt shy and bold and so fucking light headed I feared I’d lose consciousness.

‘Open your legs for me, Tuesday.’ His eyes were already penetrating me. A wave of pleasure flooded through me at just his eyes on me. It felt like he was touching me when he stared that way.

I let my thighs fall open and his eyes were there. Between my legs. On a place I rarely even looked – but he was studying me the way I’d seen people study rare flowers or beautiful butterflies. I wriggled under his gaze.

‘Stay still,’ he said. His hands pinned my thighs wide and stilled my restless movement. ‘I want to look at you. Before I suck you.’

I moaned then. Just as if he’d touched me. I made that noise and waited to feel ashamed, instead I felt honest.

A man had never said that to me before. It was always lick or kiss or God help me one time suckle. But suckle made me think of distinctly non-sexy things. And all of that ran through my head as I tried so hard to stay so still but continued to undulate and sway like sea grass in a stormy lake.

His hands were huge, spanning my hipbones, anchoring me to the rough wood table. He dropped to his knees, so tall he still almost looked like he was standing from my angle. His head dipped, beard scratching my inner thighs and he took my clit in his mouth and sucked.

My fingers tangled in the placemats. My hair swished under my head as I moved it back and forth to try and find some kind of equilibrium. ‘Jesus,’ was the only brilliant thing I could think to say.

‘Hush, Tuesday.’

He sucked softly and then harder when his fingers, unimpeded by panties this time, slipped into me and began fucking me. Deep thrusts that he curled up perfectly on the upward motion. My hips tried to rise up and he used his forearm to shut me down.

I whimpered, frustrated but so, so turned on.

His tongue speared my wet hole and then his fingers slid back home, filling me and nudging me into a slow sweet orgasm that took all the noise from my throat and all the air from my lungs.

Shepherd stood, eyes glazed and darker than I’d ever seen them. The low ethereal light from his sconces backlit the bits of silver in his beard and his hair. He licked his lips and I reached for him.

He took a step back. ‘Don’t move.’

He unbuttoned his jeans and shucked his dark boxer briefs. His cock was big. I don’t know why that surprised me. He was big. All over. Easily six foot six, two hundred and thirty pounds, give or take.

Surely he could palm a basketball or someone’s skull if he was in the cage. And yet, I was still surprised at the size of him. The length and the girth. When he took himself in hand and stroked, my whole body rippled with desire. I became kinetic.

He toed off his socks and opened a door in the sideboard and pulled out his wallet. I watched him rip the foil packet and roll the condom on and all the time, his fingers on his own flesh was a mesmerising sight to me.

I spread my legs, baring my sex for him as he advanced – shameless, needy, restless, like I might die if he didn’t touch me.

‘Stop moving,’ he said.

I froze. It took all of my energy to keep myself still as he traced my labia with his warm fingers. He tested me then, thrusting deep, my pussy so wet we both heard the accepting noise it made when he fingered me.

My cheeks flared hot but I kept my gaze steady.

Shepherd pushed the head of his cock to my slit and gripped my hips. ‘Do you want this?’

‘Of course.’

‘Say it.’

‘I want this.’

‘It’s not too soon?’ he asked, looking both aggressive and sincerely concerned.

‘I’m learning there’s no such thing as too soon.’ I let my legs fall open just a bit more and he made a noise deep in his chest.

Shepherd didn’t drive into me. He inched into me. Slowly. The rough pad of his thumb pressed my clit as he slid home and I watched him. How his stomach muscles flexed and his biceps moved and his jaw clenched tight. He gripped my breast with his right hand and lightly plucked the nipple until it stood up straight. Then he bent his bulk over me and took the nub in between his sweetly sharp teeth and nipped me.

When I gasped and moved he slid all the way in, forcing his cock deep into my body. Making my cunt adjust and grip up around him. We froze that way, sprawled over the wooden table – face to face. His breath hot on my face, his hands rough on my skin.

‘Move,’ I whispered. ‘Oh God, Shepherd, please move.’

He started to rock into me. Languid even thrusts that inched me across the table top until he gripped me tight and held me still. I couldn’t remember being that boldly honest before. Not naked, not face to face, not fucking.

I had needed him to move, to quench the need inside of me, and I had asked for it in a raw and honest voice. It startled me.

His thumb pressed and rolled, spreading my own fluids over the hard knot of my clit. Shepherd drove deep, watching me as I watched him. His hips pistoning so the small cut muscles along his flanks stood out and danced.

He grabbed my ankles, bringing them up to rest on his shoulders before returning his thumb to rub me some more. I arched up some, using his broad shoulders for leverage and he never batted an eye. His cock slammed my G-spot repeatedly, brushing all the sweet spots along the way and he gave me one final press and rub and I was coming, trying so hard not to drum my ankles against his skin.

He didn’t care. ‘You ripple when you come. Like tight warm water on my cock.’ He laughed softly when he said it and then pulled free. Offering me a hand he said, ‘Up.’

I stood, holding his hand – and glad I was, because my knees felt weak and watery.

He turned me, bending me over the table, spread between our still present placemats: my body lying down the centre between the two colourful swatches of fabric. Shepherd kneed my legs apart a bit more and then leaned over me again. Placing my left wrist as far as it would go and then my right. ‘Grip the table,’ he said and I did. I curled my fingers around the rough wood and realised I was panting.

I was terrified, mortified and entirely turned on. I was being studied like some girl-specimen and normally that would make me run. For whatever reason, with Shepherd, it made me stay just as he’d placed me. I could feel his eyes on me and my heartbeat sped up to the point of dizziness.

Fingers pushed into me and thrust in and out so that I could hear the soaking wet evidence of my want between my thighs. He drove a finger gently but effortlessly into my ass and I bucked then. Not from pain, from surprise.

I pressed my face to the wood and waited to see what he would do to me. What I would let him do to me. The thought of that cock of his trying to fit into me there was enough to make my stomach buzz with anxiety. The realisation that I would let him try was enough to send an army of goose bumps marching up my spine.

The runaway brain...

2012-01-22T09:33:00.000-08:00

I'm almost done this book I'm writing. I thought I knew what was next as far as full length projects went. But then they played this song on the US version of BEING HUMAN the other night and the beat and words grabbed me my the throat. So I googled a chunk of lyrics and found the song. And then found the video and then....

Well, my brain has taken off full speed and is already starting to put into place snippets of a book based on said song. See, I have very little control over what teh goo in my noggin does.

The video's pretty dark and unsettling to some degree. Just and FYI ;)

XOXO
Sommer

Why December Ink might bite it...

2012-01-20T15:22:00.000-08:00

(Or be severely limited in the future)

I do not love self publishing. I don't get off on it, or get a rush from it, or feel like I am particularly awesome at it. I do it because I have work I want out there, I wanted to try my hand at it, people buy it and readers seem to love having a vast array of works to choose from.

That may be changing for me and December Ink.

Wednesday night I was just about to go to bed when I received an email from Amazon saying:

During a review of your KDP catalog, we have found that the content of some of the books you have uploaded is freely available on other websites.

...Please reply providing one of the types of information listed below to confirm your rights to distribute each of the following books...

Your entire catalog will be removed from sale on the Kindle Store within one business day until you confirm your rights to distribute these books.

I freaked out. I admit it. The first worry was them cutting all my works (something I shouldn't have bothered to worry about, you'll read why in a moment). The second, more screaming Mimi worry in my head was that someone was using my content. Without my permission. My words. My work. The stuff I spend all day doing and making myself nutso over.

So I responded to Amazon, trying to stay calm, trying to give them my statement and assure them it was mine and give them information that backed that fact up. I responded IMMEDIATELY...within five minutes. Despite the late hour.
Then I thought of something else and sent a second email. (Because I am mental and yes, I panicked. I couldn't decide if I was angry or upset or sick. I was all of them.)

Next, I went to Amazon and surprise, surprise...I did not need to worry that they *might* cut my content as stated. They *had* cut my content. Immediately.

All December Ink works still showed: covers, blurbs, ratings etc. But no pricing, and each one said CURRENTLY UNAVAILABLE.

I was sick. It was past midnight. I was supposed to be in bed...so I did what any sane woman would do, I sent *another* email. (((LOL)))

I slept for shit, as any of you who are writers can imagine. I tossed, turned, fretted and fumed and when I was up not much past six, my content had been restored. But no word from my buddies at Amazon. So to me, the issue was not settled. And wouldn't be until I had it in writing. Which as of this posting, still has not happened. So to me, I feel like at any moment my work might go poof again! Oddly, not so upsetting right now. I'm pissed.

Which brings me to my point. Is it worth it?

For some of he phenoms out there, the ones I read articles about who have self published and earned hundreds of thousands--in some cases millions!--of dollars, it might be. For me, not so much. My concern is the amount of time and bullshit I would have to go through for a fistful of dollars for some of these titles.

Wednesday night (which was actually the wee hours of Thursday morning) I was ready to pull the whole fucking shebang. December Ink? What December Ink? Gone, thank you very much. No need to look twice, it's gone, baby gone.

But there are a few titles that do very well. One of them has gotten a super nice nod in the erotica community from Violet Blue herself.I'm super proud of that book and the authors inside. And honored, let's face it, that they trusted me with their work.

So, my thoughts now turn to bullshit versus payoff. I am thinking that I will be taking a Reaper's scythe to my title list, at least on Amazon, seeing as how they choose to deal with things. (As one reader/twitter bud @CovertAlias said, they should suspend payment not sales. So if you turn out to be in the right instead of the wrong, you are not losing your sales. If you turn out to be a DIRTY STINKING WORD THIEF...*ahem*...you simply don't get your money).

What I'll be left with will be an enormous amount of previously pubbed orphans. But probably less worry and stress. So, unlike what I'm usually saying to you readers...I guess I'm saying: Keep an eye out for less of me in the coming year. At least the self pubbed part of me. Sigh.

If you have thought or opinions, or God help you, a horror story to share, feel free to do so in the comments section. I encourage you to do so.

XOXO
Sommer
p.s. Random Googling of snippets of both titles provided by Amazon as questionable revealed nothing more anywhere that I could find but several excerpts posted on blogs as promotional posts. One on another writer's blog (clearly labeled "By Sommer Marsden) and one on my former blog Smut Girl which is um...TITLED...Smut Girl / Sommer Marsden. @.@

Fill my eyes with that DOUBLED vision...

2012-01-19T04:17:00.000-08:00

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:

Blurb:

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…

Links:

http://www.jasminejade.com/p-9858-doubled.aspx

http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-doubled-672406-144.html

http://www.amazon.com/Doubled-ebook/dp/B006X0JUNO/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1326947404&sr=1-1

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Doubled-ebook/dp/B006X0JUNO/ref=sr_1_2?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1326947453&sr=1-2

Excerpt:

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.

blogging...

2012-01-18T12:56:00.000-08:00

at Geekink about Fox Mulder and the man and being a total X-Files geek girl. It was supposed to go up tomorrow, but I am not sure what my morning's going to bring. It was also supposed to be about space ships...but turns out I had zero to say on that subject. @,@

Go HERE to see why Fox Mulder is my homeboy.

XOXO
Sommer

I wish you could see this entire page out of my upcoming book...

2012-01-18T04:55:00.001-08:00

Restless Spirit. A sneak peek if you will. Sadly there's a big black box over it. And even more sadly, this could be our future. Make your opinion known by contacting your representative. Keep the internet free.

XOXO
Sommer

And Ruby gets...

2012-01-16T12:03:00.000-08:00

4.5 stars from Booked Up. Super stoked! I think that is Long Lost's first official review-site review. Nifty. :) Made my day. If I wasn't already feeling better (which I sorta was), I definitely am now (bonus!).

"I just love Ms. Sommer Marsden’s paranormal books, they have suspense, action, love, and a lot of twists. And I can't forget about the humor she uses to flavor the storys. Her style is easy to follow and captivating. It fascinates and seduces you, making you automatically one of her fans." ~Dolce Amore for Booked Up

See the whole review HERE.

XOXO
Sommer

Oh sexy HIDA scan...

2012-01-16T10:21:00.001-08:00

I had one today. That is not my gallbladder. I am too shy to show off my girlish internal organs, heh. But it is someone's. So three hours later, I'm cold, exhausted, starved and girl child made me lunch and...bam! Attack.

Shoot me now.

Oh well, I'm doing my best to ignore it.

In other exciting news, I gave away fistfuls of Lucky 13 this weekend. If you grabbed one and like it, be kind enough to float me a rating or a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads. Always appreciated.

Now once this stupid thing passes, I will attempt to write sexy scorching nookie scenes in my current book. Thank god I did some sexy scorching research yesterday so I remember how to write it.

XOXO
Sommer

The it's my lucky day giveaway...

2012-01-13T04:00:00.001-08:00

Or at least my lucky number, that is. 13 is my lucky number, for ages now, so I want to celebrate. No machetes or masks or bloody murders here. Nope, just good old fashioned smut for your weekend reading enjoyment.

What do you have to do? Just send me an email marked FRIDAY THE 13TH (send to sommermarsden[at]gmail[dot]com replacing the parens with the appropriate symbols) and inside tell me if you are superstitious or not. And then tell me which electronic format you want. I offer multiple formats from pdf to html etc.

That's it!

I'll leave this up/giveaway copies through Sunday.

Now make sure you watch out for the vengeful guys swinging sharp things. Good luck.

XOXO
Sommer

it's been a while...

2012-01-12T14:57:00.000-08:00

I used to write poetry. That's how I started this whole "I want to be a writer" gig. I wrote it all through college and beyond. Some of it was even published, thank you very much, she said shyly.

But it's been a while since words started rolling through my head in that format. In the shower. And wouldn't stop. So I had to jump out naked and wet and run to the bedroom and pull out various bits of paper to find one with some white space. And fuck! A pen. I never have one, especially when naked it seems.

