Sommer Marsden's Blog, page 112

Wanderlust part 45 "I dig it"

Not feeling very much better today, folks. But a touch so...I'll take it! After the kidlets are off to school, I'm crawling back to bed.

Here we are on part 45. A hair away from 60,000 words. How did that happen? :)

XOXO
Sommer

Wanderlust
part 45
by Sommer Marsden

Johnny grabbed a leaflet the moment we entered the shelter of the rest stop. "In the year 2009, Miss Aurelia Blake, Iowa harvested 13.4 millions acres of corn, produced 2.43 bushels and had crops of corn valuing 7.77 billion dollars."

"Seven-seven-seven. An angelic number for more miracles coming your way," I said without thinking.

"What?"

"Nothing. My friend Bren. She's into all that woo-wooo spiritual stuff."

"7.77 billion dollars," he reminded me.

"I whistled. Thank you, Mr. Wizard."

Johnny waved the flyer at me. "That's science. This is agriculture. So yes, I'd say this is a corn place."

I shivered. "A cold corn place."

"It is November. Almost Thanksgiving. And an average temp of 46.6 degrees," he said. grinning.

Wow. How the fuck had that happened? My first Thanksgiving not sitting primly and stiffly around my father's gigantic table. Not hob-knobbing and bullshitting with people I barely knew and did not care about. I hadn't had a good fucking Thanksgiving since my mother passed. And every year, Jackson promised me it would get better. And every year it sucked. And for the last few years, I'd gone ahead and gotten plastered. Why should the punch be the only thing spiked, I figured.

I thought that sharing a bucket of chicken and a bottle of wine with Johnny in a rundown hotel room would kick the shit out of all the more recent Thanksgivings. That I would have fun. Now that was a fucking miracle. "Wow," I said out loud.

"Temperature or holiday wow?" he asked, putting the rest stop flyer in his back pocket.

"Yes," I said. And then, "They need new fliers. It's 2011."

"Are you kidding me? In this economy?" he snorted.

"They have all that corn money!"

He grabbed me by the front of my shirt, yanked me in and kissed me. The kiss turned hotter and hotter until I wanted to plant my hands on the brick wall and let him take me right then and there. With my palms scraping the brick façade and the Iowa wind blowing against us as we did it. Instead I said, "Soda?"

We perused the shiny bright bank of vending machines and settled on two cold Cokes a bag of Munchos, a bag of pretzels and a package of chocolate candies. I shoved the loot in my purse as we hurriedly used the facilities. No heat in these joints, so peeing was precarious. I met him back by the bank of information handouts. The cold air licked my exposed skin as we hurried back to the Chevy. It was very late.

"Bed down?"

"Sounds good. I'm beat."

We climbed in and he touched my hair. I felt it tug, heard it crunch a tiny bit. I grinned. "Yep, still there."

"You dig that?"

"I dig it."

"Why?" His voice was serious, but he was smiling at me. I was tickling his funny bone.

"Hmm," I said, cocking my eyes to the roof. "Firstly, I don't do that for a lot of guys."

Now his eyebrows went high and if he'd had a hairline, they'd be in danger of kissing it. "That so?"

"It is so," I admitted. "To me—and don't laugh—"

"Never."

"It is more intimate than fucking. Sucking cock is decidedly more up close and personal, in my humble opinion, than having sex."

"When you say cock, mine gets hard," he said but nodded. "Go on."

"So, I can literally count on one hand how many guys I've done that for." I looked at him as I twisted my hair up in a knot and dug a small clip out of my bag with my free hand. I clipped it up, a few stiff tendrils falling around my cheeks. Which I liked. Or dug if you were Johnny. "And I don't need all my fingers to do that count."

Not possible but the eyebrows went up again and I had to chuckle. He touched my leg. "Well, I feel honor—"

I held up my hand. "Please, don't finish that sentence. I didn't do it as a favor to you, Johnny. I did it because I wanted to. I needed to. Badly. And because I do it so little, I do like that secret little evidence on me. In my hair. Like a mark."

"Hard," he said again, putting my hand in his lap over his erection for a moment so I snickered and blushed and snatched my hand back like a school girl.

He flipped the radio on and I clapped wildly when I heard the song.

I'm going back to Cali, Cali, Cali. I'm going back to Cali, Hmm, I don't think so…

"I take it that you like Ladies Love Cool James?" He turned out into the flashing firefly parade of headlights coming our way. We followed the leader in a long line of demon-red tail lights, crimson lights winking as far as my eye could see. Traffic was sparse but definitely present. No rest for the weary it seemed. There should be a cluster of hotels soon.

"I do. I love him. I love the song. Pretty fucking apropos, no?"

He nodded. "Pretty good."

"And how he licks his lips…" I sighed.

Johnny rolled his eyes as if this was not the first time he'd heard a woman wax poetic about LL Cool J's lip licking. Then Johnny turned to me and did it. A slow drag of his plump tongue over his full lips. And my pussy went wet.

"That was pretty good," I breathed.

"Stay tuned, Snowflake."

He turned his face back to the road and we were silent for a time, letting the funky beat of the song play out and then out of the blue he turned to me and said. "Have you ever been in love, Aurelia? For real?"

I stared at him, my heart feeling too small. Like it might fall all the way through my body to my feet.

"What do you mean?"

How fucking stupid of a question was that?

