Sommer Marsden's Blog, page 118

Wanderlust Part 11 "No pressure..."

Another busy day here on the farm. We have pigs to...well, that's a lie. There are no pigs, just a fat wiener dachshund. But we do have a dinner out and celebrating and some chores and some lazy time and maybe a movie and birthday planning for someone's big day and...gasp!

Here's part 11. Can't believe I pulled it off. However it was on the fly and I didn't get to read it through as many times as I prefer, so if you see a boo-boo, let me know-know. Just be nice-nice! ;)

Over and out.

XOXO
Sommer

Wanderlust
Part 11
by Sommer Marsden

He cupped the back of my head with his hand. "Bathroom is out of the bedroom to the left."

"Mmm-kay," I said, swallowing hard and choking the tears down. I was winning the no-crying war.

"Towels are in the closet right outside the door. Glasses for drinks are over the sink in the kitchen."

"Got it," I said.

He kissed the top of my head and his fingers flexed for just a second against my naked waist.

Johnny pulled an afghan over us and said against my ear "You gonna stay, Snowflake?"

God, how I wanted to stay. God, how I didn't want him to know that. I tried to force nonchalance into my voice. "Yeah, sure. I guess."

He laughed and I knew he was on to me.

"Good. Now go to sleep. It's late."

His breath was even and deep and it lulled me to sleep. I only woke once and he still had me tucked to him, right up against his hard body, like something he was holding close and protecting.

* * * * *

"Wow. You weren't kidding about the other view," I said. Then I realized he wasn't there with me. Just a warmth on the bedclothes where he had been.

My eyes tried to track every black vein but failed. The sky was still blue studded with gold from the rising sun. The tree that towered outside of his bedroom window filled all of the world from my angle. Everywhere you looked a black arm reached for the sky. Capillaries of branches and twigs grasped the air.

I heard him out in the main room. I turned on my belly, studying the sky and the tree and the neighborhood. Would he come back or should I go find him?

Across the street a woman led a toddler to a mini-van. She was dressed in a business suit and carrying three bags and a briefcase. I didn't envy her the ministrations it took to get a child off to daycare and herself off to work. It was barely light out and she looked stressed and exhausted.

More noises from Johnny and I realized that it was the first morning in I couldn't remember how long that I woke feeling mildly content.

"Weird," I said. My voice didn't sound as empty in this little apartment as it did at home. "Weirder."

There was his flannel hanging on the closet door knob. I pulled it on and buttoned it so that it didn't gape. My panties were somewhere on the floor and after finding them I pulled them on, too. The floor was wide planked hardwood and cold from the autumn chill. By the door was a laundry basket of clean clothes and on top a pair of thick wool hunting socks.

"Score!" I muttered and scooped them up and pulled them on.

I used the bathroom, assuming he would hear me and know that I was awake. Then I wouldn't startle him. Maybe he was over last night's post-fuck glow and was ready for me to leave. Perhaps in the light of morning I hadn't been so pretty or so worth holding onto. Maybe…

"Stop freaking yourself out, you dimwit, and just go see what he thinks." When I said it to myself in his small black and white bathroom I sounded terrified and angry.

Now that I was up, I was afraid that all the good feelings settled in my chest were false. My idea of an ideal morning after—and nothing more.

I tiptoed out into the main room more because I feared the outcome than because I feared startling him.

He was up on one a stool by the counter that divided kitchen from living room. A box was open on the counter, a few bits of paper and pictures scattered about. Johnny sat hunched over it, his face turned from me so I couldn't see, but his posture intense. I had the irrational urge to walk up and swipe my hands across his stubbly scalp. I could see from this angle that he needed to be shorn again. Or shaved. Or however he did it.

I took a few steps toward him, wanting to touch the broad expanse of his back. Knowing that it would be warm and hard under my fingers. I wanted another round with Mr. Rose. I wanted him to fuck me face to face in the purple glow of morning and watch me come. I wanted—

I was right there, peeking over his shoulder when he felt me and he turned the picture swiftly and shoved all the bits of debris from what I assumed to be a memory box back where they belonged.

Had a I seen a flash of jeans? Of a red jacket and some kind of toy? Of little Velcro sneakers that only small kids wore? But before I could truly process, he had secreted it all away and turned to me. At first his face flashed angry—rage was more like it—and then sadness, so intense it made my chest hurt, and then he smiled and that broke me.

I shivered and I didn't now why.

"Snowflake, how about some coffee?" He stood nonchalantly and kissed my forehead. Despite my confusion it made me smile—it was an entirely domestic gesture that was almost confusing in the current weird vibe of this kitchen.

"Sure, "I said. "But—"

There it was, I wanted to ask. And the fact that I cared, the fact that I wanted to ask, unnerved me. Let him have his secrets and his pictures and his flustered odd reaction. It was none of my fucking business.

He tucked the box under the counter and grabbed mugs. "But?"

"But I really need a shower, first," I said.

"You know where it is. Here you go. One for the road." He handed me the mug full of hot coffee and nodded toward the sugar bag on the counter. "Milk's in the fridge."

I took raw sugar and cream in my coffee, normally. Wasn't I fucking precious?

"Thanks." I doctored it up and went back to his bathroom. To think, I told myself. But it was to hide.

The shower brought back my memory of being with Jackson. Then of being with Johnny. Two men, one day, two entirely different feelings when all was said and done. I was almost grieving for the settled contented feel of the night before when Johnny had pulled me close and fallen asleep. Clearly there was more to him than a handsome beat-up guy who worked odd jobs and lived across the street from a church.

"And clearly it's none of your business."

His head appeared. "What's none of your business?"

Stupidly I covered my breasts and he laughed at me. I followed suit, realizing the exposure I felt was more emotional than physical. "Nothing. Talking to my own stupid self." I had to force the words out of me, they almost hurt. But I made myself say it. "Look, let me finish here and I'll get dressed and get out of your hair. I know you weren't…I know last night was…" I shook my head, frustrated. "I know that it was just a night is all," I blurted.

