Sommer Marsden's Blog, page 18

A Many Splintered Thing / Day 31: “My name is Martha Stewart.”

We've cracked 40K! That being said, for those of you following me on Twitter and FB you might know the man has outpatient surgery tomorrow to put a stint in a blockage. I will probably not be here tomorrow. But I say probably because I would not put it past me to be tapping away in the waiting room while he's under. So...ya know. Just a warning :)

Also, for all of you following along, your kind words, thoughts, prayers, virtual hugs and general niceness are a huge huge help to me. Truly. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

XOXO
Sommer

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“I’m putting on my pajamas,” she said.
Caleb watched Dahlia drop her bag and kick off her sandals. That small hint of unease was still between them and he wished he’d never let his mind get the better of him. What he wanted to do was grab her and haul her to his room like a caveman, but the worried part of him said things were moving too fast. That he was taking liberties. That he was assuming a fuck was more than a fuck.
Never assume.
“I’m going to go grate zucchini.”
“There’s an apron in the tall cabinet by the fridge.” She patted his ass playfully but her eyes were sober.
“Want a drink?” he called as she walked down the hall.
“Nah. I think I’m going to be an old woman tonight and have tea.”
Tea. Tea sounded good.
Dear God you’re as domesticated as an old Tom Cat who’s been taken in.
He snorted, put on the water and began to pull out all the stuff he’d need to make the bread. It wasn’t much. Flour, sugar, the zucchini itself, baking powder a pinch of salt, an egg…
It was easier to do something as mundane as bake bread in lieu of thinking too much about what he wanted versus what he told himself was okay.
When the water was hot, he poured out two mugs and kept an eye on them as he sprayed the pan.
“Hello,” he said softly, moving through the airy kitchen he now shared with a gorgeous woman on the property of his crazy ex. “My name is Martha Stewart.”
He heard a noise and was prepared to be teased mercilessly by Dahlia. Instead, Alice was in the doorway, head cocked. She seemed to be grinning at him. “Hi, Al. Need to go out?”
She wagged her tail.
He set the oven, poured the bread batter in the greased pan, plucked the tea bags out of the hot water and then opened the door for the dog to go out.
“Jesus. It’s true. I amMartha Stewart.”
The TV in the main room was murmuring and he put sugar and milk in Dahlia’s tea. It was a long shot but if she hated it that way he’d come back and give her his. Caleb carried her mug in and said,
 “What trash TV do we have on toni—“
She was curled on the larger sofa. The one where he’d pinned her down earlier and had his perfect way with her. She was in hot pink pajamas with red paisley patterns all over it. Her dark hair was twisted up in a messy topknot and her makeup was gone. Dahlia’s feet were tucked close to her body, her hands beneath her head on a big yellow pillow and she was out like a light.
She looked like a kid in the lamp’s rosy glow. She looked so young it hurt his heart. And the scars on her neck—that someone thought she deserved—showed almost malignantly in the low light. The skin shiny and thick.
Caleb pulled a cream colored throw from the back of a chair and draped it over her. On the large TV three women, all dark haired with Jersey accents, argued vigorously. He smiled. “You did pick some trash TV, doll.”
He found himself wanting to lean over her and kiss her forehead. Instead he left the room. He was getting carried away. He was taking it all too much to heart. He was getting way too tangled up in what was nothing more than sex.
Right?
“Right,” he said.
Caleb pushed the bread into the oven, set the timer and went out the back door to sit in one of the big lawn chairs that reminded him of big bird cages. Wicker things suspended on a base, they hung there, feathered with brightly colored cushions. He dropped into one, heard it groan and waited for it to snap and drop his ass on the ground inside his little wicker cocoon. It held.
When it began to sway and twirl despite him trying to put his feet on the ground, he levered himself out. “What the fuck kind of chair is that?”
Alice came and sat at his feet, assuming his words were for her.
He bent to scratch her. “Don’t sit in those chairs,” he told her. “They’re possessed.”
She thumped her tail.
Caleb found her bone and tossed it. It was fully dark now so the flying, green orb was like a ghost light in the gloom. She gave chase and he watched her. When he heard something, he assumed it was Alice at first. Rummaging through some of the shrubs for her toy.
Alice came crashing back and gave him the ball by dropping the slobbery, grass covered mess on his shoe. He picked it up with two fingers, grimacing. But then Caleb heard the voices again. He tossed the ball toward the front of the house and moved toward the sound.
The closer he got, the more he thought he recognized the voice. Far, far back on the property was a gazebo he’d been told was going to be overhauled or possibly torn down. The wine tasting pavilion had taken the place of such things as tiny run-of-the-mill gazebos.
He pushed through some small trees and found he could see the gazebo perfectly. Inside was a man. A tall, burly, dark haired man by the light of the meager moon. And that man was pressing a woman back against the bannister. Her long hair swayed and her pale hands reached up to cup his face as she kissed him back.
The way they were entwined, Caleb thought it best to step back and walk away before he witnessed more than he wanted to. But then Alice came rushing toward him, eager to deliver the ball she’d retrieved. She dropped it at his feet, saw new people and hurried joyfully toward them. For an abused dog she sure was trusting and happy to meet new people.
The dog bounded up and inserted herself between the lovers. He stepped forward, ready to apologize, get the dog and move along. But the woman turned with a gasp as he approached.
“Caleb—“she said.
Now the moonlight was on her and he felt his mouth press into a hard, tight line. He nodded, clicked for the dog and she obeyed by coming to him. “Jasmine,” he said. And then turned and walked back to the house.
photo credit: Luz Adriana Villa A. via photopin cc