"Like your palms sweat and your upper lip feels tingly and your stomach churns so much you can't tell if it's good or bad. You're more concerned for him at times than yourself. You think about him, dream about him, want to touch him randomly. Just to touch him. Like…if he hurts you, you can still forgive him, even if you wouldn't forgive anyone else in the world. Like there's not enough air when he's not around. And sometimes when he is."

He rattled it all off and my mouth got dryer and dryer and dryer. I thought of Jackson and my affection for him, but how easy it was for me to hurt him repeatedly to give myself solace. The other boyfriends who I promptly turned from when things got too sticky, too intense or they seemed to feel too much for me. Even the one guy—Chad— I was sure I had loved once upon a time at the beginning of college who I simply dumped one day and had never looked back.

He'd told me he loved me. I'd broken up with him and had never taken another of his calls. Woulnd't come to the door when he visited.

Johnny was waiting. I could feel him watching me as I remembered giving up the pain about Fallon--just letting it go. Chalking it up to his pain being expressed. His fear guiding him. I thought about hurting for him when he'd told me about his son. His loss. His rage at himself. I thought about all of it and how when he touched me it was like a fine mesh of electricity settling over my skin— an invisible net. Or how when he looked at me a certain way I wanted to open my mouth and say things I swore I never would.

Or how there never seemed to be enough god damned air when he was around. And even less when he wasn't. I shook my head, bit my lip and echoed LL, "Nah. I don't think so."

STAY TUNED...

Wanderlust part 44 "I like it in my hair"

Ugh. Sorry I'm late, kids. I woke this morning at four a.m. sick as a dog. Cold sweats, legs made out of wet spaghetti noodles, the whole nine yards. It's been a loooooong time since the man had to help me from one room to another because I was too weak to walk, but that was the lovely scene this morning before the sun even came up.

I'm awake, the kidlets have fended for themselves, and though I still feel like blech, I do feel better than earlier. Thank god. So I am running very slow, but I am running.

Here we go. Part 44...

Wanderlust
part 44
by Sommer Marsden

"What exactly are we looking at?"

"The world's biggest ball of paint."

Actually we were looking at a shed. The shed was closed. You needed to get an appointment and we hadn't so we were looking at the structure that held the world's biggest ball of paint.

He handed me a picture printed from the internet. I read how it started as a baseball and how all the paint had been applied in layers over time and…

"What the fuck is this for?" I was laughing. Hard. Tears rolled out of my eyes and I felt another swarm of hysterical giggled coming out of me.

Johnny was trying to keep a straight face. And failing. It was reassuring to see him lose control a little—in a good way.

"I just think it's fitting to us, is all."

"How?" I yelped. I tossed my head back and laughed at the maroon liner of his old, ugly car. I laughed until I thought my burger might come up. After we left the motel we drove through a burger joint. Three bites of greasy sandwich hadn't held me and after morning sex like that I had been ravenous.

"Because look!" He pointed to the ball of paint and then the baseball it had started out as. "No matter how much paint he puts on it, no matter how many layers are added, under it all it's still…"

I waited.

He pressed his lips together, those wolfish blue eyes shining with mirth.

"Yes?"I prompted and then slapped my hand over my mouth when another burble of laughter tried to escape.

"It's still a goddamn baseball, Really!" he finished, trying to sound gruff.

"Thank you for the lesson, Mr…" I snorted, hung my head.

"Mister what?"

I shook my head—more tears, more laughter, I couldn't speak.

He grabbed my head in one big hand and gently turned me so I faced him. "Mister what?" he asked softly, grinning.

I tried to shake my head but couldn't move.

"Mister what?" he asked again.

"Mph-eg-hee." I mumbled and then snorted some more. I was damn near sick with laughter.

"What?"

I stared him right in the face and wheezed, "Miyagi." And then I was gone. Laughing again, tears rolling down the still wet tracks where the others had already been.

He looked into my eyes, face dead fucking serious. I had a moment of doubt, where I thought he was truly hurt. I thought I had truly angered him.

Then Johnny sighed and said, "Wax on. Wax off."

And we were both done for. Nothing but laughter filled the inside of the car until he put it in gear, flipped the radio on.

You're the only girl I know, that really loves me so in the midnight hour. In the midnight hour…

I took a breath, letting Wilson Pickett wash over me. Johnny said in my ear, his breath hot, his presence huge, "Say good-bye, Indiana."

"Good-bye, Indiana!" I yelled.

Good-bye, Fallon, and hurt and worry. Good-bye not good enoughs, and pouting over being set free by my father. Good-bye Aurelia who existed in Indiana…Hello,…

"What's next?" I asked.

"Illinois," he said.

Hello, Really who's waiting in Illinois…

"What's there?"

"I haven't a clue. Let's find out."

*****

I slept through most of Illinois, damn it. I did not dream of cliff diving or dead mothers with dead boys. I didn't dream. At all. I woke to that particular siren song that tires on blacktop have. It drilled up into my head, rattling my bones. My head had drifted as I slept and I imagined myself tipping to one side as we flew down the highway. The human equivalent of a dilapidated structure collapsing under its own weight.

My head was resting on Johnny's side, half on his belly, half along his ribs. I could feel his heartbeat in my head keeping counter-time with the song of the tires. He had one big hand cradling my hip and the other piloting the Chevy.

The radio was turned down way low but I could still hear the latest airwave offering. I've been looking so long at these pictures of you. That I almost believe that they're real…

How old was I that The Cure conjured the same kind of reminiscence that The Platters did for my grandparents? I smiled.

"You awake?" His voice a low rush and rumble of words.

