Sommer Marsden's Blog, page 110

Schooling review...

from the lovely Lucy Felthouse. The full review is here. But here's my favorite snippet. Oh, you knew there'd be one! :P

Schooling is a brilliant read from Ms. Marsden. It's a beautiful blend of love, life and sex and shows that erotica doesn't have to be just about people in the first flushes of a relationship to be hot. A heart (and other places) warming tale.

Grazie to Lucy for reading me. Heh. Did you see me slip that foreign language in there? Smooooooth.

XOXO
Sommer

Wanderlust part 55 "part of the great and stunted landscape of my emotions"

I woke this morning thinking it was Saturday. It had a Saturday feel. I felt lazy and calm. Until I realized the man was not beside me and my brain kicked in to do a tally.

Freakin' Tuesday. Now that was just cruel.

Good morning, lovelies. Wish me luck today. I am drowning in several books all in various stages of undress. Ooooh, nekkid words. Yeehaw.

XOXO
Sommer

Wanderlust
part 55
by Sommer Marsden

For the first time ever, we took up the two beds in the room. The coverlets were very autumn based as far as colors, looking very much like runaway Thanksgiving projects gone awry. A burnt orange with brown trim that made me think of my favorite shirt in the third grade. Nineteen seventies-something for sure.

I crawled under one and expected to fight sleep tooth and nail. Instead, the whole world slipped away.

I opened my eyes to bright yellow shards of sunlight and stared at the stippled ceiling. My mother had always said a stippled ceiling indicated water damage and someone trying to cover it up. She had, at one point, wanted to try her hand at real estate.

All I knew about stippled ceilings was we had one in the guest room. And when an ex-boyfriend had tried to win me back by sending me a bouquet of one hundred balloons, the stippled ceiling had reduced the number by a third by the time I figured out what the rapid-fire popping noise was.

I stared at the ceiling and sighed. "This is captivating, Aurelia, but how 'bout you grow a pair and talk to him." I said it low, under my breath so Johnny wouldn't hear me. But when I turned to the other bed, it was empty.

"Hey, I was thinking…what a royal douche bag I was last night."

Douche bag. Bren's favorite childhood insult. One my father had once scolded me for using by saying, "No need to talk like a common stevedore, Aurelia."

I snorted at the memory.

There had been no answer from Johnny to my apology. No noise. No nothing.

"Hello?" I called, trying to sound both sorry and amused.

Nothing.

There was a lancet of fear. Like being stabbed by something very cold and sharp and the right on its heels an overwhelming heat that made me wish I could step out of my skin. I felt a sinking feeling in my chest and my gut and had to swallow hard because my mouth had become dry.

"Don't do this," I said to myself. "Don't panic."

I stood and walked to the bathroom. The only place closed off from view. In my mind I pictured him in there, shaving or brushing his teeth or whatever. He simply hadn't heard me. I pictured him on my short walk—that felt like miles—to that little white door. I was creatively visualizing Johnny Rose being in there when I damn well knew—hell, I could feel—that he wasn't here.

The stark empty bathroom regarded me without emotion.

"Son of a bitch."

I pulled on jeans and shoved my feet into shoes. I checked my purse to find that everything was there. I'd just go get some coffee.

"That's probably where he is, Really. It's Thanksgiving and he's off getting coffee or food or hey, even dinner stuff. He'll be back."

But the air around me and the thump of worry in my belly goaded me. I did not feel like he would be back. At least not today. I had that empty sucking feeling in my middle that I always got right after my mother died and I'd wake up—momentarily having forgotten that she was gone—only to realize she would not be there in my day. Anymore. Ever.

"Are you gone forever, then, you asshole dipshit motherfucker!" I screamed and winged my poor purse at the wall.

The sudden rage surprised over me and I gasped. Then panic set in because everything scattered just like when the guy bumped me at the convenience story.. Yeah, that was what I needed. No travel partner. And now I needed all my shit to be scattered and missing.. "Duck fucking, douche bag, scum sucking, moron," I added.

I scooped it all up on hands and knees, realizing that I had yet to put a top on and was in nothing but the bra I'd fallen into bed wearing. I touched my precious change purse about seventy times and then said, "Fuck it," and shoved it into my underwear until I had the mess cleaned up.

No need to triple-check a change purse that was riding shotgun next to your girl business.

Then I sat on the floor and cried. It was then that I really hated him. I had barely cried my whole life. Wanting a son, my father had done his best to raise me as a boy. You don't cry when you're angry or sad. Especially not when you are frustrated—which was the mother of all crying triggers for yours truly. You did not even cry at death. You were hard, in control and stoic at all times.