The result is below. And...you are forewarned. It may blow. It probably does, in fact. But it's the first poem I've written in ages so I'm going to hold it up in the light, shake it a little...look at it. ;)

Happy Thursday. Tomorrow is Friday. Thank-fucking-goodness.

XOXO
Sommer

Communion
By Sommer Marsden

I miss it
The silence
The void
Honesty
Just me with words
No plans and plots for publication

Bare bones
Grass roots
Cliché: blood, sweat and tears
Ink on a page of white.

Like breathing
Only better

Hey, would ya look at that...

2012-01-11T08:45:00.000-08:00

My little GET ME, GOT ME, GOOD is in the Top 100 (paid titles) for ARe's Romantic Comedies. And a little best seller icon too. How fabulous is that? :)

Pretty fabulous! (I am answering my own question)

XOXO
Sommer

I don't normally go for my men bound...

2012-01-10T11:16:00.001-08:00

I like to be bound by my men. But this one...well, we'll make an exception for him. I've bombarded you so much 'meh' lately, I figured I'd reward you for listening. You are welcome. Heh. ;)

XOXO
Sommer

Don't judge me...

2012-01-09T08:27:00.001-08:00

Swamp Shark. I bought it. It's on my hot little iPad as we speak. And I'm watching it as I write this. It's been a pisser of a few days, this morning starting off with a raging gallbladder attack (the answer to my question "I wonder if I can eat just one piece of organic, no nitrate, grain fed, bacon" being NO!!!!!) and then went downhill from there.

But I feel better now. Because as I sit here, about to dive into my current project to try and get some semblance of a decent word count, I am watching a movie about a shark. In a swamp!

Other crappy day feel better movies include: Misery, Legion, Constantine, Lake Placid, Christmas Vacation, and The Princess Bride. How 'bout you?

Now back to my regularly scheduled sex scene...

XOXO
Sommer

just a reminder if you are also frustrated...

2012-01-06T17:34:00.001-08:00

like I am. I'm sticking with my journaling...BY HAND...in PEN! in a...book! resolution for this year. Tonight I wrote: "frustrated about the whole no running thing."

New shoes and a great few weeks of improving. And then bam! Sick-sick-sick. Can barely eat, certainly can't run. And I'm fucking frustrated.

But since page one I've been ending entries with THINGS TO DO. And it's not like: buy paper, get new socks, clean the tub. It's more like: focus, laugh, turn off the computer, read a magazine, look at the sky...

Tonight under THINGS TO DO--first item: BE PATIENT WITH YOURSELF

I'm not very good at it. I don't even try it often. But I'm going to try it now. This year. 40 is the time to master the patience with myself. So maybe you're feeling frustrated right now about something. How about you try it too. With me. Sometimes I'm pretty smart when I don't get in my own way. Those shoes aren't running off without me. They'll be waiting when I finally feel strong enough to lace them up and bust some asphalt.

XOXO
S

Doo-doo-dee-dooo!

2012-01-05T15:04:00.000-08:00

That is my trumpet noise! I now have a newsletter. You can sign up that way (top of the sidebar) ~~~~~~~~>

(I've only been trying to get that going for a year...)

XOXO
Sommer

A pound...

2012-01-05T04:46:00.000-08:00

That's how much lipstick a woman eats per year. I've read it here and there, and obviously it's an estimate, but damn. A POUND. If you are a regular reader a)thank you and b) you know I'm GF which means gluten free. And I have found in the nearly endless research into this fun little bubble of existence called Celiac, that it's the stuff you're not paying attention to that is leaking gluten into your diet. Like your lipstick.

So last night, after catching up on a year of The Celiac Diva on my iPad (so much fun. Felt very decadent!) I decided to peruse Red Apple Lipstick found on her site. And...well, I paid the most I've ever paid for a tube of lipstick (thank you two glasses of wine and the ease of online paying). However, I'm a loyal lipstick kind of gal. I find a shade I love and just stick with that puppy until it's done.

My shade-to-be is SECRETS. Not sure what I love most: that it's gluten free, that it's pretty or...the name.

But it's not a secret, because I'm telling you!

So if you are GF like me or suspect you are gluten intolerant or whatnot, then check them out. Or maybe you just want a kick ass red. There is a red on that site that looks to die for. I can't war red, it makes me look like I'm bleeding out of my mouth, but those of you who can pull it off, go check it out.

When I get the shade in my hot little hands and on my greedy little lips, I'll report my final verdict. Very exciting. I feel all girly!

It's Thursday right? Yeah, it is. Happy Thursday! I have a book I'm working on among other things. As usual, I feel three steps behind, but thanks to my New Year's promises to myself I'm remembering to breathe and do what I can. Minus the spazzing and nervous breakdowns.

XOXO
Sommer

And the Universe, she laughs...

2012-01-03T10:10:00.000-08:00

Recently, I bought myself brand new, smoking hot, honest to goodness running shoes. The kind I've been jonesing for the whole time I've been doing this on again, off again love affair with running.

The week they came I was so dizzy I couldn't run. My vertigo was off the chart. I was nauseous. (All gallbladder related FYI). So brand new pimped out shoes--no running.

And the Universe, she laughs.

I got an iPad for my 40th birthday and used Christmas money to buy myself a Bluetooth keyboard. The goal was to get the fuck out of this house several times a week and be mobile and write. But you say, "Sommer, you have a laptop!"

Yes. I also have a bladder the size of a peanut and do not trust people as far as I can throw them. So...I had to pack up my laptop every time I had to pee when working mobile. MUCH easier to do with an iPad and a tiny keyboard than a laptop. You can point to Aisling Weaver and a lunch we had one day as the devil that done made me do it.

I coveted. I got.

Now the part that's ironic. Since I got my hands on these nifty toys, I've been too sick to really go and work anywhere. I don't trust being out and about alone that long.

And the Universe, she laughs.

I was going to get both my kids in school and then be a full-time writer and stop homeschooling. That's why we moved here. And I managed it for a good stretch. But I am right now researching homeschooling for the oldest. The school he is at is worse than the ones we moved here to avoid. It's wearing on his health. I will be a full-time writer, a full-time mother and apparently now, a full-time teacher/school principal/warden

And the Universe, she laughs.

But! I wear my fancy running shoes on short walks of the wiener with the man for now. Tell myself I'm breaking them in. I am writing this blog from my sunny bedroom (where I am about to take a nap thanks to pain induced lack of sleep) for a change of scenery. Just me, my iPad and my tiny keyboard and a pool of winter sunlight. AND I am researching the final steps of setting up homeschooling to try and improve my son's physical and emotional and mental health.

The Universe, she may laugh, but me...I adapt.

This is the year for me to pull my shit together and focus. Not make myself insane but keep my mind clear on what I want. I spend a shit ton of time worrying about and explaining what I don't want. Fuck that. I'm just going for what I DO WANT and the rest will fall by the wayside.

Now if you'll excuse me, that bitch of a gallbladder is actually behaving. I'm going to roll over in this patch of sun and snooze for a few minutes.

XOXO
Sommer

Woohoo stuff for 2012

2012-01-02T07:10:00.000-08:00

I already have some woohoos. Go figure. Ready? Set...Go!

1. This spectacular review for COMING TOGETHER WITH SOMMER over at BlogCriticsBooks.org by Lucy Felthouse. Where...among other nice things...this is said:

"Overall, Coming Together: With Sommer is a fun, imaginative and sexy read. Marsden is erotica royalty and never disappoints, and this novella is no exception..."

Wow! To read the full review, please go HERE. And if there's one book I'd like to push right now, it's this one. Please buy this book. Not a penny goes to me or anyone else. Every cent of your purchase goes to The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. Very near and dear to me. [thus ends sales pitch].

2. WE KILL DEAD THINGS made Stacey's Top Five for 2011 over at Sizzling Hot Book Revi ews. Pretty awesome for a series I didn't think anyone would read. What with them being erotic novels that revolved around zombie hunters who killed already dead things for a living. Score! And thanks to Stacey, of course, for liking them! :)

3. I said it yesterday but I'll say it again. I fell ass backwards into being a finalist in the Xcite Awards. So vote for your favorites before St. Valentine's Day. Whether it be me or the stiff competition I'm up against.

4. Another December Ink short went up yesterday. An oldie but a hottie (and a fave in the humor department) called Get Me, Got Me, Good. This erotic romantic comedy is available at ARe, Bookstrand, 1 Place for Romance and on Kindle. Ta and da.

I think that's everything. Happy um...Monday. Yeah, see, I've lost track of time.

XOXO
Sommer

What a way to start the year...

2012-01-01T07:59:00.000-08:00

Somehow someone/s voted me in for the Xcite Awards. And somehow I became a finalist for category two. First, thanks so much. You rock and roll! :) Secondly, just click the giant badge to vote if that floats your boat. Or go HERE.

Happy New Year, all. Let's hope this year kicks all kinds of serious ass-age.

XOXO
Sommer

The Top 12 Sex Books of 2011...

2011-12-30T11:32:00.000-08:00

According to Violet Blue and December Ink's gots one! woohoo!

Thanks to Violet and all of you who've read Gritty: Rough Erotic Fiction. For all who bought it, rated it, and commented it on it in 2011...You rock. :)

XOXO
Sommer

Fresh Ink...

2011-12-30T09:39:00.000-08:00

It's been a while :)

On The Sly is now up at ARe, Bookstrand, Smashwords and winging it's way to Kindle.

Faith has a bit of a run in with her morning coffee. Good thing it's only her and James in the office. Handsome James. Sexy James...Surely she can clean up lickety split on the office bathroom without him noticing. Yeah they've been flirting hot and heavy since she started, but he's a gentleman. And though its forbidden, popping in the office shower'd really be no big deal...right? It's not like anyone might walk in on her or anything...

For ADULTS ONLY

Ta and da. Happy New Year's Eve-Eve.

XOXO
Sommer
p.s. back soon with some spiffy news regarding one of my favorite projects...evah!

long or short?

2011-12-29T14:28:00.000-08:00

I tend to write short chapters. Not short like James Patterson--which can, let's face it, no shit, be like a page--but about five or six pages. I used to have an editor who would get very distraught over this. They're too short! They're so short! OMG! They're sooooooooo short...

And so on.

Now I just do it anyway. And here is my reasoning. When I am reading a really good book and want to sneak in just one more chapter before my (________) fill in the blank...I like short chapters. Whether it's errands or writing or cooking dinner. Whatever! The point is, if I rifle the pages and see it's only four pages well...come on! it's only four pages. Who cannot sneak in four pages? I certainly can and bonus: I feel like I'm getting away with something.

So are you a writer? Long or short chapters--do tell! Are you a reader? Do you like long or short? Inquiring nosey ass minds want to know.

XOXO
Sommer
p.s. if I were a kick ass roller derby chick, these would totally be my shorts! Woohoo! Click HERE for purchasing info.

Spotted...

2011-12-29T10:42:00.001-08:00

by Lucy Felthouse's man at Waterstone's in Leamington Spa. Haha! Awesome. Big kisses to him :)

Just like this: XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Have *you* seen me? Show me yours I'll kiss you in public.

XOXO
Sommer

Where in the world is Sommer Marsden?

2011-12-28T09:27:00.000-08:00

who is me! This lovely awesome fantastical picture is from Saskia Walker who took it in "Waterstones in Scarborough, North Yorkshire". Oh. Em. Gee.

So, if *you* happen to see me, especially my new book The Best of Sommer Marsden, I'd love if you'd shoot me a picture. I'll put it on my blog with your little snippet and a link to you if you have a blog.

Sounds fun, yes? Woohooo! Yes!

XOXO
Sommer

Looooooook....

2011-12-27T13:16:00.001-08:00

what came in the mail! So pretty. *sigh*. My new collection from Xcite. Of course it's all the other awesome places too. Amazon, ARe, B&N and so on...and so on...and so on.

Woop!

XOXO
Sommer

I know you covet...

2011-12-26T11:10:00.000-08:00

My hillbilly wine glass. Courtesy of my sis. Too funny!

Hope you had a great Christmas. Mine was good until I spent the remainder of it doubled over. I am having some gallbladder issues (our best guess until I can see a doc), so my continuing festivities include no food (though we have a ton), lots of water (though I'd rather have wine) and if I'm wild, some ginger ale. Woohoo!

I'm saving my wineglass for wine, though. I would never mock that beauty by drinking ginger ale out of it. *gasp*

Might be more quiet than normal for the next few days, but hoping you're having a great holiday. Tell me your favorite gift received in comments, if you're so inclined. I'd love to know what some of you got for your Ho-Ho-Holiday whether it was Christmas, Hanukkah, Festivus, Kwanza or just um...Sunday.

XOXO
Sommer

Merry Christmas to you...

2011-12-24T16:43:00.000-08:00

Gaze upon our Astro-Weenie Trees and rejoice. :)

See you in a few days.

XOXO
Sommer
p.s. to see about your own Astro-Weenie tree or other fun test kitchen stuff visit CharlesPhoenix.com

Finding my spirit day five...possibly FOUND!

2011-12-23T09:58:00.000-08:00

Things that have helped me find my spirit: making gluten free sausage balls at 8 a.m. Managing not to eat them all before putting them away. Making a sinful pecan pie at 9 a.m. and smelling it through the house. Pulling out Christmas dishes and my red table cloth. Yelling "Do we even have any evergreen trees?" to the man. Later hearing him ask me if the jingle bells were 'purely decorative'...um...? Yelling, "Don't throw it!" to the UPS man who galloped up with the man's final gift.

Twenty minutes of trying to get a decent picture of the dog and getting this:

More minutes of being shunned by a pissed off Santa Wiener:

Another thing that fills me with Ho-Ho-Ho spirit is giving stuff away. Like copies of my Christmas (among other holidays) tale of a fetish of shorts. FIXATION will be FREE on Smashwords until Decmber 26th. Use coupon code LK58J to purchase yours!