"Now how could you tell?"

"Your body went from super slack to only vaguely slack. You're very aware, Aurelia. Always on those toes, Snowflake."

The use of my name and his personal nickname for me back to back felt both right and odd.

"I'm awake. Where the fuck are we?"

"Barreling toward Iowa."

"Iowa?"

"Iowa."

"Is that a corn place?"

"Think maybe so. Not sure. We'll hit the rest stop and see what's going on in good old Iowa when we come upon it."

Flashes of our morning rolled fast and liquid through my mind. I remembered the sound of his breathing when I'd sucked his blood of my finger. How he's gathered me to him, intent and unstoppable. His hands on me, his lips on my skin, his mouth on my sex. The way he felt sliding home—so fast and sure and yet so perfectly—and then rocking me to that second orgasm. Those eyes on my face and the smell of shave gel and sex in the air. All of it came flooding back to me to the point where I could taste his kisses.

"Really?"

I let my head slide down his belly, let my ear find a home in his lap. I moved my head just so—oh, I knew what I was doing—and felt his cock spring up hard and eager under my head. That fast. Like breathing.

What a rush that was. To get him hard do fast. It was such a rush that I felt my own wetness pool in my panties. I felt my body flicker and remember just what Johnny Rose could do for it. Could do to it. My fingers worked at his zipper and he laughed—a short startled bark.

"What are you doing, Really?" His hand tangled with mine briefly but it really wasn't so hard to bat it away. Which meant he wanted it.

I got the zipper down with a tug and with him giving me just an inch of adjustment. He barely moved a hair, but enough that I could peel the metal teeth free of one another and get him in hand. His cock—long, hard, warm. I smelled him. The clean cotton, soap, man scent of him. I inhaled him deeply and then touched the tip of my tongue to the wet tip of his cock. Pressing hard to that slit, already pregnant with a gem of pre-cum.

"You're going to make me crash the car," he said.

"This car is a tank. It can take it," I teased.

I sucked him in deeper. Moving my head so I could take the full length of him. My fingers moving restlessly over his jeans. I slipped my hand between his legs to cup his balls. I wished they were bare. I wished he were bare. I wished we were naked, barreling down this dark highway with me riding on his lap. Him fucking me. I could steer and he could thrust up under me and…

I gasped, feeling my pussy flicker with the runaway dirty thoughts in my head. When I gasped, he groaned and I pushed my mouth down over him again, attacking the soft-skinned shaft with my tongue. Licking that thick vein that ran from the base of his dick up the back. I did it again, loving the feel of lifeblood under my lips.

"Jesus," he said.

"Just drive," I said and moved so I had a better angle.

I sucked him deep, grabbing greedy gulps of air through my nose. I sucked and then licked until his hips moved with a tamed kind of frenzy because he was propelling tons of steel down a fast moving road.

I squeezed his balls, sucked, pulled free of him and swirled my tongue around the flared head. I looked up at him and in the passing lights he saw my gaze—met it—and then I slowly sucked him into the humid depths of my mouth again.

"Come for me," I said. "Please come for me."

He clenched his jaw and shook his head and said, "Fuck, Really, you don't have to ask."

"I want to ask. Come for me," I said again. And then I confessed. "In my mouth but on my face too and in…"

He looked at me, waiting. One raised eyebrow his only question.

"In my hair," I whispered. "I like it in my hair."

And that was the truth. One I had damn well never said aloud. My free hand crept between my legs, under my leggings, working myself—wet and slippery and slick with my admission.

It only took another few wet ministrations to get his breath short and raging. It only took one more deep, long suck to get a groan to burst free of him and when he said "Fuck" again, the warm salty eruption coated my tongue, splashed my cheek and dotted my sleep tousled hair like little jewels.

I came with him, a great gasping orgasm that shook me down to my fine finger bones. And then I sat up, wiped my cheek but proudly wore the evidence of his want of me in bed head crazy hair.

It didn't matter. We were the only two people there to see.

STAY TUNED...

Tie a ribbon 'round your...um...finger

The LTD giveway on goodreads ends Friday! Two signed copies up for grabs :)

xoxo
S

I've got so much good music trapped in my head right now...

for Really's road trip...I need to share :) Another favorite. Sam always grabs me by my heart and just squeezes until I cry uncle...

XOXO
Sommer

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Wanderlust part 43 "some precious thing"

I would like to say good morning but it would be lies. All lies! I was up until 2ish and then had to get up at 6. The man was tossing and turning and tossing and at points it felt like turning the bed damn near OVER. But he has a super big important day at work today, so I didn't say a word. Just laid there and plotted out my next three hundred books because I couldn't sleep.

At about 1:45 or so I had a panic attack. LOL.

Right now I have coffee. Later I might have a damn Ativan. But since I usually have to be hog tied and coerced in order to do that, that's probably me being dramatic :D

Anyway, happy...what day is it? Tuesday. Right. Happy Tuesday. On to part um...43!

XOXO
Sommer

Wanderlust
part 43
by Sommer Marsden

"So dark brown it is. Damn near black," I said. My voice clogging up my throat at first. There is something supremely intimate about the sound of metal with the potential for maliciousness sliding over vulnerable skin.

I could feel my pulse between my leg, feel myself growing wetter with each slide of the blade.

"What?"

"Your hair," I whispered, giving his scalp another go with my new toy.

"Yep. Almost black. Not quite."

"Why do you shave it?" I could tell by his stubble that it wasn't because he was losing it.