It was part of the great and stunted landscape of my emotions. You did not cry. When I cried for my mother and caught him frowning at me, it was the first time in my life I had told my father to get stuffed—in so many words.

But here I sat crying, letting all this shit out, the way I had been doing rather frequently since one big bald-headed pain in the ass had walked into my life. And worse than the tears was the damn self loathing I felt at being so weak as to shed them.

I wiped my face in two big scrubbing motions and blew out a big breath. And then I hauled my ass up, yanked my change purse out of my panties, found a sweater, grabbed my bag and set out to get coffee.

I needed coffee.

It was probably past noon but my body wanted coffee and my mind said that was a nice normal thing to do on Thanksgiving. Get up and have some coffee.

Even if you were having a nervous breakdown.

The stairwell made men nauseous. Everything was white, the fluorescent lights were nearly blinding and all the turning as I fled down the flights had me woozy and off balance by the bottom.

"Hi, hi there, hey," I said as I rushed into the tiny lobby to the front desk. "The big huge guy I came in with? Have you seen him? Did he come in for coffee or anything?" I was babbling and the young kid at the desk—who looked all of nineteen or so—was looking at me like I was crazy.

I felt crazy.

"No ma'am. I mean, I saw him got get in his car an hour or so ago. You don't miss a car like that," he said. "Classic…but totally in need of a paint job."

Classic? A seventy-nine? How fucking old was this kid?

"An hour ago?"

Christ how far could he get in an hour. The bottom line, the real question was…was he coming back. He had left no note but he had left a bag with his razor and shit in it. As if he couldn't buy a razor oh…anywhere else on Earth, right?

I shook my head, my mind was spinning.

"Coffee?"

What was with me and the god damned coffee?

He shrugged. His name was Bert. His little red nametag told me so. "There's a diner across the street."

I snorted. Without thinking I said, "I'd rather be eaten by rabid wolverines than go to a diner."

He blinked at me, his face having paled a bit. "Um…oh, well…there is bar down the street. They open at noon. They have coffee."

"Good. Good. What's it called?"

"Hallowell's. And I think they have food. Probably, not great food, but it's food."

"Thank you, Bert," I said.

I walked out into Utah. Fucking Utah. Now what?

STAY TUNED...

Wanderlust part 54 "awkward..."

Due to some 'technical difficulties' in RL at the mo', I am not making any promises regarding posting this week. I will do my damndest to keep current, obviously but there might be radio silence here and there. Not to mention, at this point in our journey we are approaching our destination (well over 70K!) so things are a bit trickier at this end of the road trip than the beginning.

Good morning :)

XOXO
Sommer



Wanderlust
part 54
by Sommer Marsden

"It's so…big."

We were standing under the giant statue of a jackalope in Jackalope Square, admiring its horns. There was a chilly wind and an ache in my chest. We had joked and flirted and pussy-footed around our emotion all the way to Douglas, Wyoming. I had no idea what time it was, but it was late. Or early.

"It is big," Johnny agreed.

A sign on the way into town had read "Have a blessed Thanksgiving."

How has it gotten to be Thanksgiving? How had the days slipped by so fast? It was tomorrow and at one point I had looked forward to it, now I felt nervous. What did I say? What did I do? There was an elephant in the room and we both knew it. Hell, even the jackalope knew it.

We circled the mythical creature as if it was going to speak to us. Maybe the made-up animal version of the magic eight ball. We kept each other on opposite sides as we moved.

This was stupid.

Horrible.

Awkward.

At one point in our ride I had stooped to singing along with Eddie Rabbit to fill the silence. Oh I love a rainy night, I love a rainy night, love to feel the rain on my face… I caught him alternately laughing softly and shaking his head.

I just wanted the time to zip past like mist until we felt okay again. Until we didn't have to act this way.

We met on the backside of the statue, stood toe-to-toe and stared. I cleared my throat. And Johnny, being Johnny, waited. As silent and mysterious as the Sphinx.

"About—" I froze up.

I was going to say, about that moment we had. About what I was thinking. I told my friend so I should have the balls to tell you, I think Iove you…

I was a grown-up. I should be able to do that. Right? I could add the word "think" in there instead of just I love you to save face and make myself better. But at my age, at my stage of life, in my innate state of fuck-up-ed-ness, I should be able to do that.

Wrong.

Instead, I finished with "…time we saw something other than road."

He smiled. A small unreadable smile. "Yeah. I guess so." He touched my lip and then put his hands in his pockets.

I felt the absence of his touch as surely as I had felt the initial pressure of his finger on my skin.

I blinked. Waited. And Johnny—damn him—said nothing.

He watched me.

I shut my eyes and pushed my head back, face to the sky as if it could offer me some advice.