"Hunh. Funny. I just called in to my boring day job and told them they'd have to do that roofing job without me. I thought we could hang out."

He stepped into the shower naked. I swallowed hard and tried to put my mind back on track. But my eyes strayed to the bulk of him, the single tattoo on his chest that was just an "M". I hadn't really seen that the night before. The cock between his legs that was hard and straining and that I knew for a fact he was capable of wielding with spectacular outcome.

"I—"

"No pressure," he said, pulling me to him. He kissed me then. His lips were soft and his tongue tasted of sweet coffee. "As my mother used to say, it's an invitation, not an obligation."

"I…um…" I couldn't think. All I could focus on was kissing him back, touching his tongue with mine. Letting my hands explore the now-wet terrain of his body.

"Besides," he said, "I don't think we're quite done yet, yeah?"

"Yeah," I sighed.
STAY TUNED...

Wanderlust part 10 "...Feel pretty for me."

Part 10! Wow. Already? Can you believe it? I'm off in a bit for the big morning. Then I'm in. Then I'm out. Then I'm in. All I need is the squeaking of bed springs and I'll be good to go.

XOXO
Sommer

Wanderlust
Part 10
by Sommer Marsden

What do you need, Snowflake?

Good fucking question. I needed a lot of things. I needed a spark in my belly and something to wake up for. I needed to laugh and feel it all the way down in my body and not just the taut and tense lines of my face. I needed this. I needed him. Deep down I knew Johnny Rose couldn't save me, only I could save me. Bug God damn it, he was a start.

He didn't lay me on the bed, he flung me on the bed and I let up a whoop like some wild bird. That made him laugh. He was pulling at his jeans, grabbing up his button fly and I added my hands to the fray. I tugged along with him, probably slowing him down more than anything. My fingers warred with his and in the back of my mind I recognized how nice his warm hand felt under mine.

"Easy, girly. Let me do it."

I put my hands on his skin, pushed his shirt high and just felt the heat of him under my fingers. He tugged those faded jeans and revealed boxer briefs and hard flesh.

I made a sound I don't think I've ever made before. A sound that was half starving woman, half feral creature. My fingers tugged and plucked at the waistband and finally—blissfully—I had him bare but for his tee. The flannel he had tossed in the living room.

"Snowflake?"

I ignored him. I didn't want to talk. I just wanted. He was smooth and hot in my hand. I gripped his cock and just held him. His thighs tensed but he waited. I rubbed the small wet slit on the head of his cock with my thumb and watched his muscles take up a subtle—nearly invisible dance—as he tried to remain completely still and failed.

"You're perfect," I muttered, more to me than to him. I leaned in and sucked just the tip of him into my mouth. His skin tasted of cotton and salt and sweat and somehow, winter.

"Jesus," he laughed softly. It was more of an exhalation than a laugh. "That's perfect."

I licked the flared ridge of his tip and then stroked my fingers down the shaft, the skin velvety and tantalizing to me. Smooth like a river rock or a worry bead. I used him as a worry bead, letting my fingers slide along the tissue-thin skin and a calmness started in my chest.

He made me feel peaceful.

I never felt peaceful.

I sucked him in as far as I could. All of him filling my mouth and my throat and there was still more of him I could not take but Johnny didn't seem to mind. He caught my hair up in his fist but simply held it. The potential for pain more bright and vibrant than pain itself. My pussy went soft and greedy for him.

I sucked him deeper.

"You know…" He shook his head and stayed silent.

I looked at him, asking him with my eyes. When he refused to go on I broke free, my hand still sliding along his skin. "What?" I know lots of things."

"Nothing."

"Tell me." I simply held him in hand—nothing more. And it seemed to be nearly unbearable for him.

"You're beautiful is all," he said. His eyebrow rose and he almost smiled. "Especially, sucking my cock."

"Why did you say nothing?" I kept my eyes on him but stuck my tongue out—watched him watching me—and then touched only the tip of my tongue to his dick.

"Because I'm sure you hear it all the time."

When he touched my face, my skin tingled with it. It was a gentle touch—something I truly craved, but it unnerved me nonetheless.

"Hearing it and believing it are two different things," I muttered and then pushed my mouth down over his cock, taking him deep again, cutting my gaze away.

He tsked softly. "Snowflake," he said.

"Shh." My lips pressed against him and he groaned.

"Shh, my ass," he growled and pulled me up, tugging my hair hard enough that I had no choice but to follow. "I won't argue with you about your beauty," he said, twisting my hair around his hands so that I had to step closer. His mouth was hot, almost angry on mine. He released my hair and grabbed my waist.

"Good, I like my men to be pretty and not argue with me." I tried to laugh but he was turning me and a bubble of anxiety cut off the forced laughter.

"Yeah, well if pretty is what you're looking for then you have definitely hooked up with the wrong man." He bent me at the waist and I caught my balance on the mattress. His knee forced my legs wide and he pressed that silken tip of his cock to my pussy. I shivered.

"I think you're pretty," I breathed. "The way you make me feel is pretty," I amended.

He grunted but said nothing. Johnny pushed just the tip of himself into me. Just enough to make me shift and try to get more. His hands were clamped onto my hips, finger pressing white spots into my skin. He moved another inch, slid a little deeper until I simply said "God, please."

He pushed into me fully, filling me and my head dropped down like I was praying. I was. I was praying that he would take his time. That I would come right now—I needed it so bad. That I could wait to come—I didn't want it to end. I wanted all scenarios and then some. I wanted him to stop time and let me feel…good.

Pretty.

Johnny bent over me, still moving into me. He grabbed one hand and pulled it up so that he could lean over my body briefly and suck my finger and wet it with his tongue. "Rub it," he said.