His shoulders twitched like he was about to shrug and I gasped. He stilled. "Don't know. I just do."

"Is it like…a monastic thing?" I asked.

He laughed softly. "I've never thought about it, Really. Everything okay?"

"What do you mean?" I curved my stroke around his ear, holding my breath, praying not to cut him.

"Your heart is pounding a mile a minute. I can feel it all through my back and my own chest," he said softly. A fat drop of water fell from the faucet with a resounding plop as if accenting his words.

"Yours isn't exactly creeping, son," I said, reaching around to press my palm flat to his damp chest.

"Touché."

I smiled. "Stay still, I'm almost done."

On the final swipe there was a nick. A small drop of blood bloomed from his scalp. A crimson gem that made me feel very lightheaded and very turned on. No idea why. Just, there it was—the blood and the arousal.

"Stay still, I cut you," I said, my voice a million miles away to my own ears.

I pressed my fingertip to that drop and brushed it away. Then I pushed my finger to his skin to staunch the barely existent flow.

"It's fine. I do it all the time. More than you."

I didn't trust my words. I let the razor fall to the floor and sat there, pressing my finger to his scalp. "Sorry."

"Really, it's one little nick. Nicks happen," he said, laughing.

"I know."

My belly clenched—my pussy too—my heart followed suit. I lifted my finger and the blood had stopped. He cocked his head back to reassure me and without thinking at all, I pushed my finger to my lips and sucked my fingertip the way I do when I cut myself. He blinked.

"Really?"

I caught myself when it was too late—realized what I had done. Looked away. "It's done bleeding," I said, scrambling to stand. But he was on me and blocking me and I could do nothing but move my arms and some of my legs like a bug that had been flipped on its back. Pathetic and weak and once again at the mercy of something bigger.

Johnny moved and let me up. "You just—"

"I know! Be quiet. I didn't think about it. I just did it. And besides," I rushed on in a sweeping arc of words, "you said you were clean—didn't you? I mean you are, right?"

He nodded, still silent as I rushed on, "And it's just a little blood and I trust you and—"

We both went still on that word. I was telling him, that I trusted him, that much after last night. It was like a punch in the gut to me and from the looks of him, he felt pretty damn similar. But the fact of the matter was…it was true. Every stupid word of it.

I barely made a sound when he grabbed me and hefted me like a light suitcase. Or when he climbed out of the tub splashing water the way a bear will when it snags a fish in a stream. I barely said boo when he stepped past the razor and a little forgotten blob of shaving gel slid off his scalp to hit the floor.

But I did say, "Oh, yes, please, yes," when he dropped me on the bed, pried my legs wide and put his mouth on me.

He climbed up to hover over me, his big strong legs by my head as he buried his face between my thighs where I was the wettest. Where I was the neediest. His tongue branding me with broad strokes and then small flickers.

I grabbed his leg, trying to get him to swing his leg over me, straddle me. So I could get at him. So I could take him into my mouth and give back just a little of what he was giving me.

Trying to move Johnny was like trying to move a tree. Finally, I caved and grabbed his leg saying, "Move, please, please. Move. Let me." Like a chant.

He moved. I craned my neck, bowing my body—pelvis up to meet his seeking mouth, my mouth seeking to take his straining cock. I sucked the tip of him in and felt his exhalation on my pussy lips. Hot air rushed out of him and I sucked him in deeper, moving my head up more. His hands had my hips pinned and he licked me with a frenzied kind of laziness. Like he couldn't do it fast enough. Or slow enough.

My head was spinning with pleasure, the room moved slowly around me and when I came, I came with his cock pressed firmly in my mouth. I did not move to stroke up and down, I simply held the length of him in my mouth, pressing my tongue to his hardness. I came and by body fought his with the force of my orgasm.

I tried to move, I tried to do a proper job of sucking his cock, put he had his body low over mine, not giving me the room I needed. He had me pinned there, until suddenly he didn't.

Johnny moved fast, always to my amazement. I never got over how a big man like that could move with such ease. We were on the free bed. The bed that was still clean. The bed that was untainted by the night before, if you asked me. And he grabbed a pillow from the pile, murmuring to himself, words I could not hear or make out but seemed important to him.

Johnny said, "Hips up, Really."

And I obeyed. He shoved the pillow under my ass, pushed my legs high and wide and drove into me. My body still working out the orgasm I has just had. When he filled me with himself it was intense and blissful and kissed that razor's edge of painful until he was seated deep. His cock in me to the base, his eyes staring at me.

When he started to move, when he started to rock against me, I came again, my mouth open, my eyes wide until he kissed me quiet. One big hand holding my arm down, one big hand holding the crown of my head. As if I were some precious thing.

My mouth let loose a stream of words. I wasn't sure what I was saying, just that I was saying it and it was sincere. Right there, oh yes, I need it…oh god, don't stop baby…

I heard it all and then some and the big machine sound of his breathing in my ear as he watched me. His eyes never left, never wavered, never shut. He watched me and when I got close—so close again—he pushed my legs down and together some. The friction changed, the movement changed, it all changed but the pace increased and his pelvic bone banged my tender clit in just the right way and my hands were free and I grabbed his biceps and curled my fingernails to warm flesh and came again.

He watched me, kissed me, buried his face in my neck for the first time. All of him trembling, all of him shuddering as he pushed his hands between the pillow and my flesh. Cupping my bottom, pounding into me. All of him trembled like an oak as it is felled and he came.