Speak up. Turn and walk away. Kick him in the shin. Beg him to talk. Cry and freak him out. Scream and freak him out. Go find some candy…any of these options would have offered some relief from this…strangeness.

Instead, I cheated. I reached up and cupped his face in my hands, letting my fingers rustle against his stubble. I traced his nose and his scar and then his lips. I touched each thing with a firm but gentle touch and then I stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

He didn't resist me. I don't' know why I had been expecting him to. I just had. But he didn't do that, he leaned in and took my kiss. Parted his lips and let his tongue play over mine. When I stepped into his space he put his hands on my hips and held me.

This was good. This felt normal. This was not awkward. We were always good when we were fucking around. Always good even when we were bad or sad or angry.

His fingers splayed on my waist, one finger worming under my shirt where my top met my waistband. His skin was warm, his tongue sweet.

I pulled back to look him in the eye and said, "You ever fucked under a giant cartoon creature before?"

We could get arrested. Hell, this place was so open we probably would get arrested. But I didn't care because at that instant in time I did not feel like I wanted to tear my hair out with frustration or weep from feeling and odd sizzling energy between us.

I felt calm and peaceful and relaxed. We would have sex and there would be orgasms and we could move past this.

He pushed me one step back. Not hard. Not mean. Just forceful. "Nope. And I don't intend to."

I cocked my head as if I had an earful of water. Maybe I had heard him wrong. Had he just said…no?

"What? Why? What's wrong?" The three W's rolled off my tongue in a heartbeat. I had never truly heard myself sound desperate before but I heard it then. I fired the questions off, hoping to put them behind us fast and commence with the coupling.

"Because I think we shouldn't."

"I—" I blew out a sigh and stared at my sneakers. "I don't' get it. Why?"

He tugged the end of my hair in swift little yanks until I looked up at him. Looked him in the eye. "Because sometimes it's about what you don't do and not what you do."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"You don't…want me?"

"I do."

"But you won't fuck me?"

"Not now."

"But why?"

"Because I can't. Not until we put this to rest."

"What?"

"You tell me?" He tugged my hair again and a rabid urge to punch him in the neck came over me. So forceful I had to fist my hands at my sides.

Was he fucking with me? Was this a goddamn joke?

"You tell me," I mocked. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means…sometime when you give two shits about someone…" He put his fingers under my chin and forced me to look at him. I tried to snap my head away but he held me firm with just two fingers. "…sometimes that means saying no. Taking away all safety nets and escape hatches."

"What about you? Do you have any feelings you'd like to share?"

His eyes darted away.

Oh so this was it. He wanted me to tell how I felt while he stood by aloof and accepting. He wanted me to sweat and bleed and bare my soul.

"You told me that you couldn't feel anything for me. Not for real. You told me you were no good at monogamy and all that."

"I did say that."

"And?"

"And?" he echoed.

"Has that changed, Johnny?"

He looked up, down, at the statue. Anywhere but me.

This was the granddaddy of all pissing contests and if I weren't so hurt and angry and confused, I would have laughed. It was that fucking ridiculous.

"I guess not," he said.

I snorted. "Are we done here?"

"I guess we are."

We hit the road, the awkward tone having shifted to silent anger and hurt.

The sky was starting to lighten when we checked into our hotel. A two-level cinder block monstrosity. I tromped up the stairs behind Johnny, watching his ass in his jeans, wishing I felt anything but uneasy anger. Lust would work.

Half way up I said, "You know it's Thanksgiving already."

"I know, Really," he said. He sounded exasperated.

"Right," I growled. "Well, this is fucking festive."

STAY TUNED...

Happy Mother's Day to me...again!

coming in 11 days from Resplendence Publishing. There has been wine. I hope everything is spelled right. Off to eat.

XOXO
S

Happy Mother's Day--Mother's Day--

Is there an echo in here? Nope. Just me with two bits of goodness so I had to say it twice! I wanted to post some fun stuff today. One thing that will not be here is almost done but not quite. *sigh* But I'll post that the moment I can.

Item 1:



Doo-doo-dee-dooooooo! My book Coupling: Filthy Erotica for Couples
is one of the first three books chosen for the maiden voyage of Violet Blue's FAST AND EASY BOOK CLUB. See what Alison Tyler has to say about the first three books over at Tiny Nibbles. Nifty!

And good thing #B (yes, I am joking)...



Look at how generous I am giving you two pieces today instead of just one. That is three whole pieces of my upcoming paranormal novel's cover (art by Willsin Rowe, baby). Don't forget to click it. It gets bigger. Heh. If I had a dollar for every time I heard...never mind.

Have a superb Mother's Day. The man has fed me, given me my B12 injection (because nothing says love like a hypodermic needle to the upper arm) and now we will wake up some angry offspring so I can have my preseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeent. And then later MIL is coming for dinner. Ole!