Denise has found a teeny weenie fixation that she didn’t know about. It seems spotting random and stray erections at various parties turns her on—makes her crazy, makes her randy. Causes her, in fact, to either accost her poor husband or take matters into her own hands. ADULTS ONLY originally appeared on Ruthie's Club

Happy Merry Christmas Eve Eve!

XOXO
Sommer

Finding my Christmas spirit day four...

2011-12-22T11:49:00.001-08:00

Today was another step in the right direction. Girl child is on the upswing and I attacked some sweets for the Christmas groaning board.

This is Sucre a la Creme with Maldon Salt and Pecans in transition from ingredients to fabulous, decadent candy...

My grandmother's peanut butter fudge. Which I nailed. Spot on. For the first time ever. I promised girl child I'd try and voila! Success. It usually comes out a wee bit grainy, just slightly off from hers (which was never grainy) but this time, I got it and now that I've got it...I've got it! This will not last long. I have a feeling I'll be making another batch before Sunday.

And the finale. The Sucre a la Creme, the peanut butter fudge, and a Gluten Free pound cake which turned out pretty tasty.

Ta and da. Oh and Fa-la-la-la-la La-la-la-la... Boy child is home with my dad's Christmas gift. Bonus.

XOXO
Sommer

Finding my Christmas spirit day three: part 2

2011-12-21T14:56:00.000-08:00

Some of our favorite Christmas books come from an unexpected source: horror writer Dean Koontz.

When I found the Santa's Twin Book, I literally gasped. I'd read bits of the book within the book of Mr. Murder when MM was released. When the kids were small, I stumbled over the book from the book. And bought it. To this day, at some point, someone reads from it.

And as for Trixie's book, one word: sausage.

I found these today and thought to bring them up for visitors to look at. I figured I'd share with you in case you'd never seen them.

As for the rest of the day, four felt mice sewn, pot pie made, wrapping done, some editing, some writing and hanging back to be with girl child who is recovering nicely but not 100%. We watched Christmas Vacation together and ya know...that movie never gets old.

Plus, I got my copies of BWE '12 so...yay me! Good stuff. I'm easing into the holiday this year, but I am getting there.

XOXO
Sommer

Finding my Christmas spirit day three...

2011-12-21T04:17:00.000-08:00

This one was a no brainer for me. My father died in 1976 about 5 weeks shy of my fifth birthday. In 1978 this song was released. For whatever reason, possibly the melancholy opening bits (I've always been a lyric person) I began to associate this song and this sentiment to how I felt about being the kid missing a dad on the holidays.

Sounds super sad, but I must say that when I would hear the opening of this song, my heart always perked up and I took it as a nod from my dad. That even though he wasn't *here*, he was here.

This year I was going crazy because despite keeping the Christmas music station on in the car whenever I went out, I never heard it. They kept playing the Aaron Neville version. And though Aaron has some mad singing skillz...not the same (Sorry, Aaron)

Finally, Monday, when the man was off and we had to shop and I felt my most unChristmasy yet with one pneumonia kid, one health issue kid, an abundance of stress and a shortage of time...it came on. And I hushed the man, sang along and something in me felt a little bit lighter.

It would all be okay.

Maybe way too much importance to hang on a little song, but to me it's my signal that I'm not alone. Even when I feel it. So, there you go. Finding my spirit day, three.

(I have since heard the song about six times. It seems to be every time I'm ready to cry or break something with a hammer). Let's call it the Universe's tranquilizer ;)

XOXO
Sommer

Finding my Christmas spirit day two...

2011-12-20T04:04:00.000-08:00

Getting there. But still not quite. So I bring you John Denver and the Muppets. I grew up on the Muppets (and John Denver). I dare you not to fucking love the muppets!

Five...gold...ringggggggggggggggggs.

Five days left. Have you found your spirit? Help me out. Make me feel the holiday love. Share your secret.

XOXO
Sommer

I'm trying to find my Christmas spirit...

2011-12-19T04:04:00.000-08:00

Step One: the commercial that always signified it was officially Christmas. I found the one from the 70s. Boo and yah! :)

Another busy-busy

2011-12-17T08:17:00.001-08:00

Whew. I might have posted this awesome 5 heart review for Lunatic Fringe before. If I did, forgive me. I can't find it (much like I can't find my own ass with both hands and a flashlight this week) and it came to my notice via some online ping the other day. So tada! A possibly repeat link to an awesome review over at Sizzling Hot Book Reviews!

Now this is brand new. A five star review for Automagically at Two-Lips Reviews. Orsum! HERE'S the full review. And a snippet:

The twists and turns in this story made it a memorable read for me and this is a book I’ll be putting on my keeper shelf for a long time to come.

Thank you, Tina! :)

And finally, I'm over at Elise Hepner's blog with THE BEST OF SOMMER MARSDEN'S MIND AND READING LIST discussing my favorite books of the last three months. And hey! There are probably some names you recognize on there and some you may not. Go check IT OUT.

Happy Saturday. I started the weekend off really right last night--with a bang. Hoping you have similar.

XOXO
Sommer

Busy, busy day today!

2011-12-16T04:38:00.000-08:00

First on the books...*drum roll please in your best Clark Griswold fashion*:

My sister's thirty-ninth birthday! Muwah! Enjoy it, girly. Next thing you know, you'll be just like me. The big four-oh.

To celebrate, my super long 88K plus novel WANDERLUST is FREE for download on Amazon Kindle for EVERYONE. (After five days it will return to being free for Amazon Prime Readers only). Go grab your copy, pronto!

Second on the books, I am on my final stop of the Fantastical THE BEST OF SOMMER MARSDEN book tour. Stop by the Forbidden Bookshelf (ooooooooh...yum) and see what I have to say about my spanking story Spank Pants. Is it true? Is it false? Is it...mebbe?

And third on the books, I was interviewed by Lucas Steele (International Man of Mystery (sorry, that's what I hear in my head when I say his name ;} )). We discussed not just my M/M book HARD LESSONS but TBOSM and the upcoming Restless Spirit and well, lots of stuff!

I'll be back later it with more stuff. But for now, let's just have some coffee and start with this, shall we?

Morning!

XOXO
Sommer

What has 2 thumbs, a kimono and is stuck in one purple boot?

2011-12-15T04:23:00.000-08:00

This girl.

On fantastical stop number four I'm at Word Ejaculation I'm telling you "true, false or mebbe" on the story NOTHING BUT THE BOOTS. I'll give you a hint. One day I answered the mailman's knock with quite an...ensemble. That's the only way to put it.

Come say hi for a chance to win a copy to eroticize your ereader!

And please note: I tried to tie this tour together. Each stop/blog opens with the same snippet but then after that discusses a separate story. So don't think you've read it when you read the opener. Every day is a new story :D

XOXO
Sommer

Fantastical stop three...

2011-12-14T09:19:00.000-08:00

for THE BEST OF SOMMER MARSDEN book tour is Cocktails and Books...I mean does it get any better than that for me? I'm discussing the "True, False or Mebbe" of Picket Fence. Stop in and say hi. You could win a book to eroticize your ereader!

XOXO
Sommer

smoking hot AND super cool

2011-12-14T04:00:00.000-08:00

check it ;)

Fantastical stop two...

2011-12-13T05:48:00.000-08:00

Seduced by Books. I'm dishing on True, False or Mebbe for one of my fave stories ever...GRIP.

Come say hi for a chance to win a copy of The Best of Sommer Marsden.

XOXO
Sommer

5 days of Free for All!

2011-12-13T05:05:00.000-08:00

For the next 5 days BITTERSWEET, my BDSMy tale of love and lust is utterly TOTALLY FREE on Kindle. Go here to grab yours.

XOXO
Sommer

Rayka’s just looking for a peace offering for an offended client when she goes into The Good, The Sweet, and the Yummy. What she finds instead is a very intoxicating man. Deacon James is more sinful than the candy he sells, and Rayka soon finds out that he can push her farther than she every thought she could go. Mentally, creatively, emotionally and yes–sexually. Rayka must remember it’s okay to let him have her body, let him test her limits, but she can’t let him have her heart. Besides, he’s made it perfectly clear he doesn’t want it anyway…

Today's stop on the 'fantastical' The Best of Sommer Marsden book tour is...

2011-12-12T09:43:00.001-08:00

Mitnik's Erotic Whispers. Stop in and get the dirt on Sticky Notes.

XOXO
Sommer

This week is the fantastical...

2011-12-11T12:39:00.000-08:00

...blog tour for THE BEST OF SOMMER MARSDEN. At least that's how it is in my head. "Fantastical" <~~~in neon. So if you have time to surf and blog hop, come see me. I've picked five stories from the collection and will be revealing if they are 'true, false or mebbe'. The schedule is as follows.

Find me at:

12th December: http://www.eroticwhispers.co.uk
13th December: http://seducedbybooks.blogspot.com/
14th December: http://www.cocktailsandbooks.com
15th December: http://www.wordejaculation.com
16th December: http://www.theforbiddenbookshelf.com

We are so totally making this for Christmas Eve...

2011-12-10T13:22:00.000-08:00

Girl child and I spent an hour watching all the Charles Phoenix test kitchen vids and are now plotting our own Astro-Weenie Christmas Tree. So excited!

XOXO
Sommer

Did we really think...

2011-12-09T09:56:00.000-08:00

I could walk past this apple and not bring it home with me?

Working on editing and writing today. Hope you're Friday is rocking. What are YOU reading over the weekend? Share with me. I have a copy of Long Lost and a copy of The Best of Sommer Marsden to give out.

I'll pick a commenter for each over the next few days. Make sure to leave your email addy.

XOXO
S

And oh! How the hell did I forget to show you this?

2011-12-08T11:57:00.001-08:00

Just plain sweet: Free Free Free!

2011-12-08T11:07:00.001-08:00

Own a Kindle? You can borrow my novella BITTERSWEET ( a BDSMy tale of love and lust and ya know, dirty stuff) for free. True story. Go HERE for details.

I'm super stoked about that. It's like being part of an invisible library. I get a tingle just thinking about being borrowed by so many people...*ahem*. Is it warm in here?

XOXO
Sommer
p.s. spread the love, tell your friends, your neighbors, your mailman, your dentist. Everyone needs to stock their Kindle with some naughty goodies for the holiday season :)

Excerpt from LONG LOST

2011-12-07T04:18:00.000-08:00

Morning, all. Here are some werewolves and whatnot for ya ;). LONG LOST is the sequel to BIG BAD so if you plan on reading the former, I wouldn't read what's below. It might spoil some stuff for you.

As for Long Lost, it's already received a very nice 5 star reader review at ARe:

Sommer's did it again!! Great follow-up to Big Bad! Great twists & turns. All characters new & old were enjoyable. Lots of laughs & excitement within. Hope that there will be another to follow. ~Ava

Long Lost
by Sommer Marsden

Prologue

I had not expected a house. Not a house like this—this cute little cottage with a nice living room and fireplace and three bedrooms and such. I pushed the tree and it wobbled before smacking me across the cheek with rough pine needles.

“I told you to let me get a fake one,” Ellis said from the doorway. He held a glass of wine in each hand and was trying sort of valiantly not to smile.

“You are a wolf,” I wheezed, wrestling the tree. “How in the world can you want fake foliage in your house?”

He shrugged and I felt a thrill work through me all over again at the thought that he was mine. That we had survived Frank the psycho wolf who had tried to kill Ellis and yes, yours truly, because I was Ellis’s long lost reincarnated mate.

Confused? Long story.

The bottom line was, I was his and he was mine and we’d been married by a psychic Samoan in a diner on the way to a town full of werewolves called TOWN.

More confused? Stay with me.

“I want anything my blushing bride does not have to bitch slap to get it to behave, Ruby,” he chuckled.

“Put the booze down and help me with the Christmas tree, husband!” I roared and he tipped his head back, laughing silently.

And then he obeyed.

Together we bullied the tree into its stand and stepped back as if expecting it to attack. “There,” he said.

“There,” I echoed.

And then the tree fell. It hit me broadside, I hit Ellis and together we hit the deck with the big sticky sappy pine on top of us.

“Hunh,” Ellis said.

“Fuck,” I hissed.

“If you insist.”

His hands were on me instantly and I warmed at that. “You are such a slut. It was a figure of speech,” I gasped.

His fingers had wormed under my waistband and were stroking the fragile skin above my mound. All of me tingled, all of me arched up to meet his hand.

“I have finally won your heart, tricked you into marrying me and we are about to share our first Christmas. You are in some severely smoking hot yoga pants and that little bit of cotton you call a sweater and I can see your belly,” he rumbled.

“Can we at least move the tree?” I asked.

“If you insist.” With one big sweeping motion, he pushed the tree up and off us and I—as always—marveled at his strength. Ellis set about stripping me of my sweater. “This is really a little tuft of fluff. Not a sweater,” he breathed.

“Ellis, we should be decorating.”

“Are we expecting company?” His mouth, hot and insistent settled on my throat and he licked the place where my pulse thundered. His fingers found my pussy and he slid those talented digits home.

“Well, no. But this is my first house as a…oh.”

“A what?” The tip of his finger brushed my G-spot and I lost all the air from my lungs.

“A wife,” I whispered.

“I think this is pretty wifely.”

My husband is a werewolf. A big, hot, terribly bad and wonderful werewolf who saved me from a crazy rogue alpha. Along with the help of a vampire and a bear. He was my knight in shining armor and also, at the moment, the man pulling my pants off.

“Yes, yes, this is wifely,” I said just as my poor yoga pants were being tossed across the room. Luckily they landed near the fireplace and not in the fire currently burning merrily within.