"Really," he said in my ear.

I waited, not breathing, on the verge of tears. Terrified. But this time—this time—he kissed me again, brushed my long bangs free of my eyes. And he didn't fucking leave. He stayed.

STAY TUNED...

Wanderlust part 42 "Au-fucking-relia"

Good morning. Last day of Spring Break. Booooo! :( Back to getting up at the ass crack of dawn tomorrow. But for today there is today. So, I shall go enjoy :)

Hope everyone had a great time off. And now I commence with coffee...

Yum.

XOXO
Sommer

Wanderlust
part 42
by Sommer Marsden

#42

I woke very much alone to an empty room and light streaming through the busted up cheap Roman shades. I blinked hard and fast because I would not cry. I hadn't earned the nickname Snowflake from being a pussy. It had been due to my coldness. My hardness. My command over my emotions.

That was when I saw something stuck to the room's front door. I wrapped myself in the sheet, realizing that at some point while I was out he'd untied me. The rope was gone, probably coiled in a trash can somewhere like a nylon snake. I swallowed a burble of laughter—as irrational and crazy as it was, it was laughter—because he'd stuck a lip liner scrawled note BE BACK SOON to the door with a maxi pad.

"The only thing he could fine even remotely like tape. Note to self, replace emergency maxi pad with new one." My voice sounded too big in the small space.

I removed the note and folded it up. I slipped it into my purse. Snowflake or not, I couldn't throw it out.

I sat on the edge of the bed and ran a shaking hand through my hair. Had that happened? Had he freaked out and brought some woman in and had we—I stared at the bed. Yes. We had.

Part of me loathed him, part of me felt liberated. Another part of me wanted to crawl back in the bed and sleep for days.

Instead, I picked up the beige room phone and started to dial. Long gone were the days of operators on demand, so I did everything the electronic voice told me to do and the phone started to ring.

"Hello?" she sang it out.

"Bren?" I said.

"Au-fucking-relia!" she yelled. "Where in the hillbilly hell are you, sweetheart?"

And I started to laugh. And cry. Bren had that effect on me. All the coiled slippery dark and nasty stuff I had bottled up inside of me came sliding out in a mucky mess just hearing her voice.

Brenda Hartley had been a brand new student the year I was in third grade. Smelling fresh blood, I knocked her down and took her cherry Jolly Rancher candy stick. Brenda—Bren to friends and enemies alike—promptly kicked my ass from one end of the school yard to the other. And then, when I was broken, beaten, humiliated and fully sniffly, she plopped down next to me, brushed her plaid skirt clean, snapped the candy stick in half and handed me mine.

We'd been best friends ever since.

And so in a rush of air and tears and laughter I told Bren the whole damn thing. Including Fallon, including the begrudging orgasm, including the sweetness of shame.

"Wow, girl. You have life by the balls right now. And he has you by the heart strings. You do know that, right?"

I shook my head. "No. It's not like that."

"Oh, you might not think it's like that, but it is."

"Nope. He's not…he can't do that and neither can I."

She laughed at me, her laughter putting a spotlight on my clever words and easy lies. "Whatever. Are you safe?"

"Yes."

"Would he hurt you?"

"No."

"You're sure?"

I sat there for three heartbeats to make myself listen to my instinct. "Never," I said, honestly.

"Do you want to come home?" she asked. I heard her light a smoke and wanted to beg her for the millionth time to quit. Ever since my mother, my paranoia over those I loved smoking was so big and bright and crazy.

"Not unless I have to."

"Good. Well, you know where to find me if you want me. I know you don't have a phone. Your dad found the car and the phone at the grocery store."

I smiled and heard a car door slam right outside the doorway.

"Maybe I'll grab a cheap phone with no plan."

"Either way, be safe. Call me if you need me."

"I will," I whispered. "He's here, I think. I have to—"

"Fine, fine, go, go. But Really?"

"Yeah?"

"I told you so."

"What? You told me what?" I laughed. "I don't know what you mean, Bre—"

"That's for later. When you're telling me you love this guy. I told ya so."

And she hung up.

The door swung wide and I dropped the heavy receiver onto the base. I wasn't trying to hide the fact that I'd been on the phone. I simply wanted to see where he'd been.

Johnny looked at me for a moment before looking away. Great, he was pissed. But then I looked again. No. Not pissed. He nearly looked embarrassed.

"Hi," I said.

Awkward much?

"You're talking to me," he said. It was a statement.

"I'm pretty sure I just did."

I took the pink bag he offered and opened it to a bacon, egg and cheese on an English muffin. It looked greasy and heavy and…"Fucking perfect," I said and dug in.

I caught him grinning at me and I grinned back.

He looked startled again and I said, "What?"

"Nothing."

"Aren't you eating?"

"I ate in the car."

I saw the other bag. A plain brown bag and my stomach rolled over. I was exhausted—inside and out—from the Fallon encounter. What dreaded thing lay in that bag, I wondered. I cocked an eyebrow at it and waited. The breakfast sandwich lodging in my throat.

"What's that?"

"For you."

"For me? You don't have another woman in there do you?" It was supposed to be a joke but it came out half wild giggle, half sob.

He frowned at me. I had truly meant for it to be funny, but he looked almost hurt. I felt bad, but then part of me felt vindicated. Good. He should feel bad. What a confusing fucking pit stop this was.

"No. I don't. it's for you."

I held my hand out. "Then give it."

He looked unsure but handed me the bag, just saying, "Careful."