Hope you have a rocking good day with your Mom or Mom substitute.

XOXO
Sommer

Wanderlust part 53 "Maybe it would stay"

Morning, all. Boy howdy! It was busy on the internet when I slept. I woke to an enormous amount of emails, messages, and all kinds of good stuff. CJ even said Grazie to me! Did you know I am trying to learn Italian? Erm...that is Italian right? ;)

Anyway, this was ready and I have no patience, so here is part 53. Tomorrow I will probably be posting but not part of Wanderlust. I take Sundays off if I can. So for the saga of Johnny and Really, we'll meet back here Monday.

Off to a party in a few hours. But first I need to try and make myself pretty. Eesh. I might need a few hours.

XOXO
S

Wanderlust
part 53
by Sommer Marsden

He hadn't said he loved me. Fuck, I hadn't said I loved him. But it hung here. We were locked eye to eye and my body was betraying me. A fine tremor that I could not control ran through me like an electrical current.

"You okay, Really?" he asked.

His eyes said he knew the reason for my turmoil. But he wasn't going to say it. We were going to pretend. For now—maybe for always—we were going to pretend that that very big, very inconvenient emotion wasn't there.

I did not have room to love him. Not really. And he didn't have the ability to love me, either. He'd made that clear from the get-go and reinforced it in various ways—some okay, some painful. And wasn't that what this was all about? Two people so gnarled and mangled by life trying to just…go. Be. Exist. Without strings of sticky connections.

Love was a string.

Love was a sticky connection.

I stood, my thighs shaking so hard they wanted to smack together like I was the one recovering from the flu.

"I'm fine," I said, giving him my hand. "Let's get you clean for real. The patient needs a scrub down." I forced amusement into my voice.

"I think the patient just had the best dose of medicine ever," he said. He kissed my neck and I could breathe again. He was going to play along. We were going to let it go.

I turned the water back on and we stepped in to finish up that shower. He touched me. I touched him. But for the rest of the shower, neither of us looked each other in the eye.

It hurt my chest some, the way it was in this awkward moment. But it was better this way.

*****

"Food." He chomped into the most disgusting thing I'd ever seen.

"That is not food."

"This is the food of the gods. I am a god," he grunted, winking at me.

"The god of sweating and high fevers."

"You got it, sister. I can't help it if I emanate an overwhelming heat. I am just that sexy."

I laughed so hard I choked on a fry. We were at the end of Nebraska. I couldn't' wait to leave. Given my druthers it would have a giant EXIT sign in neon. And they would release balloons…and doves…when we finally escaped.

Nebraska had been rocky.

I chewed my salad and watched him. The stubble on his head was driving me nuts. I should have shaved it. I was half eager to see him with hair and half eager to get it smooth and supple again. He caught me, those insanely blue eyes full of amusement.

"I'm not growing it," he said.

"Good."

He cocked his head. "Interesting."

"What? That you call that thing food?"

"This, child, is a Reuben. It is the most decadent, wonderful, scrumptious sandwich ever invented. And it will help me get my strength back."

"That is cheese and fat and some pink stuff and…"I shivered and it was genuine. "Sauer Kraut."

"Mmm." He took a huge bite and chewed with relish just for me.

"Eeew," I countered. I had ordered a grilled chicken salad. I needed vegetables. I needed crunch. I needed something light because after our encounter in the bathroom, I felt damn near nauseous with nervousness.

He loved me. I knew this. And fear throbbed inside of me. It could never go well. It was the calm before the storm. It was the lucky bastard who won the lottery only to be destitute a year later. Good things, like love and true affection and all that sappy shit, simply never worked out. Not for the long haul.

Maybe if I pretended that it was just fucking—platonic, fun, just-for-shits-and-giggles-fucking, the Universe would let me have it. Let me keep it. The deal being that I could never name it or express it or look at it for more than a very quick glimpse. And then I must look away and pretend it wasn't there.

"So what's next?" I hurried on. Because he was staring at me and it felt like he was reading my soul like a pamphlet.

He looked up at the ceiling then said, "Ah, Wyoming."

"And what, pray tell, is in Wyoming?"

"Jackalopes for one."

"Jackehwhats?" I laughed. But I was actually recalling a favorite teacher telling us about Jackalopes once upon a time.

"Part Jackrabbit, part antelope. All fast."

"Hmm. Maybe we'll see one."

"Mayhaps, we will," he said, tipping an invisible cowboy hat.

"You're in good mood," I observed.

"I have to tell you, being upright, lucid, full of food and not feeling like I got hit with a thunderbolt is giving me good vibrations."