“Spread your legs, Ruby,” he said. The hair on the back of my neck rose up and my nipples went hard. Tender heat radiated through my breasts when he nipped them with his sharp teeth. So fucking sensitive, my breasts—unbelievably so lately.

My fingers warred with his to get at his zipper and finally he said, “Let me do it,” and I did. His mouth warm on mine, his tongue greedy when he kissed me, he pushed into me slowly. We both held our breath, eyes locked. And when he started to rock against me, we both exhaled.

“Put your arms up, baby.”

I pushed my arms high above my head and my breast jutted up. I brushed the backs of my fingers through the fluffy cream colored throw rug under me. Ellis pinned me with his much larger hands, holding my upper body tight to the floor as he moved into me. No rush, no hurry, just a blissful rocking motion that had me gnawing my bottom lip in moments.

“Ellis—”

He felt it. He knew. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We’re not done here. I like it when you have more than one,” he said, leering at me in that big bad wolf guise that always made me wet between the legs.

I came, my arms warring with his grip even though I had no desire to be set free. I simply had to move with the force of my release.

“Good girl. Good Ruby,” he whispered and I damn near came again.

I laughed softly and arched up to meet him, pushing my legs wider to open my body to his and he groaned. “Good Ellis,” I teased. “Good boy.”

“That sounds surprisingly like a dog joke.” His voice deep and rough but his eyes sparkly with humor.

“Woof.”

I knew what I was doing. I was baiting him. It worked.

His hand came free of my flesh and he pulled out of me, turning me like his own little Ruby-doll, I found myself on hands and knees, head down, hair brushing my fingers as they clutched at the throw rug.

Ellis drove into me, his body surging into mine, his breath hot on my back. “You fight dirty, wife.”

His hand came around to find my clit and he stroked me with strong fingers wet with my own juices. My breath hitched, my heart pounded. “You, too,” I said.

“Come with me, then.” I felt his hair brush my back between my shoulder blades when he pressed his head to me as if in prayer. He was arched over me and thrusting hard and breathing harder and that was that.

I came as he came. A vibrant hush filled the room and then the sound of our orgasm. When I fell to my chest and he draped himself over me, Ellis said, “God but I love you, wife.”

“Ditto, husband.”

Christmas was only two days away.

Chapter 1

Ellis took me down the main street of Town to the library. I was still getting used to living among werewolves in a place called Town. I still missed my corner store in Baltimore and Mr. O’Dell who visited me most every day. And I dearly missed my best friend, vampire and ex-lover (complicated, much?) Tyler Gent. On the other hand, I was beyond happy. I woke up every day with that tingly sensation in my gut that almost screamed excitement. Sometimes I felt so excited I was damn near nauseous.

“So this is your big Alpha debut,” I said.

“Don’t be nervous,” he said.

I stopped in my tracks, digging the heels of my lace-up boots into the cracks on the sidewalk. “We talked about that. Stop smelling my emotions,” I said.

“Would you rather me say I can smell your—”

“Ellis Bach!”

He grinned at me and all of me crimped up with emotion at that smile. I had never loved anyone as much as I loved Ellis. Actually, since falling in love with Ellis I now realized I’d never been in love before in my life. The fact that this was our second lifetime together—that I had once been his mate, murdered, and reincarnated to return to him—just made the love thing that much sweeter. And that much more confusing.

“Sorry, baby. But don’t be nervous. I’m not.”

“But you’re all macho and alpha and with the splintered gaze and the prophecy.”

“Hmph,” he said. He didn’t so much believe in this prophecy thing.

According to Samuel Soriano, the psychic who had married us in a diner, there was a prophecy in the Eastern Pack that Ellis Back could work wonders for the wolves. How did we know it was him in the prophecy? By his splintered gaze. See, my yummy husband has blue eyes with a jagged bolt of aubergine in one when he is human. And when he is wolf, he has aubergine eyes with a jagged bolt of surreal blue. He is, for the record, hot as hell in either form.

“Don’t hmph the prophecy,” I said. “You can save the wolves.”

“From what?”

“I don’t know yet.” But when I said it, my gut went heavy and I felt lightheaded. Something was coming. Something probably not good, possibly big. Samuel had also foreseen me being an empath and a psychic like him. So I ignored this part of my running emotions at the moment. Selective feeling. Can’t beat it.

“What’s wrong?”

He turned to me and I smiled, turned on tip-toe and kissed him. “Stop sniffing my feelings, Ellis.”

“Kiss me like you mean it,” he said and hustled me back into a dark corner near the library entrance.

I parted my lips for him, let his tongue slip into my mouth and slide along mine.

“Kiss me like you love me,” I said, teasing him.

“God, I fucking love you. You have no idea, Ruby.”

Actually, I did. He had risked his life and his beliefs to save me from that crazy—and now thankfully dead—Frank the wannabe alpha. Awful, awful Frank had wanted to kill me a second time. Frank had been the one to kill me in the 50s and he tried it again a few weeks ago.

“I have an idea,” I said and pressed myself to him. “But for right now, we need to go in there and be the mated, happy Alpha leader couple type people.”

“That was a mouthful,” he laughed.

“And then some.”

“I’ve got a mouthful for you—“

“Ellis!” I hissed, swatting him. “You are a big dirty pervert.”

“You love it.”

“I do,” I admitted and blushed, but then I hustled him into the library where there was a nice little Christmas celebration planned. You know, before he did me in the alleyway or anything.

I was in the reading room doing the ‘princess wave’ as Tyler used to call it and schmoozing with the locals when my phone rang. I recognized the number and my stomach bottomed out. But I pressed the button anyway.

It was Tyler.

Things had not ended well with us. A smoking hot threesome between him, Ellis and myself and then he’d had to let me go to Ellis. Who was my destiny. But Tyler was still hurting and I felt like I not only lost a lover but had lost my very best friend.

“Ty,” I breathed.

“Ruby. We have a problem.”

And then I was sitting in a tiny little wooden chair meant for a child, because it was sit down or fall down. I chose to sit. Somebody was dead.

* * * *

I don't write Femdom often...

2011-12-06T05:15:00.000-08:00

but this was a favorite from my early days with Xcite. It's one of the stories chosen for the freshly minted "The Best of Sommer Marsden". I'll be bringing more snippets from multiple works soonish.

Happy rainy Tuesday.

XOXO
S
p.s. I've linked to the just released ebook. Also available on paperback in the UK (coming to the US soon :D )

From The Best of Sommer Marsden

My Good Boy
by Sommer Marsden

The first time I saw Joshua he was stumbling down the
Avenue at twelve in the afternoon. Snookered, drunk, high as
a kite. He was wearing a three-piece suit that any fool could
tell cost a pretty penny. I’m not one for suits but even I
wanted to run my hand over that dark grey fabric. I just knew
it would feel like liquid silk. His shaved head radiated a
lobster-like glow from the alcohol and he was smoking a
cigarette in that way. The way an extremely plastered person
smokes. Not just smoking it, but drawing on the filter so hard
I half expected him to suck the entire smouldering cylinder
into his mouth.

I was drawn to him. I admit it. He positively radiated
submissive. This was a man who felt out of control and he
needed some help. Some tender loving care. Or a good
whipping. It was a toss-up.

My feet carried me to him before I could reconsider. I was
hoping I had struck gold. A man who carried the weight of the
world on his shoulders but craved a woman who would push
him. And push him around. I get off on power. I get off on
men who can be broken. For whatever reason, I wanted to get
off with this man.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ I said down to him. He was
sitting on a concrete planter that held a sickly-looking palm
tree. ‘Why are you fucked up at noon?’

I figured it best to let him see exactly who I was right off
the bat. If he was going to be mine, then he had to see the real
me from the get-go.

He squinted up at me and took another severe drag on his
cigarette. ‘I am not drunk,’ he said very carefully. The caution
and slow speech obviously earmarked him as a completely
bombed individual.

‘You most certainly are,’ I sighed and planted one of my
black stiletto heels on the planter. His eyes were level with
my crotch and my short skirt rode up with the movement. No
doubt he had a perfectly wonderful view of my crotch. That
was good.

‘OK, so I am,’ he said directly to my pussy.

‘Good. At least you’re being honest. Now tell me why,’ I
barked. Oh, if only I had a whip. Hell, I’d settle for a ruler.

‘I am…’ he slurred, ‘…having a bad day. I have too much
stress. I feel like I might…’ he trailed off and took a final drag
of his cigarette, practically licking the fucking thing. I
snatched it out of his fingers and flicked it into the street.

‘Explode? Cry? Jump off a large building?’

‘Yesh,’ he sighed. ‘All of the above.’

‘Come on,’ I said and grabbed his hand. I hauled him to
his feet and stood there waiting for him to fall over or fall on
me. He did neither.

‘Where’re we going?’

‘You’re coming home with me and we are going to get
you straightened out.’ I marched him toward my waiting Jeep.

‘You don’t even know me!’

I stopped turned and said, ‘Diane. And you are?’

‘Joshua Davies.’

‘Good. Now I know you. Get in the fucking car,’ I said
and pointed to the door. He nearly broke his neck getting in
but he managed.

I could not wait to get him home.

He slept the twenty-minute drive to my house. He was
snoring to the point of annoyance and I knew the first thing
I’d make him do was brush his teeth. Stale beer breath is not a
turn-on.

I pulled into the driveway and unbuckled. Went around
and opened the passenger side door. ‘Joshua!’ I barked.

He came awake in a series of grunt and snorts. He blinked
at me and wiped his mouth. ‘We here?’

‘Yes. Get out. Let’s go.’ I helped him out, though. The last
thing I needed was for him to take a header in the driveway
and knock himself unconscious.

Inside, I set about making a pot of coffee in case he‘d need
it. ‘There are towels in the linen closet. The bathroom is the
last room down the hall. Get a towel, take a shower and brush
your teeth. Use my toothbrush, I’ll get a new one.’

Now I waited. Was he what I thought he was? Most men
would tell me to fuck off. Or complain or try to hump me in
the kitchen. He dropped his head and nodded. ‘OK.’

I smiled. I could smell them a mile away. ‘Well? Why are
you just standing there? Get moving.’

By the time he came out of the shower, his skin pink like a
baby, I was in my corset and boots. My big red boots. They
make me feel like a superhero. I love boots. In a sexy pair of
boots I feel like I can beat the devil.

(Free Read) Fallen

2011-12-04T18:11:00.000-08:00

A twisted little tale from many moons ago. I think roughly 2007. This is my version of a blog at the moment.

Fallen
by Sommer Marsden

The day has been awful. People vying for my attention, throwing problems at me. This consultant did this, that consultant neglected to do that. I have played the mediator, kept my cool, been the lone grownup in a roomful of intellectual five-year-olds. I am done.

The house is dark and quiet as it always is. Empty. I am the only breathing thing that inhabits it. Beyond that it is stuffed full of books and music. Art and comfortable things. A warm cozy coffin of loneliness.

I pour myself a glass of Shiraz and kick my shoes off in the middle of the dining room. It doesn't matter that they're in the middle of the floor. No one will trip over them. I can navigate my domain in the dark and know where I have left my debris and detritus. There is no one else here to be courteous for. Not even a cat.

The tiny automatic night-light has come on in the kitchen, giving off a subtle glow to guide me. I switch on my laptop without turning the overhead on. For this, I like the ghostly blue light given off by the screen. I like to be shielded and cloaked when I delve into this part of myself. It is easier to accept in surreal light than in the cold, clinical penetration of the ceiling fixture.

As the computer hums and comes to life, I reach under my silk blouse and unhook my bra. I go through the mystical dance that women have mastered, pulling it off without removing my top. I drop it on the floor by the stove and take a sip of wine. Once upon a time, I would have lit a cigarette. Somehow I have managed to kick this particular addiction. Not the one that truly needs to be eradicated, but it is a start. I sit at the table and wait for the computer to tell me it is ready.

I hold my breath until I am nearly dizzy and finally it is ready. I plug in my password and pull up the Internet. From there it is simply a matter of plugging in the address: www.Kindred.com. The logo lights up the screen: WHERE LIKE-MINDED PEOPLE COME TO CONNECT. My account comes up and prompts me for a password. The password flies off my fingertips like electricity. Beau. Not hard to remember.

I have six messages waiting. I haven't checked in three days. I'm rather proud of this. I have been trying to hold off the urge. Save it for the days like this one. The days where I need...comfort. Where I need something to anchor me to earth so that I will not fly off the planet and shatter into a million little pieces.

I begin my ritual. It must be done before I can open the folder marked NEW MESSAGES. I read my ad.

SWF seeks interested man. Must be roughly 5' 10", nearly black hair, blue eyes. Between 180-190 lbs. Married, single, attached -- irrelevant. Must answer to Beau regardless of given name. No attachment expected. Instruction will be given. If interested contact December71@kindred.com.

It's all there as I ran it. It always is. The ritual is in the fact that I must make absolutely certain that my terms are clear. That they know, without a doubt, what I want, what I need, what I expect. It is there and I suck in a deep breath that feels like sunshine. Good. I click on the link to retrieve my new messages and read them.

The first four are useless. Men who have ignored almost completely my physical demands and/or what is spelled out so clearly. I delete them with a sigh. The fifth has potential. He's attached a picture. His real name is William. He's the right height. The right weight. His hair is a little too light, his eyes not a bright enough blue, but I don't delete him. So far, he is the closest.

I say a little prayer that I don't even realize I'm reciting until I hit the link for the last message. His name is Brian and he is the closest I have come in a very long while. Months to be exact. His hair is the same shade of dark chocolate, his eyes a sparkling blue shot with striations of green. The head shot is up close and the excellent quality of the digital photograph shows all of this clearly. I fight a rolling wave of nausea and take a steadying sip of wine. My hands are shaking and I try to steady them. I realize it is pointless and set my glass down on the table. I stare at Brian and then click RESPOND. I e-mail him my approval, a date, a time, a location and his instructions. His online indicator is glowing and within minutes I hear the melodious tinkle of a new message. I click it. He has responded:

December, I look forward to it. I'll be there.

