Sommer Marsden's Blog, page 104

Big bald Daddy was probably straight or taken...

And I am baaaack, for a taste of my third M/M novella from
Happy Hump Day!

XOXO
Sommer

From REPORT FOR REPAIR
by Sommer Marsden

Report For Repair


Chapter one


Chance blew out a sigh as the mechanical voice cooed to him, 'Please continue to hold　…'

'Where else am I gonna go?' Chance growled.

'Here at Sunshine Gas and Electric your business is important to us. We have a staff of highly attentive operators at your disposal. Most waits are under two minutes　…'

Chance glanced at his watch. Six minutes had passed. As he waited, his bedroom was already starting to grow warm. He paced to the huge picture window that overlooked his backyard. Below, his nemesis had dropped another limb, once again successfully knocking out the power to his home as well as the rest of the block.

'I cannot fucking believe that assho–'

'Good morning, Sunshine Gas and Electric. This is Maria, may I please have your phone number starting with the area code?'

Chance recited it by rote. At this point he should ask for a direct line to his own personal highly attentive operator.

'And what's the problem this morning, Mr York?' Maria chirped. He could picture her all smiling and happy with pink lip-gloss and bright eyes. For some reason that image pissed him off.

'The tree behind me has dropped another limb,' he said, trying to keep his voice calm.

'I see. I'm sorry to hear that, Mr York.'

Chance ground his teeth together and pulled his T-shirt away from his chest. Already he was starting to sweat. 'Me, too, Maria.'

'I see by our records that this has happened before.'

'Three times.'

'And the house is still unoccupied?'

'Yes, that jackass has it up for sale. But he won't take down the tree.'

'I'm putting in a report, Mr York One of our employees should be there within the next three hours to reconnect your service.'

Chance blew out a sigh. Three hours. Three. Hours. It was August. It was ninety degrees at nine in the morning and the humidity was about a billion per cent. But three hours was better than four or five or more. 'Look, Maria, is there any chance they can send a cherry picker and a guy with a chainsaw to just lop the top of this damn thing off and call it a day? It would save us all a hell of a lot of time.'

'I do understand your frustration, Mr York, but that is not our responsibility. It's the homeowner's responsibility to have the tree removed.'

'I know. But that dip shi　…　sorry. That person is not in the house and really doesn't care if his decrepit dead tree keeps knocking out my air conditioning.'

Silence.

'I've put you at the top of the list, Mr York. You should have air conditioning within the hour. I hope that helps some.'

'I will take it, Maria. Thank you.'

'I wish I could do more, Mr York.'

'I'm sure we'll talk again,' he sighed. 'Unfortunately.'

Chance disconnected and went to make a pot of coffee. He could still boil water and he had his grandmother's old drip percolator in the china cabinet. It was something. He could pass the time until the tech arrived by watching his coffee drip slowly through the filter. The old fashioned way. 'Then I can eat beef jerky and hard tack for breakfast and pretend I'm a fucking cowboy.'


'Oh well thank you, Maria.' The man was tall and broad. He reminded Chance of a brick wall in Dickies. A bald, goatee-sporting brick wall. The tech's eyes were hidden behind black wraparound sunglasses. He shimmied up the utility pole like an ape man and Chance took a deep breath to stave off his lust.

It didn't take him long to reconnect the downed wires. MacGruder's dead-ass tree was basically hollow with dry-rot. But the limbs were heavy enough to knock down the small lines that fed power to the homes.

Chance held his breath, watching the man hover so high above earth to hook the wires up. Then the man held the pole with one hand, turned slightly and eyed the tree. He shook his head, lips pressed in a tight seam of disapproval.

'Yes, sexy, that tree is totally fucking dead,' Chance whispered.

The guy reached out with his free hand and swatted a small branch that promptly dropped to the backyard below. Like rotten fruit dropping to the ground, wood rained down and Chance shook his head. The pieces the tree dropped weren't necessarily heavy but they sure as shit wouldn't tickle if one fell on you.

He sipped his bitter almost cold coffee and when the man on the pole turned to eye him, Chance choked. It looked as if the guy was looking right at him. When the man tipped a finger salute and nodded to him, he knew he had.

'Damn damn damn.'

The guy pointed and held up his finger as if to say, 'Stay there. I'm coming.'

'Fuck,' Chance breathed.

Elvis sauntered in to see who his master was talking to. All 17 lbs of stout miniature dachshund waddled as he walked. 'That hunk of burning love is coming over here, Elvis,' Chance said.

Elvis snorted. He had sinus issues.

Chance's cell phone rang. 'Chance York.' He hadn't even read the display.