"I can imagine. So we're jackalope hunting."

"Hey, better than snipe hunting."

"True. Did you know…" It was coming back to me now. "That they even sell jackalope hunting permits in one town." How long ago had that class been? And who had that teacher been, for that matter?

"Yep," Our waitress said. She had appeared out of nowhere. "In Douglas. You have to have an IQ of more than 50 but less than 72 to get one. And the season is only two hours per year." She gave a short laugh. Her eyes were the color of whiskey. She looked tired.

I laughed. "Wow. More than 50 and less than 72." I shook my head.

"Yep. Tried to get my ex one for his birthday. Seemed like the perfect gift for him. That dumb ass." She shrugged, set our bill down and sauntered off.

Johnny watched her go as I fished a twenty out of my change purse. "That is one angry waitress."

"True story. Maybe we should veer off the main road a bit for this leg," I said. "See some stuff besides beds, motel rooms, showers and diners."

"We can do that. There's a lot of sky in Wyoming," he said. "If I recall correctly. There is one place I can't wait for you to see, though."

"Where's that?" I patted my change purse repeatedly, like some OCD queen. I was a nervous wreck about stuff like that now. I had to continually tell myself that it was there. It was okay.

It had occurred to me that I could always not use the card but ask Bren to wire me money. She would in a heartbeat. It was nice to know that I had help should I need it. It was there, but bottom line was I didn't want to use it. Just like I was in love, only I didn't want to say it.

Because then it might go poof. Like a bit of dandelion fluff or warm steam from a shower on a cold day.

If I just kept quiet, maybe it would stay.

STAY TUNED...

Oooh, happy Mother's Day...

Celebrate with some sexy pron. On me. Go here and enter code GZ34G for a free download of my story Making Me Do Things.

I chose this one because I wrote it one Mother's Day weekend a few years back after being at a fair. Even the cover is by me, picture by me, too. Of the Ferris Wheel that gave me the idea in the first place. Tada!

XOXO
Sommer

Wanderlust part 52 "All the parts are the good parts..."

TGI-fucking-F! God, I am thrilled. This has been the week to kick my ass in more ways than one. And ahead is a Mother's Day weekendstravaganza. Saturday is a party. Sunday is an early dinner thingy. There will be crab cakes and regular cakes and wine and presents and a general air of vegging out and enjoying family.

So, it's not 100% either way, but this might be my last blog until my bleary-eyed Monday morning rolls around. We shall see. Just in case it is, Happy Mother's Day to all you fine muthas and share your plans for the weekend in the comment section if you like.

XOXO
Sommer


Wanderlust
part 52
by Sommer Marsden

"So what'd I miss?"

I turned over, brushing my hair out of my face, my brain still cloudy from sleep. Big blue eyes regarded me with the patience of a wolf stalking its prey.

"You're awake," I said.

His eyes were sharp and clear and completely lucid.

"So, I am. But you're not." He ruffled my hair, caught my hand in his and kissed it.

"Do you feel better?" The relief was so evident in my voice it was damn near embarrassing.

"I could do with some solid food, a huge cold soda, a ten hour shower and a good fuck, but yeah."

I smiled at him, touched the three days worth of stubble on his chin, his cheek, his scalp. "We can arrange all of that."

"Speaking of a good fuck. It smells like sex in here. Did you take advantage of me, Snowflake?"

Inside me that little piece of my heart twisted but the rest of me blushed and laughed out loud. "Um…about that. You insisted. I swear you did. But just as we got to the good part—well, for you, I'd already had two good parts you…um…"

"Went out like a light?"

"Yeah. But I swear I didn't you know…"

"I'm teasing you, Really. I remember insisted, pleading, begging you to have your way with me." He pulled me to him and I put my cheek on his chest. He kissed my hair. His arm around me felt more protective, more possessive. More there. Did he remember? "It's just a few minutes after that I…"

"Bugged out?"

"Lost track," he laughed. Most of the rasp in his chest was gone. His breathing seemed clear. Thank god.

"You dozed off. Fell right asleep. Apparently, I was so very exciting that I put you in a coma…" Now I was teasing him and he squeezed me hard.

"I'd flip you over and do you right here—spanking first—for even implying that you'd put me to sleep…"

"But?"

"But I kind of smell and am starved and still feel like a good stiff wind would blow me away."

"I'll go find us food and you take a shower."

"You take a shower with me and then we go find food together."

"But we can kill two birds with one st—"

"You take a shower with me and then we go find food. Together." He was leaving me no room for argument.

"Okay."

"Good girl."

"And then…" I shook my head and sighed.

"And then?"

"Get me the fuck out of Nebraska! The state is ruined for me!"