Beau

I study the signature. A fierce buzzing excitement unfurls in my stomach and even though I know it is false I sink into it. I let it light me up from the inside, loosen my limbs, release the tension in my shoulders and my neck. A complete imposter, that signature, but one I welcome like an old lover looking for nothing more than a quick fuck. I let that one word use me up and spit me out. Then I shut down the computer.

When I go to bed, I relax into phantom arms. Let my mind fill in the blanks of what is missing and make it a reality. A brief reality. However, it is an illusion that would allow me to bridge the world of consciousness and the world of dreams. Once asleep, the arms that hold me will be much more solid. The words whispered in my ear, clearly audible. Until morning. When the alarm sounds. Then they will simply vanish back into the ether where they live.

My boot heels clack militaristically as I make my way to the hotel. The streets are full of Christmas shoppers, rabid drivers, rowdy kids. Downtown at Christmas time. Heaven and Hell. So much to see. So many spectacles. Yet, so much sadness as well. The homeless, the beggars, the hookers trying to look like everyone else while hawking their services on the corners. I step over a used hypodermic needle as I enter The Charles. One of the oldest hotels in these parts. Smack dab in the middle of crime central these days, but still managing to maintain its old fashioned, genteel facade.

The desk clerk gives me a once-over and decides I'm not a working girl trying to use the hotel for seedy sex. He graces me with his most practiced smile and gives me a, "Yes, ma'am. How can I help you?"

"I have a reservation for room 213. Just overnight. Quick business stop," I say, not sure if I am elaborating on my reservation for him or for myself.

"Miss Dunn?"

"Ms." I correct in my best snippety bitch voice. There is no reason for me to reserve the room under a false name. I am not married. I am free to do what I please. Where I please. It occurs to me that I don't know if Brian is married or not. Then it occurs to me that I really don't care. It will only be a few hours out of his life. If he is married it's his problem. His choice. My role in his life is brief and burning hot. Like a flare that goes down to nothing but a thick streamer of smoke as it dies. He can deal with the guilt himself, if there is any.

"Right, Ms. Sorry, Ms. Dunn. Your guest has already gone up. We gave him his key card as instructed."

"Colleague," I correct the poor boy again. "And what was his name again?" I ask, just a light catch in my voice. This is the true test. Of my selection. Of my illusion. "I don't want to embarrass myself and not know. We've never met."

The young man who is really no more than a boy checks his computer. "I have that I should only allow a Beau into the room. When he arrived he said his name was Beau. No last name. He wouldn't give one. Is this correct?" he asks by rote as he has been taught.

A spectacular flood of oxygen floods my lungs as I allow myself to draw air. "That is correct," I whisper. Then I clear my throat as he eyes me warily. I cough and smile. "Yes," I say louder this time, "that's it. Beau. Thank you."

He nods and hands me my key card. As I make my way to the bank of elevators, I can feel his eyes on my back. I keep my posture straight, my walk confident. Let him think whatever the fuck he wants. He is of no concern to me now.

The door to 213 looks like all the others. I pause to admire its anonymous beauty for a moment before I know it is time to enter. When I do knock it is way too loud, way too harsh. Nerves. Fear. I feel twisted.

He opens the door and my heart slams in my chest. I breathe him in with my lungs, soak him into my pores. He is perfect. Hair exactly the right sinful shade of nearly black. Blue eyes bright and vibrant. Intense but humorous, as if he's just heard a really good joke. His build is dead on, shoulders and chest broad. Even his stance is correct and although I know it is a fluke, I revel in it.

I scan his soft denim shirt and faded button-fly jeans. Just to my specifications. Exactly as I demanded. I take in his dirty work boots and with a sigh, I let my gaze drop to his hands. A few nicks, a few scratches, a slight stain of oil or dirt under his fingernails. Enough to show even the casual observer that these are working hands. The intimate observer knows that these are talented hands.

I breathe out his name, "Beau." Half question, half joyful prayer of thanks to the Heavens.

He approaches me, stretches his arm out to me, past me and shuts the door. He takes both my hands in his and I feel the warm, sinister slide of fluid from my body. That's it. It has begun. He begins the litany so clearly spelled out to him in the e-mail.

"December, I'm so sorry. So sorry, baby. I was wrong. So very wrong. I want you, sweetheart. Love you. Not her. Never her. Just you. Always you."

And he drops to his knees, working the delicate buckles on the straps of my heels. At my feet he continues the stream of words. "Love you. Only you. Lift your foot, sweetheart."

I do. He removes the shoe, tosses it aside gently. Kisses my foot, the cleavage between my toes, through my stockings. I feel my nipples tighten, my head falls back on its own and I let it. The sound that escapes me is hopeful.

He moves to the other foot. "I don't think I can live without you. Come back to me. I'm begging." He kisses my other foot, the humid heat from between his lips slipping under the vulnerable material of my hose.

Strong hands, Beau's hands, run up my calves. He pushes his thumbs against the muscles, places his forehead against my pelvis. His breath invades me through my thin dress. "December."

For just a second I hear the slight inflection when he says my name. The inflection that is wrong. All wrong. A black shadow of realization flares up in my mind and it mocks me. It's not him. It will never be him. Leave now. Save yourself. Save your soul. It's not him...

But he says it again, "December," and he sighs it this time. It is said so that I can push that shadow away. Leave it whispering to nothing but itself. I run my hands through his hair, watch his bowed head as his hands travel higher. They slide over my thighs and my knees feel as if they won't support me anymore. His fingers push past the top of my stockings to feel the naked skin underneath and I actually sag a bit. I steady myself with a hand on my head as he kisses my pubis through my dress.

I'm not sure if I say "Beau" out loud or just in my head. But I say it with some part of me, lips or soul. That much I'm sure of.

His hands push up past the garter straps and cup my bottom. He stands, quickly lifting me up and against him in one giant movement and I gasp. He carries me to the bed, despite the fact that we are roughly the same height. We could, in fact, be brother and sister to the untrained eye. He doesn't drop me or bounce me or lower me roughly as most men would. No, he lowers me slowly, carefully, and drapes his body over mine. His lips crush against mine, warm and tasting slightly of mint. I open my mouth without preamble and suck his tongue into my recesses. Tasting the mint and the darker, male taste that is just him.

He plunges his hands into my hair, works circles on my scalp with the pads of his fingers. His lips slide down my neck, the skin pebbling in delight with the sensation. His tongue traces the contours of my collarbone and I arch up against him without thinking. Push my hips against his, feel the wonderful slide of his already hard cock along the seam of my labia. I'm wet, I know that, but when I feel the blunt erection nudge at me, I feel a fresh seep of fluid drench my panties. I am ready and yet I want to stay right here.

"Beautiful. You are. It's true. So wrong. I was so wrong." He undoes the tie of my dress and lays it wide open around me. It is a brilliant dress. A wraparound. Much like a bathrobe, once you have freed the knot, it can be little more than a memory if you choose. I had chosen. So had Beau.

I'm exposed and I shiver. Nothing separates my flesh from his but a black scrap of a bra, a tiny thong and the garter and hose. I am both anxious to see them go and a little scared. My ever-present thoughts remind me that the quicker this progresses, the quicker it will end. But he's in no hurry, that much is evident. I send up another tiny prayer of thanks. I have been given a gift and I want to enjoy it. Even the fact that his eyes have just a hint of the wrong slant does not affect me too much. A momentary blip of panic on the radar and then it is gone. He is kneeling between my spread legs and lazily undoing the clasps that keep the black thigh highs up. They make tiny sounds of protest as he releases them.

"I love these. I really do. It's almost a shame to take them off. But I will. I don't want anything there. Nothing between us."

This was not in the script, but I am far enough gone that I appreciate his ad-libbing. They are words Beau would have said, so I suck them into my body and hold them close. He pulls the hose off one at a time as if he is unwrapping a gift and enjoys the suspense. I lift my hips as he tugs the garter down over my skin. I hear them hit the carpet like feathers falling from the sky. He bends to kiss the triangle of black fabric that shields me from his lips. Again, the moisture invades the fabric like a wraith. So warm, his lips, his breath, his forehead on my belly. I begin to murmur and don't care what I am saying. They are just words. This is an act. I surrender. I willingly give myself over to the illusion as his tongue nudges up under the fabric and strokes my skin with a lick like a flame.

He tugs the thong even as he kisses along the waistband, branding my skin and making me squirm. I rise up to accommodate him and lose that meager shield, too. It joins the fray on elegant cream carpet. "Just you. I should never have left. Not for her. Just you..." he mutters, parting my now swollen lips with his tongue. He masterfully sucks my clit into his mouth and I give a little cry.

His words haunt me, though. He should not be saying them at this point. It is all wrong. Even as my body goes fluid and pushes against him seeking more from his mouth, his tongue, my mind is filling in her name. Her face. Her. The one who was chosen over me. I cringe a little and he continues the words that I have given him. My cunt is responding to his mouth, that tightening that tells me I am working my way up to an orgasm. I'm not just seeping now but gushing and the great wide pain in my chest from her face in my mind sweetens that pleasure just a little.

"Not her," he says again as he pushes his tongue into my weeping body.

"Shush, Beau, shush," I say, half crying. Clawing desperately at the wall of reality that is beginning to loom over me. Back. I need to get back into the illusion. "Shush," I say with a little more grit in my voice and I push my palm against the top of his head a little too hard. To make my point.

He never stops lapping at me or drinking me in. In fact, he plunges two fingers into my cunt and I arch up with a cry despite my frustration. But he has taken the hint and remains quiet. Playing me perfectly with beautiful long fingers. Talented hands. He strokes my engorged G-spot. No words from his lips, just appreciative sounds. Worshipful sounds. With those, I plunge headfirst into the bright colors that blossom behind my eyes. I come around his fingers, body splayed as if in agony.

I take a deep breath. Wrapped snugly back in illusion, I watch him withdraw his fingers from me and bring them to his lips and lick them clean. I grab the top button of his jeans as I watch and tug brutally. The remaining buttons give up with a soft pulling sound. I have his cock in my hand before he can react. As soon as I grab him, stroke him, his eyes grow hooded and dark and he looms up over me almost maliciously. I open my legs, guide him into my body and take his first thrust with a small grunt of pleasure. He rocks into me greedily and the slide of my silk dress still under me is a gentle caress.

It all melts away. The pain. The frustration. The loss. Grief. Anger. Sadness. I feel it falling away from me like old bark off of a beautiful tree. I move up to take him deeper and in my mind I see this memory played out hundreds of times. Hundreds of moments stolen and claimed with him. Beautiful memories, so fragile yet hearty. Tempered glass. White gold. Seemingly soft or breakable, but indestructible.

His breath grows louder in my ear, hot on my neck. I wrap my legs around his waist, tilt my hips higher in an attempt to pull his cock further into my body. As far as it will go. He clutches my ass, hands hot and wide. Strong. He pulls me up to meet him until I cannot tell who is in charge. Who is taking who. I don't care.

I gather around him. My muscles bunching, clinging, pulling at him as my body coils under impending orgasm. He pulls the innocent bra cups down and latches onto one nipple. He paints his tongue around the tip until I feel like screaming. And I do. But just a little. He moves to the other. A nip, a bite, enough to pull me tighter and I feel as if I might simply burst apart.

I clutch at him, thrash at him, bite his neck and hiss his name, though in my soul, I know it isn't his name. I bite him again and hear him roar. A primitive sound as he empties into me and it allows me to give in. I come with a sob. Spent and exhausted. Pleasured and tortured.

"Over here," I say to him and drop my dress to the floor. I pull back the covers and I pull him around me. Wrap him around me. Place him just so and make sure the tableau is correct. The sheets are draped just the right way and I am lying as I remember lying so long ago. "Now sleep," I say as if he can on command. But he does. He drifts off rather quickly. I lie awake for a long time and remember. I try to recapture that last night. And when I drift off, the arms around me are very real and very warm. They are also imposters much like his signature. At that point, I do not care.

When dawn comes he gets up quietly. His courtesy is almost funny. He was told to leave at dawn and he is. He gathers his clothes and I listen. I keep my eyes closed, pretending to sleep. I hear him get dressed and then he surprises me by dropping a reverent kiss on my forehead. I almost open my eyes but don't. I don't want to see the look on his face. I don't know what it will be. I am afraid it will be disgust, or worse, pity.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be him for you," he says and my throat seizes up. I stay still. The door clicks softly as he leaves.

I wrap the sheets around me tightly. A cotton cocoon that I will stay in until checkout time. As always, the tears begin. They burn a hot penitent trail down my cheeks and puddle under my face on the pillow. I begin my prayers. Secrets that I keep from myself and whatever is running the universe. They spill out of me like poison. I say I'm sorry. I have done it again. I ask for forgiveness. A fallen angel trying to reunite with her god.

Until the next Beau shows up in my account.

the day after...

2011-12-02T04:51:00.000-08:00

Is all kinds of stuff! Thanks so much to everyone for birthday wishes yesterday. All over! Twitter, Facebook, email, phone. You are super. And...I survived.

Since I survived I'll announce that...tada:

LONG LOST, the sequel to BIG BAD is out today. Woohoo! You can find a blurb and all that jazz here (note, if you haven't ready BB and want to, I wouldn't go check out the blurb for LL). It's also available at ARe and all those fine vendors.

And woohooo! Yesterday on my actual 40th the sexy book above was released in the UK (US coming v. soon). That's a hell of a birthday howdy! Find out more here.

Let's see, I have more to say but cannot remember what it is. I guess that's the senility setting in. Heh.

XOXO
Sommer

40

2011-12-01T07:50:00.000-08:00

has arrived. And that is my GF spice cake with buttercream icing made by my awesome girl child.