Guest Post: Christine Allen-Riley's Brilliant Cover Reveal

I can't wait to get my hot little hands on this book. Girl child already read it, lucky duck.
XOXO
Sommer
~~~~~~


Eventide (Iron Falls, #1)by Christine Allen-Riley Release Date: 10/2014
Summary from Goodreads:The driver in a tragic car accident that killed her best friend, Devon Greer is consumed by guilt. When powerful hallucinations convince her that she’s seeing Rachael everywhere, Devon thinks she’s going crazy. But her friend isn’t truly gone.
To save Rachael from the faeries who stole her, Devon must pit herself against the Court of the Sidhe. Once she witnesses the true form of the fey, Devon’s life is in danger—and so are the lives of everyone she loves.
Now, Devon must not only protect herself, but also Jonah Seafort, Rachael’s cousin and the only person Devon can trust to help her. While the Sidhe walk among them, no one is safe…

About the Author
Lover of books, nature, cats and shiny things. Active disliker of cooking, cleaning and stress. Mom, freelance editor & YA author - also a bit of a nerd.
Author Links:      



Cover Reveal Organized by:

Pause

We're going to pause for a moment of silence on Unapologetic Fiction for a day or two. I'll be back with AMST as soon as time and mood allow. Mostly, I think that the death of Robin Williams deserves a brief break in normality.

I've never been a 'celebrity' person. By that, I mean, I've never understood our fascination with them. Probably because my celebrities have always been writers. I'll read countless articles on Stephen King but couldn't give two shits about some celebrities affairs or the clothes their babies are wearing. To me, they are simply people who act for a living. Some are more interesting than others, but at the end of the day--just normal people who do a job.

But once in a while some of them are more than average people who act for a living. Robin Williams was one of my personal exceptions. I have cried once (now twice) at the death of a celebrity. When John Ritter died I surprised everyone and myself by bursting into tears. I mourned him. I mourned Jack Tripper. I mourned countless hours spent enjoying goofy seventies hijinks. I mourned what I beleived to be a good person. Because he gave off that vibe when you saw him in interviews. I mourned a chunk of my childhood I could never get back.

Ditto Robin Williams. I grew up with him as Mork. I looked forward to seeing him and his susupenders and whatever misunderstanding he'd happen to have that week. When I walked into Dead Poets Society many, many years later and saw he was a main character in the film, I was shocked. Robin Williams in a serious role? No way, he'd never pull it off.

I walked out of that theatre with my mouth hanging open in awe of the performance he delivered and the staggering humanity of that film. I adored it. And it became one of my VHS player's constant rotation movies. Despite it being on all the time (in an age before I had 400 cable channels) I never failed to pause--and yes, cry and break out in goose bumps--when one by one his students stood on their desks and said "Oh Captain! My Captain!"

Oh Captain! My Captain indeed. Sleep well, Robin. You brought countless joy to people who sometimes needed a friend via TV. To a little girl who had lost her father and needed to laugh more than cry. I wish you peace and I would like to say, personally, that despite you falling into the category of 'celebrity' I loved you. For what you gave me and for who you were. And I will miss you being in this world.

XOXO
Sommer