Johnny tossed his head back and laughed. The vibration worked through me, through the bed. It was the best sound I'd heard in days.

*****

Yes, yes, yes! We had shower sex. His skin was cool and only a bit clammy and I had every intention of behaving and just helping him get clean. A big man like him after several days of sweating, sleeping and very little food, drops a good amount of weight fast. I'd say Johnny lost ten at least, maybe more. And I only meant to touch the prominent muscles of his abs as I washed him.

I failed. I touched them. I stroked them. And when I found his cock in my hand and me soaping him and him watching me I blushed.

"Did you miss me, Really?" he cupped my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes.

"I did."

"Do you want me?"

"Yes. Always. You should know that by now, but you're—"

"Exhausted, beat, too thin, starved and still not all the way clean. But I have a bigger problem."

"What?" It wasn't a word. It was a little puff of air escaping me.

"I can't think of anything else but burying myself in you balls deep, sweetheart."

My pussy flexed at his straight forward words. Gripped up around nothing, demanding attention. My nipples spiked and he smiled, very aware of my body's automatic response. Johnny circled one nipple and then the other with a broad fingertip and bent his head to suck the right nub of flesh into his mouth.

I arched up to meet him, unable to even gasp from the goodness because every speck of air was lost to me. I was drowning in my need for him.

He turned me under the spray, letting the water beat down on us for a moment and then to my surprise, he cut the water.

He dropped a towel on the floor, climbed out, and promptly sat. "Didn't want a soapy cock for this," he said, addressing my confusion. "And I'm still too weak to do all the heavy lifting. But I can sure as shit sit here while a pretty girl has her way with me. Again."

I smiled, standing there on the tiny cheap hotel bathmat. Water dripping off of me and on to him. Water beading on my skin like little bits of liquid lust. He took my hand and I lowered myself, his hands came up to grasp my hips and he kissed me, hot and eager. It was the kiss of a man who had not been kissed in a while and truly craved one.

"And for the record," he said, softly against my lips.

"What?"

"About what you said earlier…"

"What?"

"All the parts are the good parts as far as I'm concerned. All the parts of us being together are good parts."

"Good," I said. "Good, good, good…" I whispered. That one word had become my mantra as I moved on his lap.

I parted my lips to him, opened my mouth easily, met his seeking tongue with mine. When he pushed the head of his cock to my slick entrance, I sucked his tongue hard like it was his dick.

"Fuck. You are a cheater, you know that? Tricky, tricky." He thrust up hard under me—an aggressiveness I had not been expecting—and filled me completely.

"I missed you," I said again. It felt good to tell someone that and mean it.

I think I'd only ever said those words sincerely to my mother and Bren. Now Johnny. I had three people I loved. But that was my little secret.

"Did I say pretty girl? I meant stunning. Beautiful, doesn't even cover it so we'll go with stunning. You make my head hurt you're so gorgeous." His hands tangled in my hair and I started to move faster.

I rolled my body over his, holding his shoulders, grinding and swirling my hips so that he was both thrusting into me and I was pounding my clit to the hardness of his pelvic bone. I gripped him so hard I left indentations from my nails when I came. He had my nipple in my mouth and he bit it hard and fast—a searing lightning bolt of perfect pain that coursed through me—and I surprised us both by coming again. Immediately.

"You did miss me," he murmured.

"I talked to you," I said. "I talked to you the whole time." And I had. When he was only semi-lucid I would talk to him so he knew I was there. I didn't want him to think he was alone.

"I know. I heard you. The constant music of your voice when I was out and in and out and in." His fingers curled hard to the flare of my hips and the swell of my ass. He gripped me so hard it nearly hurt and then he moved a bit faster—his rhythm chaotic and urgent now. He was going to come. It was all I wanted. To watch him come.

"I talked to you because it made me feel useful. Like I was needed. Like I was important."

He shut his eyes tight, looking a bit torn, a bit beat-up and beautiful.

"You are needed, Really," he scolded. He held me tighter, moved faster and as his eyes flew open and he grunted with his own release he said, "You are very, very important."

And I started shaking like a leaf in a high wind.

STAY TUNED...

Because I needed to take an hour...

And create something that did not involve words or sex. LOL. Ginger carrot soup. Made it up on the spot and it is a hit, hit, hit! And pretty too. (sorry I didn't wipe the side of the pot for you after it reduced. LOL)Gorgeous pot given to me by my mother-in-law. One of my favorite pieces of cookware. It's bigger than it looks in that picture (that's what she said).

It's still chillyish here for May, so I wanted some soup.

Yum.

XOXO
Sommer

Wanderlust part 51 "How the fuck did that happen?"