I didn't sleep last night and I look about 50 but I'm happy and I got lots of birthday hugs and wishes and tweets and FB posts and all that jazz this morning. And I did not burst into flames or nuthin. So yay me! go 40!

Oh and for those of you quietly pondering the whole birthday spanking scenario...the answer is yes.

XOXO
Sommer

haha!

2011-11-30T12:14:00.000-08:00

birthday greetings setting atop a big box that contains my brain...I mean iPad. And below that a gift from lovely May Deva! A wiener for the wall. And look...I have a naked spot on the wall. (Um...I took a pic down for a Halloween sign and um...lost it...)

XOXO
Sommer

Waiting...

2011-11-30T06:33:00.001-08:00

I'm currently...

2011-11-29T11:19:00.000-08:00

in an area that looks v. much like this. In my head of course. It's been a crazy day. I ran, found out a neighbor was robbed in the middle of the day yesterday (!!!!), went to the bank (freaked out thinking my house was being robbed), then to the grocery store where I called the asst. manager on their piss poor check out policy for customers (while freaking out internally that my house was being robbed). I came home and unloaded (my house had not been robbed), got back in the car (took my laptop so I would not be robbed...of IT), went to the post office where I nearly punched the rude ass woman who waited on me (internally also freaking out that car was currently being robbed), got caught in the rain, went to the library and grabbed hold items (try to hurry so your car isn't robbed) and then got stuck in a bigger rainstorm and came home.

I am happy to report that I have not been robbed but have possibly gone loco.

That is all! Back to the dirty writing.

XOXO
Sommer

Author of the week at ARe cafe is...

2011-11-28T06:19:00.000-08:00

Moi! Freaky deaky! Go see me if you get a chance and read whatever it was I said (LOL--I try not to overthink things. Sometimes that is very apparent). I'll never adjust to seeing myself for things like this, but it's a great way to kick off my birthday week. I have a feeling this week (at least in some spots) is going to be like a roller coaster ride.

Good morning, all. Happy Monday.

XOXO
Sommer

FOUR...

2011-11-26T19:11:00.000-08:00

that's how many days you have left to share a birthday memory with me and/or share our wisdom on turning forty and win my big birthday extravaganza! Full deets are here.

My time in my thirties is slipping away fast. Like sands through the hourglass so are the...well, it's going quickly. Let's just leave it at that.

Now back to some crappy SyFy movie with Mike Hammer in it.

XOXO
Sommer

Giving thanks for Charlotte Stein and her nifty book CONTROL

2011-11-25T08:36:00.000-08:00

And to do just that I bring you a brief funky Q&A with Charlotte Stein regarding her book CONTROL. Huzzah!

SM: You'll pardon me, Charlotte, if these are some goofy questions, but there has been some wine. So the obvious choice was to sit down and write your questions for Control now! Duh!

I loved this book. I loved it, loved it, loved it so much I was ready to turn to page 1 after finishing the book. I laughed, I cried, I almost fell off my exercise bike (no shit) and yes...I got um...well, the man got a lot of action during this book. So here are my questions, bear with me.

Who is Andy? Who! Who? Because there is a scene in Control where Andy so very much debases himself (not like him) that I literally snorted so hard I choked. I want to know the visual for you when you wrote that very snarky, sexy, bad-bad boy.

CS: Some version of Alex O'Loughlin. It had to be Alex O'Loughlin, because by God that dudes looks as though he'd be up for just about anything. He has this weird mixture of forceful passion and laidback-who-gives-a-fuck that I've always found very beguiling, and of course - it contrasted nicely with Gabriel's repression and restraint.

My faux-Alex is probably going to be the star of one of my upcoming novels - Addicted. Because he makes an almost perfect sex addict. Insane enough about it to make it orsum, laidback enough that you don't worry.

SM: I know who Gabriel is, your version is so not who he was in my head (the beauty of erotica, if you ask me) but can you fill in my ever so nosy readers?

CS: Gabriel is based loosely on Gabriel Gray, from the TV show Heroes. Only you know. Way, way hornier. And not secretly a serial killer.

SM: Why submissive men? What is it about the sub man that flips your switch? I tend to love the Dom's but you managed to make the sub man work for me. How did you do that you witchy woman?

CS: I don't know, really. I've always just loved what I now know as femdom, and I remember it being a huge, huge disappointment to me, as a teenager, to realise that other women don't like the kinds of stories I do. I loved Black Lace books, but for a long time I couldn't get over how rare it was to find submissive men in them. I thought it was natural, to explore in fantasy what is often so reviled in reality - a strong woman, and a passive man. And then I grew up and realised that fantasy has almost nothing to do with reality. It's just whatever you like, and that can be just about anything - even for me. I can enjoy stories about submissive women just as much as I enjoy submissive men stories - as long as it's done well.

As for what flips my switch about it...I think my main kink is the idea of a man being completely unable to control himself. Not in a "I'm going to take you now" sort of way. More in a "fook, I just came buckets all over myself" kind of manner. I've never liked the stereotypical sort of femdom where the guy is all thin and weak and pathetic, grovelling on the floor of a cage while hogtied, as his Mistress stands over him in thigh high boots. I like very real scenarios that just so happen to have a reversed power dynamic - it's the woman who's objectifying, who's controlling the scenario, who's taking something she wants, etc.

As for why you don't mind it...well...at the very least I try to make my heroes hot. I think whether it's femdom or not, there's something very appealing about getting to do whatever you want want with some hot dude.

SM: Outfit you feel sexiest in?

CS: My birthday suit.

SM: Outfit you find him sexiest in?

CS: Sweatpants and nothing else. No underwear. No top. Lemme see what you've got, babe.

SM: Sexiest matching outfits (heh) with accessories, even!

CS: Well, Husband and I do have matching dressing gowns. But they're not cool. They're not sexy. There are things in the pockets that have probably been there for years. They looks like someone skinned an animal called a Blurto to make them...no.

SM: What are you working on now? Can you give us a peek? A snippet? A clue!?

CS: I am working on (in no particular order):

Power Play: workplace shenanigans, in which the boss of a publishing company takes serious advantage of her assistant. Because he's a horny bastard who makes her.

Nameless: Set in the same world as Reawakening. Zombies take over, girl finds herself locking horns with the usual redneck lowlife apocalypse asshole, can't stop having accidental red hot sex with him.

Future Pursuits: Sequel to Past Pleasures.

Menage: Friends do some naughty things. Meet up years later. Can't help doing them again.

Love Letters: Wife discovers her husband bonked a guy in college. The revelation sends their sex life through the roof, enter stage right the guy he bonked who also happens to be the most charming motherfooker to ever grace the earth.

SM: How will you be spending your holidays and does it involve a man like Gabriel in sexy women's underthings?

CS: I've asked Santa for that very thing, but somehow I suspect he's not going to come through for me. I'll probably be spending it like usual: seven hundred hours logged on the DS, a million plates of beetroot and ham eaten while watching various sitcoms, loads of books read on my Kindle, Husband asking me a thousand times if I liked my presents even though I always do because he's orsum.

SM: Will you come visit me and go shopping?

CS: YES! YES I WANT TO DO THIS PLEASE WE WILL GO TO THE SHOPS YES YES. Hooray!

SM: Chocolate, vanilla or cinnamon?

CS: Cinnamon. If they made a thing called a cinnamon bar, and it was basically cinnamon dust compressed into a log, I would eat it. I would eat nothing else forever - I forsake you, chocolate. My heart will always belong to cinnamon.

And if you were asking a secret sex question: also cinnamon. That means shoving it up his bum, right?

Blurb:
When Madison Morris decides to hire an assistant to help run her naughty bookshop, she gets a lot more than she bargained for. Aggressive Andy doesn’t quite make the grade, but continues to push her buttons in other areas, while uptight and utterly repressed Gabriel can’t quite take Madison’s training techniques. One makes her grasp control, while the other makes her lose it. But the lines are blurring and she’s no longer sure who’s leading and who’s following. In the midst of kinky threesomes and power plays, can Madison work out what she really wants?

Snippet:

THE FIRST APPLICANT FOR the assistant job is very promising indeed. He puts his head between my thighs with minimal supervision and almost no prompting.

The only problem is I don’t recall creating an oral presentation portion of the interview. Or, for that matter, a portion that requires the answer: you know you want it. To a question I don‟t remember asking.

But I guess I must have asked for something, or none of it would have happened. Maybe it was all the staring I did, at the curling many-coloured tattoos all over his heavy-looking arms. Or the way I bristled beneath the weight of his deep blue gaze. I must have leant forward, and asked about his previous job experience in a way that suggested an underlying code.

Job meant sex. Experience meant now.

It was sharp of him, really, to understand. He got a cross in the interview attire column-such a thin, barely-there T-shirt!-but he got a big tick in the takes initiative and the understands subtle instructions columns.

I don’t think I got any ticks, in the cool, calm, controlling boss columns, unfortunately. But can’t I be forgiven? He looked like liquid sex and I can’t remember the last time I had anything even remotely resembling a drink. Or resembling a hard, solid body over mine. Or resembling the scent of someone besides myself, all over me-the slick slide of a tongue against my skin.

It’s probable that some of these needs showed on my face. And though I’m sure that some people are of the mind that women who wear neat little pleated skirts and boxy corduroy jackets-the uniform of bookstore owners and librarians everywhere-are bookish and quiet and quite dull, there’s probably an equal amount who view said women as repressed cauldrons of lust.

I’m pretty sure he sensed my boiling cauldron.

Buy Control

Visit Charlotte

I still say Happy Thanksgiving...

2011-11-24T09:48:00.000-08:00

despite discussion over such in the last few years. I draw from what the holiday has always meant to me. Good food, good friends, family. Sitting around a table, sharing a meal, listening to stories (especially those of my grandfather back in the day). I always anticipated not just the food but that overwhelming feeling of family and contentedness and laughter.

I have a good hefty chunk of Cherokee in me and some Blackfoot, we believe. So today, whether you choose to say Happy Thanksgiving or Happy Harvest or just Happy Thursday, I hope you have a wonderful day full of good memories, good grub, good friends, good laughs, family and whatever else floats your boat.

I still say Happy Thanksgiving, so I say that to you now. And follow with this which fits brilliantly into some of my roots:

Cherokee Prayer Blessing

May the Warm Winds of Heaven
Blow softly upon your house.
May the Great Spirit
Bless all who enter there.
May your Moccasins
Make happy tracks
in many snows,
and may the Rainbow
Always touch your shoulder.

you can leave your socks on...

2011-11-23T04:34:00.000-08:00

I'm in this very pretty new ebook from Constable and Robinson, edited by Barbara Cardy. And there are a whole slew of them, priced super well. So why buy one when you can buy four?

My story You Can Leave Your Socks On is featured in Erotica volume 2. I know what you're saying...*gasp* "You, Sommer, wrote an erotic story featuring socks? Why, I never..."

Yar, yar, yar. Save it. I know, I have a sock problem. It could be worse. I could have an overalls problem...

XOXO
Sommer
p.s. don't forget to grab your free holiday copy of Sugar (see blog below for coupon code and instructions)

And I am thankful for...

2011-11-22T08:06:00.000-08:00

You, readers! :) Given that the kick off of holiday season (starting with Halloween) usually triggers my sweet tooth, I'm giving away Sugar! Not actual sugar (though raw sugar straight up is yum and I've been known to sneak a few of those coarse grains just to chew), but my spanking story Sugar. Because I love spanking as much as I love sugar. Possibly more. *ahem*

For today, tomorrow and Thanksgiving day, Sugar is free on Smashwords.com . I'm pre-empting the evil, evil Black Friday by giving you something fun beforehand.

Simply go to Smashwords, search for Sugar (make sure our prude filter is OFF) and when you check out plug in coupon code: GN62A

Enjoy.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving.

XOXO
Sommer

pretty, pretty...

2011-11-21T04:39:00.001-08:00

Happy to announce the release of two short erotic collections from House of Erotica. Buckle Down and Taking Care of Business each contain 4 short stories. You can find them on ARe, Kindle, iBookstore and a few more venues on the way. Pretty, eh? I know I'm not supposed to show favoritism but that cover on the left took my breath away. Whew.

XOXO
Sommer

And...inhale

2011-11-19T07:45:00.000-08:00

In a previous blog (scroll down until you see a video of Chuck Palahniuk) I mentioned my worries and fears and worries and fears and worries and fears about Big Bad. There were some worries and fears (in case you missed that). But now the first official review (by a review site) has come and...tada! 4.5 Divas from Susan at Dark Divas Reviews.

Whew.

I feel like I can take a deep breath now. I had to repress a girlish squeal when the review opened with:

"Big Bad blew my socks off!"

What is there not to love about that!

To read the full review, just click the link above.

I'd also like to mention some fabulous reviews on Amazon. Thanks to T. Harrison, Jo, KD Grace and an amazing reader I just 'met' named Ava. You rock. (I know I'm probably supposed to act all cool and whatnot and pretend I didn't see them...but I did see them and they are appreciated!)

XOXO
S

No surrender...

2011-11-18T08:47:00.001-08:00

Oh my god. I'm dying. I'm going to be 40 in twelve days. And then December 1 I will wake up and....what? Explode? Levitate? Be the wisest woman evah!? Probably not. But I realized I had a late start on a few things. Mid to late 30s. It makes me wonder what I'll discover when I'm 40. But let's look, shall we?

It was not until my very late 30s that I 'got' Bruce Springsteen. And now that I 'got' him, I think I'd like to kiss him. Among other things, but let's stick with kiss. I was listening to Born In The USA today and I must say, it is eerily on point for current times. As it was for the year it came out. That is kind of sad.

And does anyone know if that is his actual ass? *ahem*. Not that that is important.