I knew what he meant and though I had no interest in speeding up the process, I obeyed. His tone left no room for disobedience. I flicked my clit one time until I felt the tightness in my cunt—in my belly. Then I rubbed with spit-wet fingers over the swollen nub of flesh.

"Come for me, Snowflake. Feel pretty for me." I could hear the smile in his voice and that got me off. One minute I was rubbing per his orders, the next I was gasping for breath and coming hard. My pussy milking him, my hair brushing his plain navy blue comforter.

Johnny pulled free of me and I was moving, twisting in the wind, as it were. I reached up blindly, trying to find him and hold on. Then he had me on my back, pinned under his bulk, his tongue bullying my tongue. Kissing me so that I felt like I was drowning.

"Spread your legs."

I obeyed. "I thought you were going to take me from behind," I blurted.

"I did."

"But you—"

"Did you come?" he asked. Johnny pinned my hands hard against the mattress, trapping them helpless by my hips. He moved against me in lazy, slow strokes. His cock slipped deep and when I pulled my legs up just a hair, the tip of him bumped my G-spot.

"Yes, Oh—yes, I did." I tried to think. To answer coherently. But all I could focus on was the rush and swell of more pleasure in my body. I was full of it. I felt bright and ripe and yellow like sunshine.

"Then I took you from behind, Snowflake. The taking is in what I can get out of you. And you gave me an orgasm. I took it, you had it, it's a win-win."

I bared my neck to him and he kissed it softly before scraping his teeth to the flesh with an increasing pressure that caused stars of white light to sparkle in my vision. "And now I want you to give it to me again," he said, rocking his hips.

The pressure of his movements created friction that I found almost unbearable. Almost. When those teeth grazed my jaw and Johnny finally kissed me, I came. His hand clamped my wrists so hard they hurt and he shuddered against me saying just one word.

"Christ."

I expected him to pull away from me then. I really thought that's the way it would go. Not only was I steeled for it, I truly expected it. When he turned on his side and pulled me closer, tucking me to him, I felt the ridiculous prick of unwanted tears in my eyes.

I would not cry. Not.
STAY TUNED...

Underpass...

One of my favorite stories ever is currently up on ARe and some other places. Yay! Originally appeared in J is for Jealousy edited by Miss Alison Tyler. This is my first December Ink release for 2011.

XOXOSommer

Wanderlust Part 9: "What do you need, Snowflake?"

One day 'til Friday, folks! Part nine commences below. I will try, try, try super hard tomorrow to get up the 10th installment. Girl child has a big day, the man and I have a big day. Tomorrow is just a big day. But I'll do my darndest to stop in here before the big day gets away with me.

Thanks to all who are reading. It's awesome to see you showing up every day!

XOXO
Sommer

Wanderlust
Part 9
by Sommer Marsden

His apartment was the top floor in an old building adjacent to an old church. The front window looked out onto the steeple. "Wow, is this why you rented? I mean, you're huge and you can hardly stand up in here."

"That and the bedroom view. You'll see in the morning."

He took my arm and tugged me up from the sofa where I'd been sitting. Johnny pushed my long hair back off my face, held the bulk of it at the base of my neck with his hand and kissed me.

"Wait, what's your name?" I said, pushing my palms flat to the hard expanse of his chest.

"Johnny," he said, and cocked that half-grin at me.

"Johnny what.? You know that I'm Aurelia Blake. Who are you? Johnny…"

"Rotten?"

I snorted and rolled my eyes but he amused me for sure. "Try again."

"B. Goode?"

I shook my head. "Come on. Tell me." Anxiety had wormed into my belly at the lack of knowledge. They say knowledge is power, I liked to be the one with the most toys in any given situation. I liked to know everything about everyone. Call it a character flaw if you must.

As a teenager I had gone to the ocean and wandered off to a hotel with a boy. I hadn't told my friends his name or where I was going. I'd simply decided to go. Instinct had stopped me half way down his hotel hallway and when I told him that I'd changed my mind he'd called me a cunt. My instinct had been that the night would end badly and I had listened. His reaction had proven my fears true. Sudden anger and raged had bubbled out of him and he had stormed toward me so intently that I ran. I'd often wondered what would have happened had I gone back to his room and he'd had me alone.

My instinct told me that this night would end a way I liked. Really liked. Possibly too much for comfort. I needed to know his name as silly as it was.

He studied me intently. Holding my chin in his hand, he tipped my head back and stared at me so hard I felt like he could see into my bones and all the way down to my soul. "John Rose. That's my name."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"You want a drink?"

"No. No drink."

"You hungry?"

"No." I put my hand on his cock—still hard, still long, still very there under my hand—and I squeezed him.

His arms closed me in on me. Grabbing my ass, he lifted me so that I straddled his waist. I wrapped my legs around him, caught his neck up in my arms and pulled myself close.

"What do you want then, Really?"

I had a choice, I knew it—I could feel it. I could tell him the God's honest truth, that baldly raw bit of myself nestled way down. Or I could lie to him, feed him some line of greeting card bullshit. The stuff that women's network movies were made out of. And then I could fuck him and sneak off in the middle of the night like a thief or a whore or a liar.

"I want you, Johnny Rose,' I said. I kissed him, bit his bottom lips so hard he hissed and his hands gripped my ass tighter, squeezing forcefully enough that my heart seemed to stagger drunkenly at the cross stimulation of pleasure and pain. I bit him again and he growled—the noise set all of the tiny hairs along the nape of my neck on edge.

I shivered like a feverish woman and grabbed his head in my hands. The stubble on his cheeks bit at my fingertips. Would he let me shave his head? Would he let me put shaving cream along it as I sat naked—draped over the old fashioned tub I'd spied through the open bathroom door—and shave his head smooth? Would he trust me with a razor and his skin?

"Do you know? Are you sure? I'm not an easy guy to be around. I tend to alienate people."