'I need you to…　'

'I'll have to call you back, Rebecca. I can't right now.'

'But you are　…'

'I know. I know. I'm your personal assistant. That's what you pay me for. And you let me work from home. Blah, blah, blah　…' Lucky, he thought, that they were also friends.

Dead silence.

'Chance　…'

He could tell she was trying to keep her cool. Chance played the pity card. 'Look. That monstrous tree dropped another limb. I have no power and I have to go deal with the electric guy.'

'Oh. But Chance later can you just　…'

'Text me!' he yelled and hung up on her. The doorbell had just bing-bonged and his heart was going erratic in sympathy.

'Now we deal with the electric guy,' Chance said to Elvis. Elvis just snorted again. 'And I'll have to buy Becca a whole damn basket of Ruby's gluten free pecan muffins. To make it up to her.' His phone buzzed in his pocket and he knew it was the text he had requested, OK, demanded. He promised her, mentally, that he'd do her bidding cheerily for the rest of the week. Surely she'd forgive him.

The doorbell dinged again and Chance put a hand to his heart to still it. 'Mister Impatient,' he muttered, taking a deep breath. Then he tugged the door open to find tall, bald and surly standing there. And his heart promptly resumed its erratic state. 'Hi there.'

'Hello, sir. I've gotten your line reattached.' The guy stepped up onto the door sill and Chance took a step back instinctively.

'Thanks. It's really become a pain in the ass,' he blurted.

'May I?'

May he what? Chance thought for a moment and then he nodded. 'Oh, of course. Come in Mr　…'

'Todd.'

'Mr Todd. It's really hot out there.'

'No, it's just Todd.'

'Oh. Right. Todd. Can I get you a soda or some water?'

The guy looked torn which was comical, it was only a drink. Then again, Chance didn't know Sunshine Gas and Electric's policy on fraternizing with the clients. And what if he lost his mind and his manners and just kissed this guy? Begged him to do things he knew, just by looking at him, that he could do. What was the policy on that?

'I'd love a soda if you have one.'

'I have a ton. Come on in. This is Elvis.'

The fat wiener dog yawned and lay his head down on the hardwood floor. He looked very unimpressed. Elvis was the Zen-like calm to Chance's fidgety nerves.

'Elvis,' Todd said and followed Chance into the kitchen, his work boots leaving fine bits of grit on the floor. Somehow that grit was sexy, at least Chance thought so. Chance poured him a soda with extra ice and handed it over. He watched transfixed as Todd's throat bobbed once, twice, three times and the soda was gone. It begged the question what else could that mouth and throat do?

Chance cleared his throat, blushing like a whore in church. 'That tree is a nightmare. And I know you can't do anything about it legally, but my God, I'm ready to go over there with an axe and just start doing my Paul Bunyan routine.'

Todd's stern face broke into a crooked grin and Chance felt his heart turn over in his chest. He also felt his cock spring to life in his pants. He started running through his list of errands and chores for Becca. No use embarrassing himself in front of the help by getting a raging hard-on over a smile. Big bald Daddy was probably straight or taken or just not interested in the likes of skinny, pale, blond Chance.

'I'd like to see that. If you crack and go all caveman on it, let me know.'

Chance saw his opportunity and said, 'And how would I do that? Call SGE and report myself as a crazed neighbour with an axe.'

Todd fished in his coveralls and pulled out a business card. 'You could. Or you could just call me and save yourself some time.'

Chance's cock became more demanding. Jesus. This man up close was a dream. Big, imposing and bald as Mr Clean. He smelled like summer air and hot tar and man. He smelled like fantasy sex and salty kisses and carnival rides. Chance had to force himself to stop sniffing. Even Elvis was staring at him. Their fingers brushed for an instant and his skin tingled with mild electric zings and pops.

'I could do that.'

'Good. Now about that tree.'

'What about it?'

'Well, it's dangerous, but not so dangerous.'

'What the hell does that mean?' Chance stared out at the towering oak. Once majestic and gorgeous now it was dry and gnarled and ugly. A tree from a Halloween movie or a horror flick.

'It means it's dead. So it is definitely a bad thing. But the limbs it's dropping currently are pretty dry rotted and eaten out by bugs. They weigh nothing. I was tossing them like kindling. Now I did break a rule　…' Todd broke off and stared at the toe of his work boot.

Somehow the small boy gesture made Chance that much more smitten. 'How so?'

'I tied the one really treacherous branch to the asshole's chimney.'

Chance blinked and snorted out laughter. 'You did what? Why?'

'Because he has to know how dangerous that thing is and I guess since he isn't living there to deal with it, it's no big deal. It could really do some damage, that big one. So if it does some serious damage, it'll do some serous damage for him.'