It was not until my late 30s that I discovered Chuck Palahniuk. Or as I call him in my head, my writing Yoda. And if you scroll down to the video below you'll hear him say he didn't start writing till he was 33. Guess who else did not actually start writing for real until they were 33? *waves hand*. [insert Twilight Zone music here]

He is my most 'markable' writer. Meaning when I read his books, I tend to either bend pages (much to the man's chagrin) or use sticky notes on passages I need to mark.

It was not until my late 30s that I got into self torture--I mean running!--and it was only this week that I learned the "Down" mantra that actually works and is possibly scary in its efficacy.

I'd like to actually run that 5K in my 40s. Or even further. We'll see.

In my 30s I also lost a friendship and I thought it would break my heart. I got contacted by a major NY agent (whose writer list made me break out in hives) and we did not mesh and it did not work and....i thought it would break my heart. I had a book set up to go with a specific editor and was stoked and...it didn't happen...and I thought it would break my heart.

But my heart did not break. In fact, the book got published, the editor is back in my inbox, the agent thing I've made peace with and the friend thing I let go. And I'm ending my 30s stronger and happier and more in love than I entered them (and that last one is saying something). I mean, don't get me wrong, in a lot of ways life is hard right now, harder than ever. But happiness is a state of mind, I have come to believe. Never give up. Ever.

Like I said, I can't see what's headed my way. Hopefully this new book with this beloved editor and that race where I mutter "Down" to myself all the way to the finish line and some fun surprises. Things I don't even see coming.

Overall, these past ten years have been a hell of a ride. And I plan for it to get better...no retreat, no surrender.

XOXO
Sommer

Got game?

2011-11-17T11:11:00.000-08:00

Um. No. And I am discussing my total lack of mad gaming skillz over at Gee/k/ink today if you get a chance to stop in and say hi. Or say Uno! That works too.

XOXO
Sommer

And...

2011-11-16T11:56:00.001-08:00

I am done! Haha! I am also giddy and a bit mental, but I finished. Yay! After everyone is in for the night, I am pouring a bucket of wine and putting my feet up and toasting the end of what I hope is a pretty good book.

(And then next week I'll proof it. The end doesn't actually mean, the end. Not just yet, anyway @__@)

XOXO
Sommer

Attack wiener...

2011-11-16T05:02:00.000-08:00

on duty for me today. I'm gonna run, then check email, then turn off my router or possibly set it out in the rain...or maybe in a nice warm bath, heh...and finish this BOOK! I am so close to being done I just need to be done.

Wish me luck and have a great day! :)

XOXO
Sommer

"A no win game" or "How Chuck Palahniuk saved my sanity"

2011-11-15T06:04:00.000-08:00

So I have a problem. I am the person who takes everything to heart. Squared. And I let anything even mildly negative eat away at me and drive me basically...bat shit.

So when I wrote Big Bad, I knew it would probably be a mixed bag reviews as far as paranormals went. There are folks who read paranormals who want their 'worlds' to be a specific way. Especially wolves. They want packs to be very much like packs in nature--something I learned when I wrote Base Nature and someone told me my werewolves were not behaving like werewolves. Which both startled me and sort of cracked me up.

Bottom line is: I knew it would fly with some and sink with others. I knew it and I was okay with it. I thought.

It's very easy to be brave before something happens, don't you think? It's entirely different to keep your shit together when it actually happens.

So it happened--My first book that came out of the gate at a mere 3 on Goodreads. Yes, 3 is "I liked it". To me that means "You are mediocre" (please keep in mind these are my hangups. Do not read anything at all into it regarding anyone else's writing. This is really just about my own mangled mind fuckery.)

So not to put too fine of a point on it. I freaked out.

Then a review came in from someone who didn't finish the book and didn't like it. At all. And I freaked out some more. Because to me. "I don't like it" means "I don't like you."

Which is stupid. But hey, I'm being honest here.

Then I saw the video above. (specifically 4:34) And I literally felt my entire body exhale. I relaxed. It was like someone had taken a piano off my back and said, hey, take a deep breath.

It is much easier for my type AAAAAAA personality to say: she didn't get it than she didn't like it. Because not liking it=not liking me (not really...just to yours truly). But not getting it=didn't work for her. And that is something my mind 'gets'.

So if you tend to take things to heart and let them eat at you and are a bit of a nutter like moi...I suggest you watch this whole thing. Not just minute 4:34. It's worth it. Totally.

And in the interim the book has picked up 5 stars and 4 stars and yes, more 3 stars. And I think some even lower. Raves and rips, basically. And so far I haven't exploded.

Good stuff ;)

XOXO
Sommer

oh and also...

2011-11-14T04:16:00.000-08:00

later today author Kiki Howell will be on my December Ink list having some fun and chatting. Pop in and visit her later if you get a chance. Don't worry if you're not a member, it only takes one click to become one :)

XOXO
Sommer

and the random number generator chose...

2011-11-14T03:53:00.000-08:00

Barbara! Yay Barbara. You win a copy of Elise's nifty dirty updated fairytale. Wooohoo, we'll be contacting you-hooo! :)

XOXO
Sommer

Hmm...dilemma...

2011-11-13T12:46:00.000-08:00

I am almost done this book. This book has haunted me. It has taunted me. It's in my head 24/7 even when I backed off to take a last minute emergency project. And now I am almost done! Almost...DONE!

But here's that dilemma I mentioned. I have had one particular scene in my head for this book from the first page. It stays in my head and it plays on a loop of good sexy awesomeness. And did I mention I'm almost done? I am right where I thought I'd be at this point in the book--ready to wrap it up and I just realized...I wrote right around that scene! I never did it. It's been in my noggin before I ever set a single word to paper and I didn't put it in.

Now me being me--which is a character driven writer--I figure that means that particular scene, while hot as the gates of Hell, doesn't really belong in this book. Maybe this is a different book. Maybe my characters changed their minds. Maybe someone got shy. Maybe...

Because I'm a firm believer that if it was meant to be, it would be in there. I often get to the end of a book and it feels like a giant laundry basket of tangled yarn. Tons and tons and tons of different colored yarn that's all somehow gotten wound up together and is a giant mess. And when I go back and do a proof reading, I realize...nope. My brain knew what it was doing even if I didn't.

And now that I have rambled over my forgotten scorching sex scene, my brain just told me what we're going to do.

So, hey, thanks for listening! It's all worked out now. Isn't it funny how that happens?"

XOXO
Sommer

Bizarres from the Bazaar

2011-11-12T12:05:00.000-08:00

And we have reached that time of year, dear readers, where I show you all the oddities I collect at the local bazaars. We have an eclectic kind of dealio in this house. Traditional meets modern meets country meets kitsch. Basically, what makes us happy. Here we go...

I don't know what it is, but I needed it...it makes me think of the 70s.

It's a bottle. It's a leaf. Tada!

It's a looooooooooooooong basket. I have a basket problem. Seriously.

The man and I have an inside gnome joke. And these were too horrid to pass up...

Stay tuned! There's another one next week!

XOXO
Sommer

what have i been doing lately?

2011-11-11T11:55:00.000-08:00

Falling in love with my man all over again. The person I've become over all these years is falling in love with the person he's become. Like brand new.

It's pretty fucking cool. And I wanted to say that.

Have an awesome weekend. I plan to.

XOXO
Sommer

Elise Hepner: Not So Pure...

2011-11-09T18:06:00.000-08:00

[[[I'm actually posting this a bit early. Apologies for confusion. It was a rough day and a rough evening which ended in me getting pretty damn ill. So I have just about enough juice to put this up in case I'm MIA tomorrow. So I wanted to say,]]]

Yay! Elise Hepner, fellow Marylander, is on my blog with a guest blog and a snippet and all that fun stuff.

So, welcome to her and enjoy a snippet. Maybe I'll have to trick her into lunch one day. I like meeting actual people in actual person. LOL