"I don't see it. I don't feel alienated at all, Johnny Rose. I don't need a babysitter."

"No?" He walked me back to the counter of his tiny kitchen. He slammed my ass on the ugly green Formica and pinned my hands to the sides of my thighs and kissed me hard. His hands tangled in my hair again and when the kiss deepened, he yanked.

"I don't need a nursemaid or a girlfriend or a business partner." I was babbling.

"Good," he said. He pulled my sweater over my head and unhooked my bra and tossed it. His mouth closed over my nipple and he sucked, the tug of his mouth drawing an invisible line of need from my tit to my cunt. "What do you need, Snowflake?"

His huge fingers—looking so clumsy but being so nimble—settled on my button but then stilled. I waited, watching his hands, willing them to move.

"I need…"

He smiled and his face was dark and beautiful, beat up and perfect. He was magnificent. Gorgeous and frightening all in one blink. "Yeah?"

"I need a good long fuck. From you. I need you to fuck me, Johnny," I said, the words felt weird coming out of my mouth but they burst out almost of their own accord, like spitting out little bits of dandelion fluff.

His laughter was smoky and mildly unsettling and he grabbed me up in his arms and moved toward the back room that I knew to be his bedroom . "Done," he said.

STAY TUNED...

Wanderlust part 8

Today starts the mad dash through the rest of the week. Wish me luck. I sort of feel tired and I haven't even really started yet! But I do know this...my brain keeps coming back, back, back to this story. I already have tomorrow's piece done. Go figure.

XOXO
Sommer

Wanderlust
Part 8
by Sommer Marsden


"What the hell is this?" A sharp bark of laughter burst out of me and I clamped my hand over my mouth. I felt pleasantly stupid and free to say whatever. It was a rare sensation for me.

"This is my car," he said. I could tell Johnny was trying not to laugh. He was trying really hard to keep a straight and stern face. That fact made me laugh even harder.

"Is it a car?"

"It is. A 1979 Chevy Malibu."

"It's hideous!" I opened the door and the metal squealed at me.

"Indeed." Johnny leaned on the hood, his bulk seeming to eclipse even the vehicle. "Hideous is good, though. Hideous often means you can speed and no one pays a lick of attention. They're all looking at the muscle cars, vintage wheels and the new sports cars. No one's paying attention to me," he said.

I didn't climb in, I simply studied the monstrosity under the street light. "It's…what color is it?"

"Primer gray," he said and this time the chuckle burst out of him.

I wasn't surprised to feel my body respond to that rich intimate sound the way it would an actual touch. My stomach rippled with nerves and my skin erupted in goose bumps. I shifted on my feet, feeling the moisture between my legs. No panties to act as a barrier, my jeans would get the brunt of this sudden rush of arousal.

"Ugh." I teased.

"Get in, Really. She drives like a dream."

I climbed in, the maroon bench seat cradling my ass with a softness I couldn't remember feeling in a car. "Jeesh. This is…like a sofa."

"Sure thing." He cranked the engine and the radio sprang to life—the classic rock station blurting out lyrics from my youth. He turned the music down but not off. "You sure?"

I blinked at him. "Sure about what?" Since earlier tonight I hadn't been truly sure about anything including my sanity.

He put his hand on the back of my neck, my body hummed to life so violently it almost felt like his skin was burning mine. I tried to breathe and found it almost impossible. He appeared even bigger in the close quarters of the car. Splashes of pale streetlight and green neon played across his face, highlighting the scar through over his eye.

I reached up and painted the neon spots on his face with my fingertips. It was cold in the car and my breath plumed out festively. For just an instant, Johnny shut his eyes. He looked vulnerable and that was a breathtaking sight.

"Are you sure you want to come home with me?" He clarified.

I smiled and scooted across the street, climbing onto his lap to face him, I straddled his big thighs. The heat that baked off him was welcome and almost sinful. "I'm sure."

His warm breath drifted across my lips, it smoked out of him in the barely lit car, and brushed hot invisible patterns over my skin. I waited for him to open those surreal baby blues. When he did, he smiled. I felt that tug of want in my pussy again.

"Careful, Snowflake." Big hands came down on my hips, clamping my body in a possessive way that made me shiver. His fingers splayed over my lower back and he watched me.

"Careful?"

"You're sitting on me."

"So I am."

"In a car."

"Yep, looks like it." I watched his lips—pink and plump and coveted—as he talked. I couldn't tear my gaze away.

"You should just wait."

"I don't want to wait." I pushed my finger past his lips and touched his tongue. He let me.

His mouth drew my finger in, the wet suede feel of his tongue on my skin stole my breath. He sucked once, hard, and I felt an echo of sympathetic pleasure in my cunt.

His hands moved to my ass and he squeezed, just enough to sharpen my focus with a soft kind of discomfort. I pulled my finger free and he grabbed the back of my head, drawing me in roughly and kissing me.

That was that. I pushed my body to his, feeling the hard line of his cock in his jeans. I wiggled so that the split of my body pressed to the ridge of his cock. I moved from side to side in slow, lazy motions grinding my swollen clit with enough force that my nipples pebbled and my stomach dipped like I was riding fast in his car. But the car wasn't moving. His hands were.

Johnny tugged me in, kissing my chin, my throat, biting along my collar bone—keeping me constantly off balance. His hand bunched my sweater higher, and pushing his fingers underneath he traced my skin with his chilly hand. "You can still leave," he said against my neck.

"No, I can't." It was an entirely true statement.

His hand cupped my breast and my nipple spiked so tight against his palm it hurt. He pinched me and my body flexed deep inside, wetness spilling out of me. If he just slipped inside of me right now…I was so fucking wet.

"You should." He squeezed my breast and nibbled my lower lip.