'Gosh,' Chance said, cringing at his goofy school boy choice of words. 'I hope you don't get in trouble.'

Todd took a sudden step in, crowding Chance. Chance liked it. His heart raced and his hands shook just enough to give him a jolt of want and arousal. 'Gosh, we're told to secure locations like that to the best of our ability. If the homeowner isn't living up to his responsibility, we aren't required to remove the tree but we can secure it, cut it, top it even.'

Chance swallowed hard. At the word top he had a vivid pornographic mental flash of this big, bald man tying him to a bed and spanking him until he babbled. Then fucking him slow and sweet until he wept with his release. He shook his head. 'Top?'

'Chop the top right off. But that's extremely rare that they let us do that and even if I could, I don't have a crew today. Plus, I'm hoping jack wipe, over there, will man up and take responsibility.'

Chance snorted again. 'You clearly have never met Mr MacGruder. He'd eat his own toenails before he'd pay for something he could get someone else to pay for on his behalf.'

'We'll see. But I wanted you to know because the main branch. The big one that has heft is angled so that it's most likely, barring a huge windy storm, going to come down on your fence out there.'

Chance watched Todd's lips move. Heard how he said bigun instead of big one. Watched how his sunburned skin crinkled in certain spots when he smiled. And he almost leaned in and kissed him. But Todd leaned in fast and surprised him so much he gasped like a girl on a soap opera. His cheeks flooded with colour again and he bit his lip.

'OK,' was the only thing he could think to say.

'I'm telling you so that you can get help if you need it. And so you don't go too near that thing or, perish the thought, stand under it. This is thunderstorm season. It could drop chunks at any time.

He'd moved his weathered face in closer until Chance felt sure he might have a heart attack. 'OK,' he said again.

Todd flipped his sunglasses up on his head and his eyes were startling blue. Cool and nearly translucent like water. 'Good. I'd hate to see you get hurt, pretty boy.'

'Pretty boy?' he stammered. Chance considered himself a lot of things, pretty wasn't one.

'Yeah, to me you are. You look like getting clocked with a branch might dent you. Break you even.'

There it was – another pornographic flash of being whipped. His body bowing under his new lover. His face a contortion of pain and pleasure. And then the mounting from behind. Fucking like animals. Kissing and sucking and biting and　…　'I doubt it,' he said, trying to sound brave and strong.

'I don't doubt it,' Todd said and pushed a finger to his bottom lip. Chance stilled, tried to breathe. 'I'd kiss you but you could sue me,' Todd said and turned on his work boots and crossed the room in three big strides.

He turned, Chance still staring, moving slow, dumbfounded. 'Remember, Pretty Boy. Just call to report for repair.'

He shut the door when he left, his boots banging across the cracked concrete front porch.

'Aren't you going to ask me out? Kiss me? Do fucking something about this?' Chance touched a finger to his hard cock. But no one was there to hear him.

No longer naked on Amazon UK

I have a cover. Mmm. What a cover...

XOXO
Sommer

So are you like a handler, or what?

As promised, a nibblet from the second M/M novella Ferryman found alone in
From FERRYMAN
by Sommer Marsden

'So are you like a handler, or what?'

Charon noticed his eyes underneath were smudged with what looked like kohl – fitting for a rock star – but he quickly realised it was simply fatigue. 'Perhaps. A bit. Not really.'

Graham Cooper of Big Fuel was reported to be surly, ornery, possible alcoholic and drug addicted, rude, crass, and a sexaholic. He was reported to be a pansexual, unisexual, omnivorous, voracious and aggressive sexual hunter. Charon stared back as the younger man stared him down.

'What the fuck does that mean? And what's with the suit? And what kind of name is Charon?'

'Shall I start with the first question?'

Graham dropped like a tall lean stone to the ugly green sofa and flopped a denim clad leg over the arm. 'Go for it, dude.'

Charon frowned. Dude. He'd have to get used to that. 'What that means is your record label wants someone to be at your　…　disposal should you need it while you're on leave.'

'Leave!' The young man snorted. 'Is that what they're calling it?'

'You're to regroup, Graham. Find out what you want. Your becoming a spectacle over and over again isn't good for anyone. Not you, not your label, not your fans.'

'Whatever. I'm here in my hometown USA and I'm going to try to get my shit together. For me, though, not for them. Let's move on. What's possessed you to wear a fucking suit?'

'I like suits. They suit me.'

Graham chuckled and then grimaced when he realised that the man hadn't made a joke. His choice of words had been deliberate and sober.