Inside was a straight razor. An honest to God straight razor. "Johnny—"

"I got it this morning. I need a shave. I thought you could…" He looked away again.

"My god. You thought I could what? Slit your throat?"

Those blue eyes, eyes that allowed no untruths or even a flicker of discomfort to pass without taking note, pinned me and he said, "That is one option that came to mind."

Oh. I shook my head. "Don't be—"

"I'm at your mercy when you have a razor to my head."

"Where did you get it?" I asked, flicking it open. Beautiful, shiny, dangerous thing.

"A barber in town. I had to pay him nicely for it."

"And he just sold it to you?" I asked, incredulous. I turned it in the low light of morning and sunlight bounced off the old blade. Old but still effective, I could tell.

"I told him it was important. Sometimes men take each other at their word over the importance of things. I told him it was a woman I needed it for. And that it was…important. And not illegal," he added.

"I don't want to slit your throat," I said softly.

"There is a line," he said.

"And you crossed it."

And how many times did you cross it with Jackson? How many times did you kick him in the guts with your actions? Penance, dear, Really. Penance.

His jaw muscle flexed and his body went tight. To someone who did not know him, he appeared perfectly normal and simply alert. To me, he looked fit to hit something. Or someone.

"I know that, Really."

"But I willingly followed you and leapt over it right after you," I said. I could pay for my sins by forgiving him his. "So enough. Just don't—"

He waited.

"Just don't do it to me again. Don't prove how much you don't care by stepping all over my insides," I said softly. "Please."

"But I do care. And that's the problem. I can't get close to you, Really. I can't get close to anyone. Not for true."

I bit my tongue. Now was not the time to argue. I took one more bite of my sandwich, though it had lost its decadent appeal, and put it down on the greasy bag. "How about we shave your head?"

He grinned. "Or cut my throat."

"I could never do that," I said. And realized it was true.

He looked unsure but nodded.

"Give me two minutes." I jumped in and washed all the memory of Fallon and her haunting eyes off of me. I was done with that particular encounter. It was in the vault, locked away, gone.

When he came in, I took his clothes off one piece at a time and he let me. He let me. Then I settled in the motel's shiny white tub and put the warm water on. Johnny got in front of me, the water level shooting up, and settled back between my open thighs. I put the shaving lotion on his head as he pressed himself back against me. His stubble bit at my bare breasts, his arms rested on my thighs, his hands on my knees. I cradled his head to my chest and said. "Be very still. Don't move. I like you living and I like having two nipples."

He laughed, a long, low rumble that made my gut clench and told me everything would be just fine between us. Then he stayed still as I started to shave him.

STAY TUNED...

It's not candy but...

I have this song stuck in my head. And it is a sweet-sweet sound. The kind of music you'd find on the radio traveling cross-country. Happy Easter. See you tomorrow. :)

Wanderlust part 41 "he's here with me"

Well...yesterday was an interesting day for comments. I'm damn curious who we all feel about this today, kids. Happy day-before-Easter and as far as the rest of our story and the continuation...I'll see you Monday. I am actually taking tomorrow off. But I will be lurking about today to post folks yays or nays.

XOXO
Sommer

Wanderlust
part 41
by Sommer Marsden

She did it--took her clothes off--and I looked away. I didn't want to see her tiny little tight body and her dyed black hair. Or the stupid butterfly tattooed on her hip or her shaved snatch. None of it. But my eyes kept straying back and back and back. Traitors.

"Tell me," he said, moving toward the bed, "that no part of you. Not a tiny little part wants this and it can all be over."

I opened my mouth, staring him in the eye. And I shut my mouth. It wasn't just the fear of him going on without me. It was the fact that I couldn't seem to say it—because it would be a lie.

"Hate usually means something else. Often love, sometimes envy, jealousy, curiosity. No matter who you hate at the moment."

She settled between my legs, looking like the cat that ate the canary, staring at me with those feline eyes of hers. She really thought she'd won, didn't she. Her mouth was open and her breath snaked out, over my belly and lower.

Against my better judgment, I felt a fine flickering spasm in my pussy. Watching him stalk to us. Her in the middle. Me tied down—helpless to his will.

Helpless to his will…

That made my entire body flush hot and a rush of warm fluid escaped me. I wanted to scream and I wanted to rage and I wanted to beg him to just hustle her out the door and we could pretend this didn't happen and yet…

Part of me wanted this. He was forcing this on me. I was powerless to stop it…right? So I could simply experience it and feel no guilt. A hell of a thing to realize. If I hated it, if it hurt my heart, if I regretted it, I could blame it all on Johnny and his will. I was totally innocent. Or so I could say.

He watched me and I knew that he was reading me perfectly. He was looking into the very core of me and seeing every single selfish thought I'd just had.

"This is what I want. Take it or leave it," he said, sealing the deal. Giving me the freedom to see what this was like.

Because as much as I hated her, my body was responding to Fallon. My hips wanted to seek her out. My back wanted to bow up to meet her pretty mouth. I had never before in my life wanted to smack someone in the mouth and yet have that same mouth on me. This was a first. It was brutal, confusing, frightening and horrible. It was also an opportunity—right here—to experience something I would never seek out and it would never be my fault.

I was naked, bound, coerced, forced. Not my will. Johnny's.

She chose that moment to put her lips to my pussy, her hot tongue to my clit and I hissed with the pressure, the heat and the pleasure.