I rocked, side to side, growing desperate for the pressure of him against me. He let me go only to clamp his hands onto my hips and guide my motions. He moved me, not letting me control my own actions in any way. I gripped his shoulders, frustrated. When he whispered "Give in", I finally did.

I let him do what he wanted to do—something unheard of for the likes of me.

His tongue painted hot lines over my lips, my throat. He trapped the wildly beating pulse point with his tongue as his hands maneuvered me in slow and steady sweeps from side to side. He thrust up between my thighs ever so slightly. I barely would have noticed had I not been clinging to him like I was.

"Give it to me, Snowflake," he said and in that surreal half light he grinned at me. The big bad wolf in man form. He moved up just a hair, driving the hardness of his erection to the malleable willing split of my sex and I came. It didn't matter that we were both still fully clothed or that we were in a parked car. I came. Just like that. Like a horny teenager getting off in her boyfriend's ride.

When I came, I bit my lip to keep him from hearing how fucking good it was.

But he laughed anyway and kissed my lips. "Now get in your seat and buckle up, Really. It's time to go home."

"My home?" Fear flared in my chest at the word.

"Is that where you want to go?"

"No," I whispered. Mainly because I didn't have one. Home was not where my father lived—hadn't been since my mother died ten years before. Home was not where Jackson was. That was just home base. Like a war camp.

"Then my home it is," he said and put the car in gear.

STAY TUNED...

Wanderlust part 7

And away we go, kidlets. Here's today's piece. I have a super busy week coming up--I'm tired just thinking about it (O_O)--but I will do my darndest to post most every day if I can!

Morning, all! Happy reading...

XOXO
Sommer

Wanderlust
part 7
by Somme r Marsden

I pushed him away when the urge to climb into his lap became damn near overwhelming. "Beer," I said.

I proceeded to drink the rest down in two gulps. I waved a finger at the bartender feeling the pleasant heat of inebriation spread through me.

"Have some more pretzels before you slide of that stool," he chuckled.

I ate three at once and wondered how drunk you had to be to truly appreciate the taste of good pretzels. "This drunk," I snorted. I was talking to me, not Johnny.

"Mitch, can we get a burger?" His blue eyes scanned me and he added "And fries."

"For moi?"

"Yep. How long since you ate? Really ate?"

"Really, ate, Really," I laughed. "My name, it never gets old."

He grinned. "So, how long?"

"Yesterday?"

He grunted. "That says you're not a happy girl."

I grinned at him, openly buzzed and unafraid. He was imposing and scary and really very rough around the edges, but he was the kind of guy who instantly made me feel at ease. An impossible feat most days.

"Gee, what gave me away?"

"So why'd you marry him, Snowflake? You don't seem like the kind of girl to do stuff to please other people."

I bit my lip wondering how fast they could get me a burger. Because now that he'd brought up a burger and fries, all my brain could focus on was the burger and fries.

I sighed. This was the part I hated the most. Trying to make people understand if they had the balls to ask the questions. Johnny didn't seem short on balls. Or muscles, I thought, remembering the feel of his thighs under my hands.

"I didn't have the life my father imagined for me."

"And what was that?"

"I have no fucking clue. But I was wandering, as he put it. Cause I was so old at the age of twenty-six, right? Anyway, he had this idea. He didn't have a son, I didn't have any interest. He liked Jackson. Hell, at the time, I liked Jackson. Daddy's plan was I marry Jackson for business purposes. That way, if and when he dies the company would be in good hands, I would be taken care of, and I wouldn't have to dirty myself with other people's greed or money—also, as he put it. Quoting me, of course." I snorted.

Mitch the bartender—God bless him—slid a plate with a burger and fries onto the bar in front of me. I tucked into the food with enthusiasm I hadn't felt in a hundred years—or so it felt.

"And then you what? Changed your mind?"

"I started to resent daddy. I started to resent Jackson. Fuck me hard, I started to resent me," I said. "And now everyone is miserable but wealthy."

"And you amuse yourself with other guys?"

"I do. And I'm proud of it," I said.

"No you're not. Or you wouldn't be so pissed."

I tried to swallow but a bite of burger or a fry or fuck—my pride—was lodged in my throat. I coughed and took a swig of my fresh beer.

"I'm fine with it."

"Whatever you say, Snowflake."

"Don't call me that."

"You liked it a minute ago."

I ate some fries but now they had no taste. I shook my head but had no pithy comeback.

"You ever want to just go?"

"Go where? Where would I go?"

"Where couldn't you go?"

It had never occurred to me to go. I had had fantasies of driving off in fancy cars or lounging around islands in the sun with sand between my toes, but the thought of actually just going had never seemed real to me. No more real than Santa Claus or time travel or white pants that stayed white.

"I…"

"Just get in a car and toss a bag in the back and go. Wherever. Doesn't matter. There are hotels everywhere, Snowflake. Diners and clothing stores, alligator farms and the world's biggest ball of yarn. There's a whole big world out there and it doesn't' give a shit if you have money or not. Or if daddy chose your man or if you smile every night when you go to bed."

I blinked at him.

He pointed to my food and said to Mitch "Box? We're taking it to go."

Mitch nodded, reaching under the bar for a Styrofoam food container. He put it down and Johnny slapped money on the bar.

"I can—"

"Relax, even poor old me has enough to treat you to a burger, Really."

"You said my name," I laughed.

"I did. Now let's go."

"Where are we going?"

"My place. You can leave your car here. Mitch won't have it towed. Will ya, Mitch?"

"No way, Johnny."

Johnny took my hand and tugged me. It spurred me into action and when I stood, I blurted "What are you going to do to me?"

I don't know why I said it that way. Maybe it was the mix of fear and anticipation swirling in my gut. Maybe it was that every damn thing felt like it was going to change—that it was changing already.

Johnny brushed a stray piece of hair off my forehead and leaned in so that our lips were nearly touching but not quite. I could feel the energy off of him brushing over my skin—invisible but tangible.