'Ohhhh-kay,' Graham said. 'And Charon? That's a made up name, right?'

'No, sir.' Charon shot his cuff and straightened his tie. 'It was the name of the ferryman on the river Styx. You gave a coin and he ferried you across the river to hell. It was said that those who couldn't pay wandered for all eternity.'

Graham clapped. 'Awesome. I pay you and you're gonna take me to hell.'

'Your company pays me and I'll watch over you. And help you. I have no intention of taking you to hell, Graham. But I will be here as a resource if you need me and please call me Aron.'

'Why?'

'I prefer people not use my full name. It's a thing.'

'You have a thing?' Graham asked.

'It seems I do. Now what can I help you with, Graham? Anything? Now that you're back in your home.'

'Haven't been here since my mom died,' the younger man said, and for just a second Charon saw a small bubble of insecurity and fragility in the cocky man. Something in him stirred at that, but he did not mix business with pleasure. And though he found Graham Cooper both beautiful, intriguing and arousing as hell, he wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole. He fondled one pearlescent button on his suit and waited for Graham to answer.

'Did you hear me?' he asked.

'I did,' Charon said. 'My condolences, sir.'

Graham rolled his dark brown eyes and blew out a sigh. 'Fine. Whatever. Bring me a girl. Curvy and shapely with huge tits and plump lips. And a boy. Who looks like me. Got it?'

'Yes, sir. I'll do my best.'

'Do better than that. Just get it done. Aron.'

'Sir,' Charon said, and left as quietly as he'd come.

It was a quick phone call. Charon had handlers who had handlers who had handlers. It wasn't so much of an escort service as someone who could find young men and women willing to fuck a rock star for free. Or for tickets, as the case were. Graham was still spread artistically across his sofa when they arrived.

Charon studied the girl, an almost plump, large breasted creature with lagoon blue eyes and rose petal pink lips (natural) and long dark hair that brushed the waistband of her skirt as she walked. Her eyes flew huge and she started to jump up and down like a teeny bopper when she saw Graham. Her voice hit unnatural pitches as she squealed, 'I thought it was total bullshit! Total bullshit! But OMG, here I am and here you are.'

'Sit down and shut up,' Graham said not unkindly and she dropped her shapely ass in an easy chair as easily as a well-trained dog at the word "heel".

'This is Tonya, Graham,' Charon said.

'So I see. And this is?' Graham nodded to the pretty young man with spiked black and blue hair. His eyes were rimmed with smoky grey, his lips almost true red in comparison with his pale skin. He was poured into skinny leather jeans and a red T-shirt that showed a wolf and Little Red Riding Hood. A black Edwardian vest and high top Chuck Taylors completed the uniform of the disenchanted.

'This is Freddie.'

'Freddie.' Graham rolled the word off his tongue as if tasting it. He nodded and patted the sofa next to him. When Freddie moved forward like a wraith, Charon stood and waited. The boy seated himself next to Charon's employer and sat frozen like a gorgeous statue. 'You sure are pretty.'

Graham leaned in and stroked the leather jeans like he was petting a house cat. The boy flushed, his pale cheeks turning blush coloured in the span of a heartbeat. 'Thank you,' he breathed.

Charon didn't know if the boy was gay or bi or just didn't care either way. A sexual vulture, perhaps. But he saw that he was at least turned on by Graham's touch because a hard-on rose under the constricting leather pants like a hump. Charon had to hold his breath, bite his tongue, list chores in his head and count when Graham leaned in and licked the boy's lips. 'Kiss me,' he said and Freddie parted his lips and allowed Graham to slide his dark red tongue inside.

'Hey, what about me?' Tonya asked, crossing her arms over her huge breasts and frowning. A petulant child, a pouting minor in demeanour. She couldn't be more than 19 and as pretty as a china doll.

'We'll get to you in a moment,' Graham snapped at her. Charon watched her seal her lips shut and roll her eyes.

'Can you get it up for girls?' Graham asked the boy.

Freddie nodded. 'Sure.'

'Good boy,' Graham said, and patted the boy's supple cheek.

It has threesomes! And mortal terror! And romantic entanglements!

This totally doesn't count as working because it's not me, but one of my favorite people blogging about her zombies. I was never here. Look away. Actually, do not look away. Read the blog!! :) Take it away Charlotte...

There's nothing quite like having a partner in crime. And whether she wants to be or not, Sommer is my zombie partner in crime. Mainly because of some dumb reason I made up in my head, like "HOMG we got our zombie books accepted and published almost at the same time, we must be zombie soulmates etc etc".