The bed groaned and Johnny found his spot behind her. I hated her all over again, because she would be getting fucked by him. A sharp stab of relief worked through me when I heard the foil packet and smelled the tang of rubber as he rolled on a condom. He moved her like a doll. No niceties, no muttered words, no Snowflakes or endearments.

Good. She didn't deserve it.

Pretty, nasty Fallon slid her wet rigid tongue into my cunt and I arched up under her. Johnny's eyes locked on mine as surely as his fingers locked on her hips and he started to move—banging into her as she ate me. Every thrust, drove her against me. It was as if he were trying to get at me despite her being in his way. He drove into her, his jaw tight.

But his eyes never left me—like she wasn't even there. His movements forced her forward, his thrusts moved her mouth to my clit. She sucked and she cooed and she battered her lashes at me, but it was the oddest sensation. He was fucking me through her and Fallon—poor Fallon—was no more than a sex doll.

He sealed it when he reached over her—past her—and grasped my thighs for a moment and squeezed. She sucked, her tongue demanding an orgasm from me. Her mouth coercing me to give up the juiciest of releases and I did. Because it was big blue serious eyes I was gazing into. It was a rugged boxer's face I was studying. Broad shoulders and straining muscles and a wildly beating pulse at his throat.

"Johnny," I said as I came. For him to hear. For her to hear. He could do all he wanted to make his point and it would still be his name I said when I came. His name I cried out and his name that ricocheted around in my tired, fucked up mind.

"Fuck," he muttered and slammed home once more. Using her. She came a split second after me, he a split second after her, and when all was quiet on the motel front, he smacked her ass in a business like way and said. "Get lost, Fallon."

Her eyes flashed—brilliant with anger and what looked like hurt.

For a split second I felt sorry for her. And then I didn't. "Didn't he tell you?" I asked her. "He's here with me."

By the time he had her out the door, I had lost my fragile hold on my emotions. The moment the door shut and I heard the snap of the condom coming off, I started to shake. A sob slipped out of me and it was the lonely horrible sound of some dying creature.

"Really," he said and came to me.

There was a subtle flash of regret and my heart surged at it. Good! Let him feel bad, small, petty, cruel. Maybe not due to a third party, but due to his choice. He had chosen her to hurt me and he could deny it—fuck—I could deny it to myself and yet it was the truth. His malicious intent was to drive a wedge between us. After what had happened in the closet. It was all because big, bad Johnny was scared.

He dropped to the bed and molded his big body to mine. He started to untie me and I sobbed, "Don't, don't, don't—"

He looked uncertain but didn't untie me. If he untied me I would consciously have to not touch him. I would willingly have to push him away. And I wanted to push him away at the moment—hell, I wanted to punch him and hit him and rail at him. If he kept me tied, I could let him hold me. I could not push him away. It would allow me to save face. It would protect my pride.

Because I really needed him to hold me even though at the moment I thought he was the biggest shit walking. He had done it, he had proven his point and yet—

"I know what you're doing," I said.

He went rigid against me and his breathing stopped for a moment. I looked up at him and was so fucking embarrassed by how wet my face was with tears. And yet, I couldn't not look at him when I said this.

"And no matter what you do," I said through gritted teeth, "you can't convince me that you're not a good man."

He frowned at me and turned his face away.

I wanted a shower. I wanted a shower in acid. I wanted a blow torch or a Brillo pad. I wanted to scrub my skin until I bled and yet by body still hummed with the orgasm and the experience and yes—the shame of it. There was an odd and unexpected sweetness to that shame.

And my heart still flexed a little at remembering his face looking over her shoulder at me. How his eyes never left me. How she had barely been there. How I had been the only one in that bed with him when you came right down to the parts of the night that mattered.

*****

And this time in my dream, when I fell into that ocean of water and staggering bright light a huge and monstrous sea creature rose up to meet me. He was huge—with big arms and intense blue eyes and a scar on his face, marring his wet skin. He caught me up in his strong hold and crushed me to him. The breath left me and his massive body penetrated mine, worked mine and nudged me just right, plucking and stroking and moving until I was blissfully—frighteningly—full and pleasured and then he was dragging me under. Down into the wetness. Down into the depths. In the dark where nothing lived and no light penetrated. Where all that existed was us. Him and I.

Podgasm...

I've been excerpted and read by [at]Netfux (find her on Twitter as well as [at]kingofvagina). Neato doesn't cover it. So have a listen at some Learning To Drown...

Wanderlust part 40 "A lemming plunging to its death"

Ugh. I slept and slept and hit snooze like ten times. Okay, not hit snooze. I reset my phone for 15 min intervals about ten times. SOMEONE kept me up v. late doing the allergy snore watoosie. And his name starts with M and ends with --an and rhymes with Dan but is not Dan!

So here we go, part 40. I might not be back until Monday. It all depends on this possible sinus infection and Easter weekend! We shall see.

Plus, I have a lot of food to cook. I think I'm making 1/2 the brunch we are to attend. Tada!

Happy Easter/Spring weekend!

XOXO
Sommer

Wanderlust
part 40
by Sommer Marsden

And then a stillness as he realized not only the word, but the tone. There was something in his utterance. Affection at the least, possibly more, and I felt him stiffen up with something akin to anger.

"I—"

"Hold still and let me untie you," he said gruffly, cutting me off.

"Johnny—"

His hands came down on the silk tie, big fingers that should not be nimble working the knot with ease. "Don't," he said.

"We both…" But I cut myself off then. We both what? Heard it? Felt it? Knew it?