Back later to maybe blog. Been up for twenty minutes and about six things have gone wrong. I have to throw on jeans and go to the mechanic and get the man. Jeep had some kind of nervous breakdown. That was thing #3

So...I'll be baaaaaaahk (to quote Arnold)

XOXO
Sommer

Wanderlust
part 51
by Sommer Marsden

"What do I do? What do I do?"

I had tugged the phone as far as it would go from the besides table. I was currently sitting on the brown carpeting of indeterminate age in the odd anteroom to the bathroom. That little half room where they always put a counter and an outlet and a coat rack and you feel like you're in a bus terminal.

"What do you do about what and where are you ?" Bren asked.

"Nebraska…I think." I looked at the phone what is area code 402?"

"How the fuck should I know, Really!"

"Sorry," I sighed. "I'm pretty sure it's Nebraska. And Johnny is sick. Really sick. He says it's the flu." I gnawed my lower lip and actually considered running out to the Chevy for a cigarette. Now seemed a good time for some self-destruction.

"Oh, honey. If it's the flu, he'll be fine. What are the symptoms?"

Bren has two children. I don't know how. I cannot fathom having a cat let alone two human beings who needed me 24/7. One of the kids, Alex and Annie, always seem sick. Seriously. Someone is always puking, sniffling or sneezing.

"High fever. From what I can tell, anyway. I don't have a thermometer but he's definitely hot. Cough. He coughs and coughs and coughs and coughs and not a damn thing comes up," I squeaked.

"And his muscles hurt? Down to the bone?"

"He said he feels like he got hit by a truck," I admitted.

"Honey, it's the flu. Unless he was sickly to begin with, like compromised somehow, he'll be fine. Alex had the flu last year. Twice. Swine and regular. He likes to mix it up."

I snorted with laughter and then, "So what can I do for him?"

"Pain relievers, fluids, sleep and listen to him whine."

"Whine?"

"He's a man. They all whine when they're sick."

"Not this one," I sighed.

"Marry him," she laughed.

"Bite your tongue. Plus, I'm married."

"Heh. Only one paper, doll. And we all know it."

"That's it? That's all I can do?" I had never in my life felt more inept. It made me itchy, made my teeth ache—this helplessness.

"That's it, Really. He'll be okay." Her voice had sobered. I caught the shift.

"Why do you say it like that?" I twirled the cord around my finger and realized you rarely saw phones like this anymore. With actual cords and heavy bases with attached receivers. The thing was so heavy it could be used as a weapon. This trip was like traveling back in time. Phones and phone banks, diners and ugly hotel rooms. Paying cash and honest to goodness guest registers and Mom and Pop accommodations run by families.

"Because you're freaking out. I can hear it."

"That is silly," I said. "Why would I freak out? He's a grown man and he'll be fine. Even you said so and you have actual offspring."

So if I was so fine why did my throat feel so fucking tight? Sometimes talking to friends who know you so well is sort of like walking down the street naked. Everything is exposed.

"Oh…because you lost your mom? And you loved her so much and needed her like air? And you care for this man, even if you fight me tooth and nail to admit it. And you're on the road and away from home and he was the one in charge and now you are and he needs you to care for him and you're not used to that. And you can't breathe. How did I do?

"Fuck off, Bren," I said good-naturedly and she laughed, long and loud.

"Really," she sighed.

"I'm scared," I said.

"I know but you are braver than you think and stronger than you know. You'll do good."

"I'm not scared of that," I admitted. Was I actually going to say this?

"Go on," she prompted.

"I'm afraid because you're right about…"

"Say it, Really. You'll feel better. It's like letting poison out if that kind of thing can be like poison. But it's the best analogy I have for you. A writer, I am not."

"I love him," I blurted. I said it so fast it all ran together in one long painful word. It was hard for me to push those words out. Even to Bren.

"I know," she said.

"How the fuck did that happen?" I sighed.

"It happens," she said. "Now go curl up next to him, watch shitty motel TV and make sure he drinks a ton of fluids. That fever will burn it out of him, he'll need as much fluid as you can get him to take. And when he feels better…" There was an evil little laugh here. One I was used to from my best friend.

"What?"

"Don't forget the fever sex."

"What!" I yelped.

"Fever sex. When you have a fever, everything is intensified. Heightened. It's like being high but not."

"Jesus," I said but my brain had sat up and paid attention.

"I'm serious. But for now, get him back in shape for action. Call me if you need me."

"Will do."

I hung up feeling calmer but alone. I eyed the big man sleeping restlessly in the bed and then pulled off my jeans and crawled into bed next to him. I thumbed the remote and put on a movie about a serial killer and listened to Al Pacino's distinctive rasp.

"Come on drink something," I said, finally. I put a bottle of sports drink to his mouth and tilted his head. He needed a shave, I thought mildly.