Only you know. None of our limbs are falling off and we don't cross oceans of time to be with each other and we almost never snog. Well, we snogged that one time when Sommer was asleep and didn't realise I'd crept into her bedroom, but we'll just draw a veil over that.

And talk about zombies! Hooray!

So I know you've read Sommer's orsum book. And I won't try to fool you by saying that my book is just as orsum. Because no-one is just as orsum as Sommer. I mean, her book is about zombie exterminators, for God's sake. It's fun, it's sexy, it's full of fun sexiness.

But my book is pretty swell. I promise. It has threesomes! And mortal terror! And romantic entanglements!

Look here:

Blurb:

June has spent the last two years of her life trying to avoid death at the hands of murderous psychopaths and ravening zombies. So when Jamie turns up on the scene, careless, still whole and promising her safety on a little paradise island, she isn't quite sure she can trust him. Especially when he tells her that it's just him, and his equally big, burly, handsome friend Blake.

　But Jamie and Blake are even better than her wildest dreams—sweet and funny and charming. And worst of all: sexy as hell. Though they're trying to be gentlemanly with her, all she can think about is how much she wants to get tangled up in them, and forget the nightmare the world has become. She's waiting for her reawakening—back to life and happiness and love.

　And they seem like just the right sort of men to wake her—body and soul.

And if that wasn't enough, an excerpt:

All June could think was—Kelsey is dead, Kelsey is dead, Kelsey is dead—while the image of the ravening hordes feasting on Kelsey's body played behind her eyes. She tried to shut it off, keep it down, keep running before they got to her, but Kelsey's blood was still wet and all over her right arm.

And if Jamie hadn't shot Kelsey—right as she was still screaming, and begging for help—she'd be one of them, now. That's what happened. Once they bit you or bled on you or hell, spat on you, you had maybe thirty seconds.

Before you turned.

She needed to stop, just stop for a second. Lean against something and catch her breath. But Jamie had somehow led them into this building and he just kept running and running—only up instead of out.

June didn't even know if Jamie was really his name, or if he was leading them right into a dead end. But he kept going, none-the-less.

She could hear the hordes, busting through the door below. He'd barred it, but they were coming in anyway, to this place that was an almost total deathtrap. The staircase was narrow and blanketed in darkness, one winding section after the next. Even if she dared to pause and look over the railing, she wouldn't be able to see them until they were almost on her.

"Jamie, wait!" she shouted, but not because things would be easier if he had hold of her hand or was there to comfort her in this dire hour of need. She'd made it this far, on her own.

Or at least, she'd made it this far, with Kelsey.

No, it was just that—if he kept going, eventually they'd be trapped, on the roof. And she couldn't have that. That was one of her and Kelsey's rules—don't run to someplace with only one exit.

Only it was just her rule, now. This guy, this Jamie…he didn't seem to have any rules. He'd decided to run to the roof of a twenty story building then potentially wait outside until the hordes pushed through a probably very flimsy fire door.

Kelsey had said to her. She had said—wait. He's as crazy as they are. A safe island? He's nuts. We can't go with him. He's probably an insane apocalypse rapist.

And she'd been right, God help her. Maybe not about the insane apocalypse rapist part, but even so and besides—there was still time for that. He could be anyone, be into anything. He could have planned this all along…Kelsey's death, the run to the roof…hell, maybe he had a whole party of insane assholes up there, just waiting to do horrible things to her.

Even if that was as nuts as he now seemed. Why would he trap himself on the roof, just to have a little fun with her? Nothing in her head was functioning in quite the way it should. Connections had been lost. Wiring had come loose.

She still called out to him again, when they got to the level before the last one. Her voice came out hoarse and breathless, burning lungs making everything difficult, Kelsey in her mind making everything worse. But somehow the words emerged.

"Jamie, stop. Take the nineteenth floor exit, okay—we can go back down on the other side of the building—answer me, fuck!"

He did, then. She heard him call out over her own shrieking breaths, the pounding of her sneakers on stone, and the sounds of the once-were-people below, slathering and barking like animals.

There were two cracks, like he'd fired her gun into the stairwell. Though she couldn't see where he was shooting or at what. Then—

"Just keep following me, June-bug—come on!"

Only it sounded more like come own, because of the Texan twang Kelsey had sworn up and down was fake. And he'd called her June-bug again, because he was crazy, he was crazy, oh dear Lord he was probably leading them to their deaths.

This was all just some final mad hurrah. He was suicidal, and this was how he wanted to go out. Death by stairs or death by zombies—because they were zombies, no matter how much she tried to pretend otherwise—or even worse, death by roof.