Knew what?

And what if the word and the tone had been a mistake.

He stepped back and I dropped my arms, rubbing my shoulders and then rotating them to loosen up the tension and get rid of the after-bites of pain.

"Shower's free," he said.

"I—"

A swift and black anger flowed through me. What the fuck? I hadn't done or said anything I regretted. Why was I being punished? Because that was sure as shit what if felt like. A punishment. And not the good kind that had the promise of an orgasm at the end.

"I'll be back later." He was stepping into jeans. No underwear. Just jeans over skin and a button down blue shirt. He dropped to the bed to pull on his boots and I noticed again—with an insane and damn near domesticated thought—that his scalp needed to be shaved again.

"What did I do?" I asked, surprising even myself. This kind of situation would, in the past, normally lead to shouting and yelling and bullying. On my part, mind you.

"Nothing."

"Why are you leaving?"

"I need to."

"Don't." Great wings of fear beat in my chest. My hand was shaking, I saw it like it wasn't my own. I moved to him but he held up a hand.

"Don't, Really. I need to take a time out."

A child's term. I shook my head.

"Please, don't," I whispered. Surprising myself yet again. Weakness was a no-no. Asking for a kindness, unacceptable.

He stood and kissed me briefly. A drive-by show of affection. His jaw was tight with anger or some other emotion. "I'll be back."

"Don't."

"I'll be back. I swear."

And then he was gone. My throat felt so tight, drawing air seemed a feat. I stood there, the echo of the door snicking shut seemed to rattle around in my brain. The door was shut but I stared, holding my breath, willing it to open back up. Willing him to come back in, say he was wrong…sorry…joking. Any or all of them.

The door stayed shut.

"Right," I said to the empty room. The beds were covered in ugly blue comforters this time. The pressed board furniture a cheap chestnut color. "Right," I said again and heard the high hysterical quality to it. It scared me and it pissed me off.

I turned to the bathroom on feet I could not feel. I turned the hot water on—only the hot water—and I stood in the scorching spray until my skin turned red and I had to bite my lip against the pain.

Then I crawled into bed wrapped only in a towel. My hair was soaked and I didn't care. I left the lights on and flicked on the TV. No picture. Sound but just a black and gray and white flickering mélange of non-images. I could call Fallon at the front desk…

"Cunt," I said and turned it off.

I hit the button on the clock radio and Bad Company crooned to me. Darling…if I live without you…I live without love…

When I dreamed it was of running my fingers over a long sharp blade. My skin split and bright light flooded out of me. Bright like strong sunlight bouncing off of water. A million diamond points of light glaring at me. And when the light stopped, I jumped from a cliff, dropping to the water and into the light. A lemming plunging to its death. And at the bottom, in the water and the light bobbed my mother, in her bright skirt with her big smile. She was smoking a cigarette and holding the hand of a little boy. A little boy with red sneakers and Johnny's grin.

I was falling and I simply didn't care. And even in the dream, that scared me to death…

*****

Someone was messing with me. My wrists were being tugged, my hair pushed back. Sometime during my dream, I had started to cry and I could hear myself. Great wracking sobs that hurt my heart to hear, but exhaustion had kept me under and only vaguely aware. Aware of the noises I made and tears rolling back off my cheeks and into my hair.

My hair was still wet.

"Snowflake, put your arm out."

I did it, recognizing his voice, feeling a brief shard of gratefulness that he'd kept his word and come back.

"What time is it?" I murmured.

There was a tightness on my skin and I tried to rouse myself fully to see what the bloody hell was going on.

"Just past four in the morning," said a female voice.

I opened my eyes, my gut cramping with an oily and sudden fear. Fallon.

"What he fuck are you doing here?" I asked. I searched wildly for Johnny and found him by the front door. He looked grim. That did not bode well for me. For us. Hell, for someone.

"I came to play."

"Go away."

"I was invited. "

I glared at Johnny.

"It's up to you, "he said.

"No," I answered.

He grinned at me but there was no real humor in it. "You didn't let me finish, Really."

I tried to sit up but while I slept they'd bound my wrists. There was no headboard and I yanked, thinking it should be easy to get free. Fallon leveled a nasty smile at me and said, "It runs under the mattress, doll. And it's utility rope. My little offering for the party."

God, I hated her.

"Finish," I said to him.

"She stays, we play and then she leaves." He said that part to her. She frowned but nodded. "Or I can leave you here to rent a car and I go on without you."

This was all because he'd felt something. This was all because of earlier. I licked my lips trying to say that to him without actually saying that to him.

"Don't try to change my mind," he said to me. "Yes or no, Really."

"I hate her," I said, acting like she wasn't there. Because to me she wasn't. And she dam near shouldn't be.

"I know. But that will make it better. Different. Interesting."

"I don't' believe you."

"Take it or o leave it."

So it was up to me. My decision. Play with Fallon in the mix and then get her gone. Or watch him walk out. All because he said my name. All because somewhere in him he felt something for me beyond fuck buddy and car partner.

I stared into her eyes—brown flecked with an amber color. Feral eyes. Dangerous eyes. I nodded once and she trailed a fingernail down my bare belly. My stupid towel had long since fallen away. My hair was damp and twisted around my face. Fallon took the end and brushed it over my nipple like a paintbrush.

"I know you hate me," she said, "but God damn am I going to love getting you to say my name."

Johnny unbuckled his belt and said to her, "Take your clothes off."



STAY TUNED...