"What do you think I'm going to do to you, Snowflake?"
STAY TUNED...

Wanderlust part 6

Photo credit is moi. That is our crazy ass moon Saturday night. Pretty, yes?

Good morning all. Um...happy...Monday? Well, Monday either way. Good morning.

XOXO
Sommer


Wanderlust

part 6
by Sommer Marsden

I wasn't going to go—no way. I fingered the matchbook—black paper with a neon green name and phone number "Mooney's". Sounded like a corner city bar. A place packed with patrons who started drinking with their dipping eggs and smoked inside despite the new laws and settled issues and arguments with their fists. I'd done my share of "slumming" in college and could shut my eyes and imagine the inside of the bar. Probably brickwork on the walls, low ceilings—pressed tin, most likely—and bar stools patched with duct tape.

"I'm not going," I told the matchbook and stuck it in my pajama pants pocket.

Jackson was reading in bed and I was restless. We rarely roosted for the night together—ours was not that kind of cardboard cutout marriage.

I put a movie on cable, poured myself a drink, but drank seltzer water instead. I flipped through a really good book I'd been reading that was now really boring. I tried to watch the horror movie and on the fifth loud shriek from the actress, turned to a cooking channel.

"I'm not going," I told my seltzer water.

Jackson was snoring sitting up when I snuck in the bedroom. I slipped through the narrow opening in my closet door. I'd left it ajar and for that I was grateful. In the semi-dark I found a pair of faded jeans, a black sweater, a black pair of flats. Dressing as quietly as I could, I told myself I was going to tell Johnny to back off. That I wasn't interested. That I was married and sane and had no interest in anything more than a brief fuck. And since he had already made it clear that he was not one of my 'napkin boys'—someone I could use and then beat feet. There were plenty of pretty boys more than willing to simply have some sex in a coatroom and call it a day.

"Because you are so very special you can fuck with no feeling."

It hit me that I'd said that aloud and my heart quickened. My stomach felt sick. My vision sparkled with tiny dots of light even in the darkness.

I pushed out of the closet and tiptoed past my sleeping husband. He turned at the last minute, settling on his side and when I started to push the door shut behind me he whispered "Say hi to the new guy for me, Really."

I pretended not to hear.

The drive to Mooney's was windy and cold, the fat moon peeking out from behind thick but shifting clouds. I wished I'd worn boots, a coat—fuck—underpants. If wishes were gumdrops we'd all be fat. That's what my father always says, bastardizing the old saying for his amusement.

I didn't wish often. Maybe that's why I forgot to eat lunch and often punished myself by not eating food I wanted and remained perpetually thin. I refused to wish.

But I wished—hoped—that Johnny would still be at Mooney's when I showed up.

And then I felt like a shit for wanting it.

*****

The inside of Mooney's made a liar out of me. It was painted brickwork, thank you very much—painted a cream color to lighten the space. The ceiling was pressed copper instead of tin and the window in the front was full of plants. Plastic ones, but still…And I only spotted one barstool patched with duct tape.

Beer signs over the bar threw neon splashes on the patron's bellied up to the long shellacked length of wood. On closer inspection, beer coasters had been sealed under a protective layer. Johnny sat at the far end, his shorn head dripping in neon blue, his face bent over a paper. It was folded into a neat rectangle. I expected him to be doing a puzzle or something, but he was simply reading an article about neighborhood cleanup. Go figure.

He raised his head as I approached, almost as if he sensed me even in the small cluster of regulars and slumming college kids from the local campus.

"Snowflake, you made it."

My belly dipped at the rich, gruff texture of his words. It was like being touched with language. It made no sense but it made all the sense in the world.

I nodded but said nothing, pulled out the stool next to him and dropped on to it. My legs weren't feeling too steady at the moment.

"Didn't think you would," he said, raising a finger to the bartender. He pointed at himself and then at me. The bartender gave a nod, his hands dipping into the cooler.

Two Belgian ales were placed in front of us—lacy white heads and a slice of fresh orange clinging to the glass. I'd be a liar if I didn't admit I was surprised.

"Sláinte," he said.

"You Irish?"

"I'm whatever I want to be."

He grinned and I was grateful to be sitting. He didn't smile much, it seemed, so when he did, it had a magical quality to it. Something you felt the urge to pay attention to because you had no idea when you'd see it again.

"So you didn't think I'd come," I said. I sipped my beer, liking the sweet bite of the orange on my tongue.

"Nope. Well, maybe a bit. But I was pretty sure about an hour ago that you'd decided you didn't want to be around the likes of me anymore." He shrugged, his big shoulders looking much more at home in an open flannel shirt with a dark blue tee under it.

"Why's that?"

Those surreal blue eyes, that I'd almost—almost—forgotten about, settled on me. "Figured I didn't give you what you wanted."

"I don't know what I want," I said. It felt good to just say it out loud. To just tell the truth for once.

"Nothing wrong with that."

"In my world there is everything wrong with that," I laughed. I downed half my beer in three swigs.

He looked impressed and I couldn't help but grin.

"I like not knowing what I want at any given time," Johnny said. He pushed a bowl of pretzels to me and I tried to remember the last time I'd eaten. I couldn't remember so I went ahead and popped a few in my mouth. They were good and salty and I washed them down by swishing beer around in my mouth like a kid trying to liquefy Jell-O.

"Must be nice.
He nodded. "But right now I know what I want."

"What's that?"

"To do this." His big fingers snagged the front of my sweater and I watched—mildly stunned—as he twisted the fabric around in his hand and yanked me.

I sort of fell-leaned-careened forward and when he kissed me, I opened my mouth, letting his tongue slide over and around mine. He yanked me in just a little more so I had to splay my hands on his thighs to keep my balance. He kissed me until I felt like I was floating and then he kissed me a little more.

STAY TUNED...