Was that what he was going to do? Hurl himself off? Plummet to his untimely end? She didn't know. All she could really think about was how close the first ravening cannibal was getting, and how unfit she really was. She'd started believing all the cardio was really beginning to pay off, but as it turned out, eighteen flights of stairs and she was out for the count. Her heart clawed at her ribcage. Her thigh muscles screamed and screamed.

While her zombie pals kept coming and coming, as though the stairs were nothing, really. Why, leaping up eighteen flights was like a morning stroll to them! They could have climbed these stairs forever and still had the wherewithal to eat her innards, once they got their claw-like hands on her.

She hit the fire door to the roof just as one of said claw-like hands brushed the back of her shirt.

It made everything inside her leap, including the heart she'd thought had escaped. Whenever they got really close—that was when you realized just how terrible they were. How awful the world had become. How much it wasn't like a movie at all, but like a constant and unbearable pressure against your sanity, always threatening to make you go over.

She felt like going over, when the door wouldn't close on them. For a second of pushing and heaving with their hands coming through and all over her, her mind tried to fly away. It told her to start screaming uncontrollably, while clawing at herself—that doing so would really be her best bet. No more running constantly. No more pain over Kelsey—and before Kelsey, Joanne and Pat and the old lady whose name she never learned.

Just peace, finally. One moment of agony, then peace.

Only it wouldn't be, would it? No, it wouldn't be. If she stopped pushing at the door and jamming it at them and just God, let the door snap their arms, let it crush them, let it kill them all forever, if she stopped…they'd turn her into one of them. And no matter how much she tried to let it hurt her that Jamie had pointed the gun and shot Kelsey between the eyes, it didn't. It couldn't.

Being one of them was worse. After all, it could have been that they'd caught a disease. It might have been that they were infected with something—like in 28 Days Later, rather than Night of the Living Dead. But part of her wondered whenever she stared into their hollow, ink-black eyes, if they'd simply lost their souls.

He looked like it. The one who'd managed to squeeze his mottled face into the crack she was struggling to close in the door. He had no pupils, no irises, no whites to his eyes. It was all just blackness, empty and weirdly unseeing, as though they operated on no more than a bloodlust now. Like upright land sharks roaming the land, blindly searching out prey.

She wrenched the door from him for just an instant then smashed it back into his face. It was a risky move, but oh so worth it. Worth it for the satisfaction, worth it for Kelsey, worth it for everything these things had taken from everyone. People's souls hadn't left. These things had stolen them.

And when it slithered away and the door quite abruptly shut, the idea didn't go with it. It stayed, and festered—so much so that she wanted to open the door for one mad moment, just to smash it back in their faces again, and again, and again.

She wanted to, but Jamie was calling to her. And other sounds were starting to flood through her now, too, other big, big sounds that she should have noticed ages ago.

At first she thought it was some kind of weapon. That he'd found a chainsaw or a pneumatic drill or a wood chipper. Something he'd known was up here all along for them to use against the enemy.

But then the wind whipped up and she turned to see something far more incredible than a zombie eating wood chipper. It was so incredible that she forgot the zombies battering on the fire door, for a second. They'd bust through it soon enough because although they couldn't figure out handles, the sheer pressure of them would figure out the release bar.

Though it didn't seem to matter. For the first time in these two years of hell, it didn't matter. She found herself laughing out loud, high and probably hysterical.

Jamie had only gone and gotten himself a helicopter. And not only that, but he apparently knew how to fly a helicopter. The rotors were going. They were kicking up the fine gravel that lined the roof of whatever building this was, and he was yelling to her—

"Come on, June-bug, get your ass in here!"

She thought of him talking about the island. About his buddy who was waiting for them. How they'd just wanted to find survivors, and populate their safe haven, and how crazy that had sounded when he first started yakking about it.

Then she ran to him.

And you can buy it here:

On ARe

At Resplendence Publishing

Thanks for having me, Sommer! You were tender but forceful, and I loved it.

questions...questions...

If at the time your story is submitted you have not been paid as a writer, then you have not been paid as a writer. If you are paid after you turn it into me but BEFORE you hear from me, then it's cool.

Nutshell: When you hit send have you been paid? No? Good. Then you can hit send.

XOXO
S

Call For Submssions: New Writers

Call for Submissions

I want newbies, youngbloods, fresh meat, green around the gills

I am looking to put together another mini anthology. But this time, I want the writers that no one has had a taste of yet. Virgin blood. So you may submit to this anthology only IF YOU HAVE NEVER BEEN PAID FOR YOUR WORK.

What does that mean? Money! Have you ever received money for your work? If yes, then no matter how laughably tiny the amount, that means you may not submit. And PLEASE no fake pen names pretending to be newbies. I'm holding the established writers on their honor.