Johnny drank, twin spots of red on his cheeks like he'd been slapped. I held the bottle as long as he would drink and when he dropped his head back to the pillow I didn't push it. He we was strong as shit, even sick. At the last second, he grabbed my wrist, smiled like he was drunk and turned my hand to kiss my palm. His lips were hot and dry against my flesh.

"Really," he said, like a prayer and fell back asleep. Just that one word.

My heart twisted damn near sideways and I said. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

Fuck, but those words scared me so, so bad. I wasn't going anywhere. I meant it. And it made me tremble to realize it.

Johnny was not disposable to me.

*****

Two days later the fever started to break. I'd visited the front desk twice. Once to pay for another night and once to ask the desk clerk if they had a thermometer I could use. His mother—the owner of the place—brought me one and asked why I needed it. Could she go to the pharmacy for me, was I ill? When I told her it wasn't for me but my friend who was very sick, she gave me the following night half off.

Good thing. I needed the break. Money would be running low soon. Even at rundown hotel-motel prices.

I was going to take his temperature, I had decided. It wasn't so hard. I wanted to know when it broke for real. I had never stuck by someone so closely. I had never sat so quietly. The world seemed too big and too bright with me not hovering over Johnny.

I slipped back into the room and fitted the thermometer into its little plastic thermometer condom to keep the end clean. I pushed the button and leaned over the dozing Johnny. "I'm going to take your—"

He grabbed me. I could tell he was still feverish—his hand was hot—his eyes were slits. "Come here," he growled.

"Johnny—"

"Shh." He grinned at me. Half awake, half asleep. When he tugged me there was strength in there again—in his grip, in his face.

"You're sick."

"I know. But I need you."

When he said need it was entirely different than that first time the day we arrived. A shiver worked through me like a rustling of flesh and bone. "You should—"

"You should listen to me, Really," he said.

His skin was damp. He'd been sweating. Sweating out the fever? My brain said no, my body said yes. I wanted him. God, how I did. But he was sick.

He's not dying, woman…

"I think maybe tomorrow—"

"You can be on top. All the work," he mumbled. "You can do all the work, Snowflake."

I am weak when it comes to this man. "Let me take your temperature first."

He tugged me and I took a shy little step. I felt like he would break. I felt like I would break him.

"Take it after." His voice a low murmur, his eyes still shiny but more observant. "You need to honor the request of a dying man."

"You're not dying." I could say that how with confidence.

One more tug and I caved. Stripping off my jeans, my panties, my top. My nipples pebbled in the cooler air. It was chilly and rainy again. We had a wet fall ahead of us, it seemed, no matter where we were.

He pushed back the blankets like they weighed a ton—eager but exhausted. He was hard and hot in my hand when I touched him. He made a small sound, moved up just a bit to meet my touch.

"I missed you, Really."

I smiled. "Cause I've been gone and whatnot, right?"

"You know what I mean."

It was easy to sink down on him. I had missed him too. It was easy to skewer myself on his hard length because the moment he had grabbed me, I'd been wet. I'd been ready. I'd been willing.

I moved so, so slow to take it in. I put my hands on his wrists like I was holding him down, but I wasn't. I worked my hips in slow and easy circles and came with no effort at all. Being full of him, having him under me, the heat of him, his expressed desire—all combined to do me in so, so fast.

He moved his arms and I released him, his warm palms coming up to cup my breasts. He pinched my nipples, hard but not too hard and shook his head. "So, good."

I moved a bit faster. Came again.

He was starting to go in and out. The fever ramping up again before it would break a bit later. He'd been doing this for hours. It was almost like I could time it. He felt hotter under my hands, his chest a baked slab of muscle.

"…so sorry," he mumbled.

I thought he meant for starting to fade. For starting to doze. "It's okay."

He tossed his head, sighed, said it again. "So sorry."

He was lost to me, I could tell, though I was hesitant to break our contact. I had missed feeling his body against mine. In mine.

"Shh," I said.

"I'm so sorry, Ang," he said to his dead girl.

A shard of my heart dissolved. Broke apart. Crumbled. It hurt so bad it stole my breath. But I understood. No matter how bad it hurt, I understood. Which spoke volumes about how I really felt about him. That I could understand that piece of him I could never ever touch.

I saw an opportunity here. I could have a fit, I could be crushed and precious and tell him later of the pain he had inflicted. Or…I could maybe help him let it go. If even for an hour. If even a tiny bit.

"Shh, Johnny," I whispered in his ear. Stills straddling him, I leaned over his body, my head on his shoulder, my mouth close to his ear. "It's okay, baby. I forgive you."

He was asleep again.

　
STAY TUNED...