Ready? Reviews

For the non-review inclined, feel free to skip this post.
As you know, I always balk about holding my breath for the first review. Well, the first review for LTD came in last week at Manic Readers. Yay! 4.5 and some super nice words. And the second review for LTD came in yesterday at Seriously Reviewed. Yay! again! 4 stars. So we'll split the little difference and say 4.25 average. I am a happy girl. And I can also now go ahead and exhale. :)

Not to be left out I'm On Fire got a lovely 4-cherry review over at WCERR . So again, I say unto thee, yay! (not to be repetitive)

That's your review update for the month or so-ish.
Back tomorrow with part 6 of Wanderlust. Ole!

XOXO
Sommer

Wanderlust Part 5

Probably won't be back until Monday, folks. Have a lot of edits and fam stuff this weekend. We are out to dinner later. Wahooo! Gonna try a burger on an HONEST TO GOD bun! I could be in heaven--figuratively or literally. Only time and the bun will tell. Now, why are you here? Part 5 awaits...

Wanderlust
Part 5
by Sommer Marsden

"There was really no need to behave that way," Jackson said. He cleaned his glasses as he watched me undress. I didn't like when he watched me. I didn't like that I could feel his gaze on my skin.

"What way? Like someone who'd rather chew off an arm than stay there any longer?"

We'd managed to extricate ourselves from daddy's shindig by pleading a migraine for me. At first my father had bucked the excuse, but once I threw in the word nausea it was a done deal. Nothing would mortify my father more than his daughter vomiting in the middle of new clients and investors. He let me go with a wave of his hand.

I had been hoping Jackson would stay but no such luck.

"Yes. You need to show a certain sense of decorum." He untied his blue tie and draped it over an armchair. Jackson undressed in the same way he did everything—slow, measured and deliberate.

"Not screaming at the top of my lungs and punching anyone was me showing a sense of decorum. I really don't like those things, you know. Everyone spouting off about deals, investments, mergers and all that jazz. It's about as appealing as seeing a bunch of men slap their dicks down and measure them. It's the same thing. Just with money."

He shook his head and pulled on a pair of pajama pants and an old college tee. The closest thing that Jackson got to casual wear. "Scotch?"

"Ick. Every night it's a no. Are you expecting one day I'll wake up and magically love that stuff. Or maybe you're hoping for amnesia."

He shook his head. "Merlot?"

"Yeah."

He paused on his way out of the room. I was standing there in just my panties. Panties that probably still smell sweet and musky from my Johnny-coaxed orgasm. "What happened to us, Really?"

"What do you mean?"

There was a certain amount of emotion swelling up in me and I didn't like it. My throat grew tight like I might cry. Once upon a time Jackson and I had been friends. We had laughed and gotten along and attended a few classes together. I knew that he sang karaoke when drunk enough, loved marshmallow candies and bought them by the case at Easter so they'd last the year and that his favorite song ever was Bernadette by The Four Tops. I also knew that the moment we'd gotten married, he'd become my father's soldier in my eyes and I had turned on him.

Maybe that was wrong, but it was true.

"We used to be close. We used to be friends. I may not be the love of your life, Really, but you used to at least like me."

I shrugged. I truly didn't want to answer him, because when Jackson was this way—buttoned down and softly spoken, I remembered why I'd agreed to do to in the first place. He was the only one I could imagine it working with—which was why daddy had picked him. But it hadn't worked.

He watched my face. "So?"

"So what?" I dropped the panties and stood there naked.

"So what did I do?"

"You said I do," I said and turned my back on him.

* * *

The frosted glass door growled in its track as Jackson pushed it back. "Your wine."

I sighed. "It can wait."

"Take a sip. It's the 1997 Cab."

"I thought you were giving me Merlot."

"We were out."

I didn't want to break it to Jackson but to me wine was wine. Box, bottle, a homemade copper still from your back garden—I didn't much care. I was raised to care about all that shit. Maybe that's why I refused to.

I took a sip and handed it back. "Thanks. Now go."

He shut the door but I could see his frosted distorted form on the other side of the glass. I knew what was coming but I started to wash my hair anyway. The door slid back again and there he was, naked and erect.

"Jackson—"

"Come on now, I don't ask often. Is it that hard to do your wifely duties?"

Guilt flooded me and I washed the lather from my hair. Hot water kissed my skin, beat over my scalp, heated my body. "It's just—"

"I know you don't love me."

"Jackson—" He knew under my bitch-shell I carried around enough guilt for ten people. He knew that if he hit the right buttons I would cave because it wasn't his fault. It hadn't been a shotgun wedding. It had been a business relationship.

"I know you don't even lust after me."

I sighed, stepping back further to let him in all the way. He slid the door shut and trapped us away from the rest of the world. The water and heat and muted light let me forget all of it. The party, Johnny, my excitement mixed with fear. All of it.

"Jackson."

He traced my nipple with the tip of his finger and the dusky pink flesh knotted up and grew pebbled under his touch. A simple chemical reaction. A physiological chain of events. Nothing more.

He dipped his head and sucked it into his mouth—the heat there rivaling the heat of the shower. "I know, however, that I am decent at sex and that you come when I fuck you."

Hearing Jackson—white wine with fish, keep track of your mileage, no white after Labor Day Jackson—say the word fuck was enough to turn me on. "I never said you weren't good."

"So is it so hard to do your wifely duties, then? Just once in a while?" He pushed a finger into me and I was still wet and plump from earlier. More confused and aroused by this whole fucked up scenario, too. And he had me right there on the head of his little pin of guilt, spinning like a top with the whole wifely duty shit.

I sighed out as he kissed me and he swallowed my sound. His fingers flexed deep and he triggered all those little nerves in my cunt that made me grab his shoulders to steady myself.

"Turn around," he said, voice low and gruff and so un-Jackson-like.