So what next?

Dirty stories from 2,500 and up (nothing over say 5K please) are eligible. Topics are open except the standard no-no's. Which I will spell out since you are new.

~~~~>No sex with the underaged (under 18), animals (shifters don't count), dead things or people (barring undead supernatural creatures). No scat. No snuff.

FORMAT: double spaced, Times New Roman, 12 point, set at .5 indentation for first line of the paragraph only. PLEASE DO NOT USE HARD TABS.
*If you do not format correctly, I will skip reading your entry no matter how good it is. Why? Because I'm super busy and if you sub to a publication, you need to follow the rules. Capiche?

Here's the most important part: PLEASE POLISH YOUR WORK. Read it, put it away. Read it again and put it away. Then read it out loud to yourself. Seriously. Your ear will hear your errors. Do I expect it to be perfect? No, said the woman who once put "He stroked her cheese" instead of "He stroked her cheek." I do not. But I do expect you to make it as close to perfect as you can.

DEADLINE: August 31, 2011. Release date is up in the air. If that bothers you, don't sub. This (as of right now) will be an ebook put out by my little press December Ink.

THE FINE PRINT:

I'll be using 10 stories max. December Ink takes 25% of the cut, the remaining 75% is split evenly among the ten contributors and each will receive an ebook copy (print too if it ever goes to that). You could make a bunch of money. You could make hardly a thing. I ask for 3 months exclusivity and then you are free to go ahead and sell your work elsewhere.

Your work stays in the book as long as it's for sale, and that means you receive royalties as long as it's for sale.

Submissions should be sent to decemberink@gmail.com marked SUBMISSION: [YOUR TITLE] BY [YOUR AUTHOR NAME]

Good luck! Any questions can be sent to the same email addy. :)

This is worth sneaking in and posting for...

Gritty is #1 in paid anthos on ARe as we speak. I had to say that. I had to! Calming down and putting no pressure on self for a few days or not. There. I have said it. Yay us!

Now I am off to run errands and plot Father's Day. I went for a run this morning. My first in a while. The thing I now remember about running is: once the urge to vomit passes, you feel pretty durn good.

XOXO
Sommer

The Perfect Storm...

That's what today was. What started as a possibly great day just smacked my ass and called me stupid. I ended up a pile of girl goo for many hours where it was then gently suggested to me by a wise man (that I was smart enough to marry ages ago) that maybe...just maybe working 12 hours a day 7 days a week had become a bit overwhelming and maybe a few days of doing nothing would be brilliant.

I am dumb enough to work my ass off all day every day (it's still work even if you love it...hey! I just learned that), but I am also smart enough to listen to sage advice when I hear it. (And when I've gone through a whole box of Kleenex in a day).

So, yay! We did get a new bed and yay! after it is delivered tomorrow, I am going to lie on it for two or three days and do nothing at all but that which I choose to do. As slowly as possible.

Amen.

XOXO
Sommer

He's a ghost of emotions past..

I never did do snippets or proper crowing of Hard Lessons, I believe. I think this year has been such a rush of project releases and fresh trying-to-beat-them deadlines, I often forget to give my books the stroking they truly do deserve. :) Yes, that was a dick joke.

Anyway, I plan to do a little nibble of each of the four novellas in my book HARD LESSONS over the next week. I recently received the nicest email about this book from a very kind man and that made me realize, I needed to give this book a little sunshine. Here we go. From novella one...

Blank


Chapter One


The trick really is to blank out the face in your mind. To go above and beyond the call of duty to erase the thought of your obsession. Drugs, booze, sex, running, sleeping, fighting. All of the above would help to lessen the pound of a memory on your brain like a fist. Every single one of them could fuck you over, too.

I touch the boy's face and close my eyes. My mind wants to supply Jason's face there. I push the thought aside; focus on the sensation of him sucking my middle finger into his hot wet mouth. I think of him as a boy because he, at nineteen, is a good decade younger than I am. If you consider life experience, probably two. His youth and beauty and innocence almost make me feel guilty for what I am about to do. Almost.

'Why won't you look at me?' Matthew says. His name is Matthew. Something Irish for the last name but it escapes me.

'I am looking at you.' I push my pointer finger past his lips and watch it sink into oblivion, trapped between two plump perfect lips the colour of early summer roses. 'See me looking at you?' I can hear the arousal in my voice and my cock is harder than it has been in a long time. That's mostly because this boy is so close to Jason physically. His voice has almost the same timbre. His cologne is even close. Something faint with a touch of sandalwood and leather and sunshine.