While you're here leave a comment. There's a giveaway of an e-copy so just say hi for a chance to win. What's say we run it until...Monday? Then I'll choose a winner.

~~~~
Kinky Fairytales
I always thought kinky fairytales were the best of both worlds because they can encompass and cross through so many different genres but still have the heat factor I love most of all. I’ve read historical ones, modern ones, magic ones, or just stories with a quick twist that made me go “huh”—though it wasn’t a twist of the nipple variety, I promise. It’s one genre I keep going back to over and over in my buying book habit because I never know exactly what I’m going to get with each tale.

Most often I find myself picking up kinky fairytale anthologies because then I get the best of both worlds, but I’m a series girl at heart so if I fall in love with the fairytale book one of my dreams I’m rushing to buy the others in the series. Cross-genre appeal, sexy situations, and sometimes even a little hocus pocus? How can I resist? I’m a sucker for it.

Also, with every fairytale there’s that glimmer of familiarity, that spark of that old story inside the new story that makes me think how awesome an author was to think of the old tale in this fashion. There’s so much to play with it’s hard to find any two redux that are exactly alike. With every twist and turn I know it’s a story I loved when I was younger and now it’s a story I can love again when I’m older. Like bringing new life to an old, well-worn sweater by making it into a pair of mittens. Can you tell I don’t sew? Oh well, I tried, you get the idea right?

Fairytales are cozy for me. A place of comfort. Hit that with the kinky sex hammer and I am so down for some e-book buying fun.

Blurb:
White runs from her prison of a past and enters into a sexual deal with seven men that alters the course of her life for eternity. Caught between her need to take control and making up for her serious lack of good sex, she enters a wonderland of kinky possibilities with men who show her that Prince Charmings come in all shapes and sizes. For White and her men—once upon a time doesn’t cut it—three or four times sound just about right.

With each partner—not always one at a time—White beats back her trust issues. But the shadow of her past comes back to haunt them all. Now she must introduce them to her personal battle, hoping they’ll fight beside her as their sinful nights turn into hellish days. Happily ever after isn’t by the books anymore.

Bright morning sunshine filtered through the trees, casting warmth all over her dirty body, and not bothering to look down at herself, she continued to pick her way through the forest. The light breeze blowing against her cheek was thick with scents from the night before—blooming night jasmine and sweat. She gritted her teeth against the nausea rooted in her stomach and noticed the fine shaking running up her bare thighs. How long could she go without food or water before she passed out? Her last meal had been yesterday afternoon, would that be enough? She didn’t know.

A plan was paramount.

She heard stories of men out here. They all lived together outside of town, away from the glitz and glamour of the city. Would they help or not? Either she found the nearest path back to a main road or she searched for a random cottage. There was no way to tell which would be easier.

Why had she even gone with Huntsman! This train of thought would get her nowhere and at least she was out of the house. She quickly stopped questioning and made a choice.

She would try to find the infamous cottage in the woods.

The reasoning was simple enough. It was logically easier to persuade a few people to help her out than walking to town and relying on a larger group of people. With more people, the odds of them saying no went up. Townspeople had that “who me?” aspect to them that made ignorance bliss. So many people would probably glance out of the corner of their eye at her begging and hurry along because of the implications of helping street filth.

And that’s what she looked like right now. With no money, no prospects and no work experience, so she had to start from scratch—there wasn’t much else but pity to fall back on.

This wasn’t a fairytale where someone would slip money into her hand and offer her a warm bed for the night. Most people were too selfish. White was better off going one-on-one with a group of men who’d already shed society’s rules by living in the middle of nowhere. Unfortunately, the trip was neither close nor easy.

Now she was caked in god-knows-what, looking toward the morning sky and waiting for a cottage to come in sight. What other option did she have? There was no indication of what awaited her there. But it had to be better than what was back in the woods—embracing destiny and all that jazz.

“Or running away from it,” she mumbled.

All the same. But it was hard to ignore her survival instincts. They had at least gotten her out of that prison and from now on it was her own way or she could bolt if she wanted to. Yet, this was the first time she’d been out of the house in how long? For a second her whole world rotated a hundred and eighty degrees.

The fresh air was joyous as it whipped around her half-naked body. It moved along the sensitive nape of her neck and brushed lightly against her shoulders and her spine. Inside her head it was peaceful and maddening all at once. Sure, she could do whatever she wanted now—that was a relief—but she couldn’t do anything without a good meal. So technically, she still didn’t have half as much independence as she would have liked.

When the sun came through the breaks at the top of the tree-line, the outline of a house was illuminated and she tried to hold back her curiosity. Her stomach plunged as nervous butterflies fluttered in her abdomen and she crossed her arms around her waist. This must be the place, they had an auto body shop and car parts were spread everywhere.

Everyone in town knew about the men who lived in the woods to get away from the catty glitz of the real world. People said the men lived in a fairytale. White believed it when she had the chance to examine the cottage up close. Aquamarine windows lined with chipped, coal black casings glistened with grease. There was a sloping roof with red tinted shingles, though some were missing in a weird pattern.

No one did the place justice—because it was a complete mess

Why would they need a door with bars on the peep-hole window? Were there normally robberies in the middle of a forest?

They topped it all off with a yard of rusted metal—which made sense because they were rumored to be mechanics. But motorcycle parts, engines, and tires laying out on the lawn without rhyme or reason? She supposed everyone had to have a hobby.

White gingerly sidestepped her way through the car parts. The scent of cooked meat beckoned her closer toward the door and her stomach twisted with hunger. Caught between the need to bang on the door or to let herself inside—damn the consequences—she settled for something in between both actions.

“Hey!” White shouted, throat burning with thirst. “Can I get a little help out here?”

She moved toward the door when she heard footsteps because moving backward was cowardly. A man, judging by his broad shoulders. He peered through the window. Barred rectangular shadows hollowed his face and forehead. He slightly opened the door to peek out at her with suspicion through the small crack.

Maybe she had been expecting a deformity because they lived in the middle of nowhere. But when she searched his face for a pockmark or fake eye, all that she could see was the bone structure of a model with a little bit of scruff on his chin. His amber brown eyes narrowed. Wasn’t she the one who should be suspicious?

A tiny tremor shot up her spine when he opened the door all the way and eased his toned, sculpted frame through the gap. No peg leg either. From what she could see, he was all there. A perfect specimen. She absently rubbed the fuzz on her head, wondering why men did it electively. Like the stranger in front of her with white blond hair buzzed to his scalp. She dropped her hand and tightened her jaw.

He squinted at her because the sun was directly in his eyes. It meant he stood somewhere in the range of six-feet-four-inches with a high metabolism as evidenced by his lithe, muscular build. He rolled his shoulders, hands ducking into the pockets of a pair of brown corduroys. The cotton shirt he had on exuded spicy, musky man smell and she shifted from foot to foot.

“Are you willing to help me?”

“It depends on what you want and why you’re here.” His voice came out in a guttural lullaby. “Not many people venture out here without a car.”

He gave her a cursory once over with his eyes.

“And you really don’t have much of anything.”

“I just want some food and to get some sleep. It’s been a long night.” She crossed her arms, acting like his answer didn’t define the next few minutes. “I’ll be out of your house by morning if I can help it.”

“Where are your clothes?”

“Long story, but at least I have underwear, right?”

His gaze snapped up and down with heat flickering in his tawny pupils. That look was familiar, lust was easy to pinpoint. He wanted her even if he didn’t know it yet. So, there was a foothold now and she was going to take advantage of it.

If this is what it took to get some food, then so be it. Weirder things had transpired at the mansion—and worse things had been traded for drugs. Besides, whoever got anything in life for free?

A simple flashing wouldn’t do her any harm. She hadn’t seen anyone react to her body who wasn’t coked up or twice her age in awhile and deep inside she enjoyed knowing that he wanted her. A little thrill made her heart beat faster—no one else would see her half naked—they were in the middle of a forest. But the idea that someone could see turned her on more than she’d like to admit.

There was no getting around the fact that he was hot.

She uncrossed her arms and let them rest by her sides, giving him an eyeful of her breasts. Without pausing, he was by her side, offering his shirt with an outstretched hand.

“W—what?” she stammered, uncertain.

“I’d feel more comfortable talking to you if you were dressed.”

Ellora’s Cave Buy Link

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More info on Elise Hepner:

Final stop...

2011-11-09T04:25:00.000-08:00

Whew. What a ride. First a zombie tour. Then a werewolf/vamp tour. And we wrap it all up with a lovely hopeful romantic, KD Grace. Go over and say hi and if you haven't already won a copy (cause lots of folks have) you could win the final giveaway copy of Big Bad.

Tomorrow, I'll pop in and announce the winner of Ruby's socks and I also have a nifty visitor coming to say hi.

Have a hottie hump day, folks.

XOXO
Sommer

Today's chunk of my WIP brought to you by the letter S...

2011-11-08T08:49:00.000-08:00

for Suit. Here's where I've been hanging out all morning. I mean, the in my head part of my morning. The actual not in my head parts of my morning included running, sprints, gasping, showering, eating, talking to the fat wiener and doing some other writerly type crap.

Now I have to go deal with her. She finally put her clothes back on.

XOXO
Sommer
p.s. tomorrow shall be the FINAL stop on the Big Bad Blog Bash. So you still have time to catch up on past posts if you are shooting to be wearing Ruby's socks before turkey day! (full schedule is to the right on the sidebar...somewhere)

birthday story: share!

2011-11-07T04:04:00.000-08:00

I've received some great entries (I am getting them, thank you!) but t'Sade's sort of tickled me pink. I think mostly because this pretty much sounds like something that might happen in my life. So today, I'm sharing one of my entries :)

XOXO
Sommer

Most of my birthday really are doomed to fade into obscurity, but
naturally with my technological bent, my greatest birthday is when I
turned thirty-two. (This might be a bit naughty.)

Fluffy, my wifetype, decided to give me a surprise of a hotel room
with a roof-top hot tub and a big tub inside. Since it was August, we
didn't expect to need the hot tub much, except for rounds between sex
and just lazing around. She also planned on taking me to an outdoor
show, of a band I enjoyed greatly.

However, as my birthday came up, so did the rain. Not the light little
drizzle that soaked into the fabric, but a torrential downfall of the
gods pissing on the earth. It came down in sheets, splashing against
the pavement and pooling in lukewarm puddles that just soaked into
everything.

The hotel's pool roof cracked under the onslaught and they shut down
the pool to pick the glass shards out of the bottom. The hotel room we
got, normally the second best in the hotel, had a leak that got us a
few dollars off the nightly price.

Needless to say, the show was canceled. I think it was because the
drummer drowned, but I'm not entirely sure. I didn't really stop to
ask when the large boat sailed by.

In the middle of this, she broke down in tears. Her perfect birthday
had turned into misery and water.

I, on the other hand, love the rain. I couldn't have her upset, so I
did the most logical thing. I pulled her out to the hot tub, pulled
off her clothes. She tried to go back inside, despite the fact no one
could see us. Holding her wrists down on the hot tub cover, I dropped
to my knees and... let's say distracted her until she realized I just
finished unwrapping my gift and I was eating my cake too.

Cheers,
t'Sade

Dear Retailer,

2011-11-06T06:51:00.001-08:00

the next thing I want to celebrate in 2011 is my family and my friends and my career and how thankful I am for all of that. Please stop stuffing Christmas down my gullet before I've even had my mashed potatoes. And I would like to (I know, I am just one in a sea of many but hey, if all of us 'ones' do it...) announce to you that if I walk in your store and you are playing Christmas music before my birthday has even arrived [public service announcement: 25 days and ticking...] I will walk right back out.

I will be shopping at retailers who allow me to enjoy my holidays. Who let me feel that same sweet anticipation I felt as a kid. Who let me daydream about what I want to do with my holiday and what I want to prepare and give to others instead of force feeding me How the Grinch Stole Christmas on November 5th or having the Christmas decorations up right next to the Halloween clearance.

I am done. So if I walk into your fine establishment this week and hear Fa-la-la-fucking-la on your overhead...I'm doing an about face. I think me and Etsy are going to have a fabulous holiday season together if major retailers keep this shit up. I always support Indie artists in my shopping nowadays, but Iwill go exclusive if major retailers keep adding to my general stress level by making me feel like Christmas is in four days instead of over six weeks from now.

Let's finish fall before we frost the damn yule log, shall we?

XOXO
Sommer

26 days and a bananalicious present...

2011-11-05T11:28:00.000-07:00

Who sent me this? I can only assume this is my very first 40th birthday gift. This here is a Bluth Banana Stand apron. And it came today! So, um...not my best pic but girl child said: "You have to keep a straight face."

Huhn. This is me trying to do that. I'd call that a FAIL.

LOL.

Yay!

Only 25 days left in my 30's and we went to our first Xmas event. No shit. Don't ask. To me it's way too early but you support the ones you love, no matter what. Even if it means saying Ho-Ho-Ho before you say Gobble-Gobble!

XOXO
S

27 days...

2011-11-04T11:30:00.001-07:00

Have you entered my 40th birthday message contest? Full details here.

Happy Friday. I blew off the day and went to the movies with the kids. I needed a lazy day with them.

XOXO
Sommer

Ooh...pretty

2011-11-03T09:28:00.001-07:00

Coming December 2nd from Excessica. (Note if you haven't read BIG BAD and intend to, don't read the blurb).

Gorgeous cover by Willsin Rowe...duh. Of course!

XOXO
Sommer

5 minutes with me...

2011-11-02T03:56:00.000-07:00

An extra stop, we'll call it, on the Big Bad tour. I did Naughty Edition Book Reviews 5 minutes with quicky interview. Fun stuff. And they used my old About me pic which tickled me pink.

Anyhoo, if you stop in there are a few ways to win, I believe. Have a great hump day.

:)

XOXO
S

HOW DID THIS HAPPEN!? (the giveaway)

2011-11-01T07:22:00.000-07:00

In 30 days...one short month...I shall be...*gasp*...40!

So the best way for me to celebrate this milestone (yes, I am not upset. I'm a bit stunned...how did this happen?...but not upset) I want to give one lucky reader a present. So that--up there--is the present.

What is it you ask?

It is the Step into Sexy gift collection from Avon (my mom's a pusher...I mean sales rep). The collection consists of perfume, a purse roll on perfume, lotion and the glittery sexy purply girlish wristlet.

There's also a paperback copy of Big Bad and Learning to Drown (if the winner has these, alterntives will be offered) and a snazzy bookmark.

And...the pink paper represents what will be a $15 gift card from Sockdreams.com...because I am a total sock pervert.

All for you!

What do you have to do you ask?

Send me a birthday greeting to hot4sommer[at]yahoo[dot]com Just send me your best or worst birthday memory or give me tips on turning 40 if you've already done it. Make sure you tell me if I may share your story on my blog!Please be sure to put SOMMER'S BIRTHDAY in the subject line so I know it's an entry.

That's it! I'll take all the messages and use a random number generator to choose a lucky winner on December 2nd (hey, the 1st is my birthday and I plan to be busy, busy, busy).

I'd appreciate bloggers/readers spreading the word on this and please feel free to repost on your blog. You only turn 40 once and I want it to be a humdinger (hmm, that sounds dirty).

*sadly, the only restriction on this contest is I cannot offer it for anywhere but the United States. The shipping for this would be astronomical. Sorry to my overseas readers :(

XOXO
Sommer

treat no trick

2011-10-31T11:02:00.000-07:00

I got bookmarks. Finally! Like...seven years into this writing gig thing. So, I'll send you one if you want. I have a limited amount, so first come first served. Simply send me an email to hot4sommer[at]yahoo[dot]com and put BOOKMARK in the subject line and your address inside.

Treat no trick!

XOXO
Sommer

Happy Halloween

2011-10-31T04:55:00.001-07:00

From me and the great red wiener. Hope your day is fun and full of...candy! :)

XOXO
Sommer

stop 11...

2011-10-30T06:36:00.000-07:00

is at Miss Cassie Exline's house. She's been kind enough to invite me in again. Which is nice because it was colder than balls here yesterday and we actually had snow and sleet for the better part of the day. Today it's sunny and bright but still the chill lurks. Stop by Cassie's to warm up. I've got a copy for giveaway and we're winding up this tour. At the end, someone will have Ruby's socks as a prize. And thank goodness, just in time for the cold.

XOXO
Sommer

some warm fuzzies on a cold chilly...

2011-10-29T09:51:00.000-07:00

day. First a lovely review from Katie at Booking It for Unexpected.

"Yes, the relationship happens hot and fast, but it seems so completely natural I never felt their story was unbelievable."

Go here to see the review.

And the rest of the blog shall be in pictures! Huzzah!

As Pooh Bear would have said, it's a rather blustery day today (watch out for hefflumps and woozles). you can't really see the rain or the wind but you can see the gray and trust me...it's cold!

Homemade hot chocolate in my very most favorite beloved don't-touch-it-it's-mine Halloween mug...

Stuffed mushroom caps for the birthday part we're attending later. Yes...*sigh*...we have to leave the house.

Girl child's first totally solo coconut cake! She did a super job. It's a bummer I can't eat it, but everyone else can enjoy :)

That's it. That's the whole blustery update. Have a lovely weekend, everyone. Stay warm and cozy and cuddle up to someone who smells good. I will be doing that later.

XOXO
Sommer

sex and socks...

2011-10-27T04:38:00.000-07:00

That's the topic at today's stop on the Big Bad Blog Bash. I'm at T. Harrison's smashing blog. Sex and socks, socks and sexy, sexy socks and what outfit makes you feel sexiest (whether you're a man or woman). Hope you can stop in. We're winding up this blog tour very soon. I don't think I'm going to know what to do with myself when it's done!

XOXO
Sommer

Love at first sight...bah!

2011-10-26T07:57:00.000-07:00

or yah? That's the topic for stop #9 of the B4 (Big Bad Blog Bash). And I'm lucky enough to be over at Sharazade's blog. I've never been before. I hope I wore the right outfit...

Stop in and say hi. And tell me, have *you* ever experienced love at first sight? Lightning fast? Or are you more a slow and steady wins the race...

XOXO
Sommer

Yet another...

2011-10-25T06:54:00.000-07:00

stop on the Big Bad Blog Bash. Today I'm at Gemma Parkes's blog talking about werewolves and sausage. Yeah, you heard me. Go here to read HUNGRY LIKE THE WOLF. And there's a giveaway inside.

Don't forget if you comment on every stop you can win Ruby's socks. Sexy stripey hottish socks. Pictures below and thataway in the sidebar~~~>

XOXO
Sommer

TGI(fucking)F

2011-10-21T10:22:00.000-07:00

I am so glad it's Friday for various reasons. This has been both a great week and a trying one. Big plan for tomorrow is sleep my ass off. But as for right now, me and Ian have something going on in my head. Or at least me and this song and my current novel.

Enjoy:

XOXO
Sommer
p.s. don't forget to catch up with me on the Blog Tour this weekend if your looking to dick around online. Heh. I said dick...

oh my gawwwwwwwwwd!

2011-10-20T12:02:00.000-07:00

did you hear me screaming from where you are when this box hit my porch? I think I scared the shit out of my neighbor. And I know I amused the man to no end. Then I did my happy dance...'til my vertigo kicked in. Stupid TMJD.

But behold!!!

doubletime...

2011-10-20T05:20:00.000-07:00

Break out the box, to celebrate! Okay, we might have to wait some hours for that. But today I'm thrilled to not be at just one place guest blogging...I'm at two.

Stop 6 of the Big Bad blog tour is Lucy Felthouse's Erotica for All:

I'm discussing living up to the name "Big Bad"

Stop 6 is at Kiki Howell's Authors by Authors:

I'm bringing the zombies back out for a full-frontal werewolf and zombie blog and discussing mixing genres.

Come say hi! :)

XOXO
Sommer