I had never hated him until he married me. I'd even had a few fun nights with Jackson before daddy had claimed him as one of his own. I turned, spread my legs when he nudged me. I even arched my back to take the fingers he pressed into my pussy, flexing them just right so I felt my body ratchet up another notch—ready, willing and able to do this.

He pushed the head of his cock to my entrance, tapped me gently so that I had to anticipate when he'd enter. If he'd enter. And when I splayed my hands on the wet tile he thrust deep, the water impeding him for just a moment, but then my body opened, took him and I was wet enough for the both of us.

He gripped my hips, bent to lick my shoulder blade and fucked me in slow even strokes. Very measured, very Jackson.

"It's okay that you'd don't love me and that's okay. But I love you, Really. So just once in a while, act like you like me. Okay?"

I nodded, his fingers stroking wet circles over my clit as he held me tight and almost painfully hard with that other hand.

"Aurelia…Really," he said over the white noise hiss of the shower.

He groaned and pressed my clit and I came with him. My forehead had joined my spread hands on the tile wall. I forced myself back on the last few thrusts, welcoming him into my body and taking him deep.

It was the least I could do.

STAY TUNED...

Wanderlust Part 4

Tomorrow is a big and busy day. I will try really hard to post part 5 before we're out and about. If not look for it Sunday or Monday. Have a super weekend. Behave. Well, don't do that. Just be safe instead. ;)

XOXO
Sommer


Wanderlust
Part 4
by Sommer Marsden

"That's a good girl," Johnny said and I felt ridiculously pleased. We'd known each other twenty minutes tops and he was guiding me in masturbation and calling me Snowflake.

But the bizarre nature of the whole thing only added to the sizzle of excitement that snaked down my backbone. I shoved my fingers a bit deeper while he locked one big arm across my chest. He didn't touch my breasts, he didn't palm them or even seek out a nipple with his fingertips. He anchored me like I might float away if he didn't. I felt like I might.

The other hand held my skirt up primly—proper lady style.

My mind gnawed at the door. What if it opened? What if someone walked in? A waiter, a manager. Dear God, my father? Or Jackson. Life was bad enough being Really Sealy (I'd kept my maiden name but some people still insisted on calling me that). Did I really need to have Jackson find me whacking off locked in the embrace of an oversized food service worker?

The whole thing served to short circuit my brain—mind and body at war but symbiotically seeking release. So when he said "Nice" in my ear, I came.

The force of it—the suddenness—reminded me of bottle rockets on summer nights. Loud, fast and explosive.

My breath ran away from me and I panted like a dog. Johnny, my new friend, chuckled and let me go. He dropped my skirt and nudged me so I turned around. One of my thigh highs had rolled down on my thigh. My face burned with heat, I had spots in my vision.

"Catch your breath, Snowflake," he said conversationally. He hiked up my skirt a few inches and smoothed my stocking back into place, running his hands on it to flatten it out so the rubber guard at the top could adhere to the skin of my shaking thigh. Then he smoothed out my skirt like my mother used to smooth out her tablecloth.

"I'm fine," I lied.

He gripped my fingers, the one that had just been inside my body. The fingers that were wet with the evidence of arousal. He pressed them under his nose, inhaled me while keeping his eyes pinned on mine. Those eyes of his made me feel like a bug pinned to a board.

"You sure you're fine?" He opened his mouth and pressed my fingers into the humid wetness. His tongue was velvet under my fingers as he sucked my fingers once and pulled them free.

"I'm fine," I lied again. I felt like I might fall down but he didn't have to know that.

"So that guy out there, talking to the tall, skinny boss man. The one with the red tie…"

He meant my father.

"What about him?"

"You belong to him, right? The smaller, stuffy guy with the glasses and the short blond hair. The one who laughs like a hyena."

I cringed. That was my Jackson alright.

"I'm married to him. But I don't belong to anyone," I snapped.

"Gotcha." He leaned back on the stone wall and waited.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just looking at you. You are a pretty one even though most of the time you look like you want to punch someone."

"Look who's talking," I snorted.

He shrugged. "So you're married but not his?"

"No. I'm more of in a business relationship with Jackson than anything."

He nodded again like that explained it all and pulled out a matchbook. "I'll be here after this shindig ends. I like to go blow off some steam after working these things. I don't like crowds or being a servant or monkey suits." He tugged at his tux like it was irritating him.

"And you think I'm going to meet you?" I made my voice caustic but inside my stomach was twisting itself in nervous knots. Remembering his promise that if I did this part right we could go for real.

What would for real be like with this guy? And why did I care? I could go out into that party and find anyone I wanted, get laid on the sly and call it a day.

But I wanted Johnny. I just didn't want Johnny to know that.

"You can meet me. You can not meet me. I'll be there, is all I'm saying. If you want to come. Again." He leaned in so we were face to face, so close I could count the tiny bits of stubble peeking through his skin. His lower lip was plump, biteable. I swallowed hard and clenched my fists as someone out in the party laughed way too loud. Probably too much to drink.

"It's totally up to you, Snowflake."

I tucked the matchbook in my bra.

"It was nice…meeting you," I said on my way out the door.

I heard him laugh and I just kept going. I was not going to meet him. I was going to chalk this up to a bizarre sexual experience and move on.

Out in the throng my father held court. Jackson turned from the bar, frowned at me, waved.

I went to him and accepted a glass of red from the server behind the counter.

"Where have you been?"

"Ladies room," I said, sipping my wine, swishing it around to cover any smells he might pick up on. Did men smell other men's kisses on their women?

"Yeah. I bet. So who was it?"

"Who was what?" I asked, playing dumb.

Jackson was stuffy, short tempered, a kiss ass and annoying, but he was no fool. "Who'd you fuck?"

I looked him in the eye and for the first time in about a month I told him the truth. "Myself," I said. "Just a small break from the party to masturbate."

I thought he'd spit out his beer, but after a moment of obvious panic, he swallowed.

I smiled.