Matthew, he of the beautiful big green eyes, sucks my finger harder and there is that invisible tug between finger and dick. It's as if my cock is on an unseen string that Matthew with the Irish last name can control with his wet, wet tongue. I press my shoulders back into the green sofa cushions and he kneels on the floor. His rug is the colour of tomato juice. He presses his lean, hard self between my thighs and leans into me. Kisses me. His tongue is like an electric spark when he touches it to mine. My hips rock up and my cock rubs his. This should stop.

'Will you look at me naked?' he asks, kissing over my jaw. His fingers are pushing my polo up just a bit, thumbs rubbing softly along my flanks. It almost tickles, but mostly it just makes me want to take him down. Flip him and fuck him because he is paying for Jason's sins today.

I want him because he could be a stand-in. I hate him because he could be a stand-in. Poor kid doesn't stand a chance.

'If you insist.' I try to keep my tone light but it rumbles out of me with a hint of anger. Matthew catches it and stops, big green eyes searching mine. I force a smile.

'You don't like me?'

'I do.'

'What's wrong?'

'Nothing.' I touch his face. I force my hand to be gentle. I stroke. 'Nothing at all.' Again, my mind supplies Jason's image. His face when he's laughing. His face when he's angry. His face when he's coming. My throat shrinks two sizes too small and I try to swallow.

Matthew nods, seeming satisfied. My eyes are watching him work my belt and my fly but my ears hear only the tick of the clock on the wall and the slam of my heart. When he bows his head and runs his tongue over me, takes me in his mouth, his profile is so strikingly familiar I feel insane. Have I finally gone and lost it?

'Do you like that, Kyle?' he asks, his mouth full of my cock.

I nod, my breathing rushing in and out like I might die. 'Yeah. Yeah, I do.'

'Show me.' He pushes my thighs hard to the sofa. Pinning me. He's not big but he sure as shit is strong. But my hips fly up all on their own, blindly seeking to sink deeper into his throat. His eyes tilt up to study me and he smiles around my shaft.

'Brat.' I laugh when I say it, but I mean it. If he keeps that up, I'm going to come. And I don't want to come yet. I want to stay trapped in this mind-fuck, this bittersweet remembering. The place where if I close my eyes it's Jason sucking me: Jason holding me down: Jason kissing me and wanting me inside him. And even when he's being an asshole, Jason loving me. My throat shrinks again and I just wonder in passing, a casual thought – can you die from a broken heart? It sure as fuck feels like it. Then the anger rushes in, red and wet and messy and I growl at the kid, 'Let's lose the pants, Matt. Let's see what you're packing.'

I don't care what he's packing. I want to fuck him and call it a day. My little plan has become too much and I want to run home and lick my wounds. But first, I'll give him what he's expecting.

He is everything that haunts my thoughts – long legs, wiry with muscle, a Celtic tattoo along his calf. A perfect ass, perfect cock, jutting to the left so that I had to turn my head a bit to catch up with it. His hands are big and they slide under my hair and across my scalp like a rush of warm air. I sigh, forcing my lips further down. Forcing my tongue to still and my lips to a perfect "O". I force myself to breathe and take in the scent of him. Force myself not to cry when he says my name and his voice sounds so much like one from my past.

This is entirely Hazel's fault. Entirely. I know that when I slide a condom on and work my fingers into him. I curse her when he touches my dick with only the tips of his fingers so I shiver. I hate her when I rock into him on that first perfect stroke and his long-lashed lids slide closed over his gemstone coloured eyes and he arches up under me, taut smooth belly fluttering with pleasure. The muscles rippling with his movement like a human wave. I watch him and then when I am about to come, I close my eyes. Because Matthew isn't Matthew any more. He's a ghost of emotions past.

~~~~
Each novella from this collection is available at your fave retailers in ebook form. Or the whole collection as
XOXO
Sommer
p.s. Off we go to a busy day of running about. I pray there is a new cozy bouncy needs-to-be-broken-in bed in my future.

*I predict great things for this book's future*

Heh. Alison Tyler swears I'm psychic. She even called me the other day and said so. Want to know how psychic I am? Go here. Pretty freaky-awesome-cool, yes?

So yesterday I decided I had not really given COUPLING its fair shake and it was all nekkid and whatnot on Amazon so I put out a call and asked for ratings and ended up handing out a handful of pdfs for review to interested parties. And then last night this--which was totally unrelated to my blog!: 4 hearts!

Ha, ask and you shall receive, build it and they will come, or in this case moan that you want more reviews and they shall spring up like wildflowers in June.

Ta and da! Awesomeness. Thanks to SHBR for reviewing!

XOXO
Sommer