Please share the information below in memory of Robin Williams and for the countless silently suffering from depression and other mental illnesses.

Thank you.

A Many Splintered Thing / Day 30: After he showed up in my kitchen to make tea.

Creeping up on 40K soon...
S
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She managed to get them through their dinner and lighten the mood. Mostly by telling him gossip about the people who worked for the Days. And a bit about the Days themselves.
“So hot pink pajamas?”
Dahlia raised her hand. “Hand to God. Or whatever major deity, minor deity or universal force you might believe in,” she said. Then she snorted. Her hand flew up and she covered her mouth.
Caleb had never thought that sound to be adorable. Until now. And that sealed the deal for him that he was truly in trouble. It worried him some, in the core of himself, to be feeling such things so fast. On the other hand, he thought, watching her try and recover from what she considered embarrassing, he’d never felt this way before so there had to be something genuine to it.
“I’d heard about those sleeping pills making you a little wacky…” He shook his head, laughing.
“Poor Harrison,” she went on. “Wandering around the grounds in her pajamas examining all the plant life.”
“Is this where his bougainvillea obsession came from?” Caleb bundled all his trash and finished his drink. He stretched out his legs and clasped his hands across his stomach. Content to listen to her finish the story.
Content.
The word was like a brick to the side of the head. When was the last time he’d been content? All the way down into the quiet part of himself? The closest he’d come was living on the water with Bob and Belinda.
“We think so,” she laughed. “There he was, all over the property while Jas chased him. Most of the staff was gone for the night. I was there because, obviously…I live there. And it was a full moon. I helped her get him back in the house. After he showed up in my kitchen to make tea.”
Caleb chuckled, shook his head. “She’s lucky that’s all he did. I’ve heard of people driving cars, cooking meals and burning their houses down, having sex…Lots of different stuff.”
“Poor Harrison. I think that’s the last time he tried that medicine. He showed up the next day to apologize to me. For breaking, entering and making hot beverages.”
Caleb gathered their trash. “Should we shop now? Or did you want to just sit for a bit?”
“Let’s go and get the shopping done. I’m tired. I’m ready for some pajamas—not hot pink—“ She winked at him. “A good book or trashy TV. It’s been a long day. Jasmine’s getting all worked up because of the party this weekend. That kinetic energy sweeps through the staff and infects everything whether she’s around or not.”
“Party?”
“Ah, she never said?
“Said what?”
“Anniversary party this weekend. That’s what the painters are for up at the pavilion.”
“Their anniversary?”
“Yep. She didn’t want to celebrate. But Harrison did. And her daddy did.”
“And there’s the real reason,” he said.
“Anyway, I have to get my beauty sleep so I can face tomorrow. A tomorrow with a worried and frantic Jasmine.”
“Let’s get cracking, then. I too could go for some trash TV. I have a crick in my neck from being up on that damn ladder.”
Together they pillaged the grocery. She made sure to get Hain’s baking powder and then they chose things for the guest house. Frozen organic chicken strips, fudge pops, frozen egg rolls, dumplings and pizzas. Water, bottles of her beloved raspberry lemonade iced tea, tea bags and apples. Some grapes and Italian bread and zucchini at Caleb’s insistence.
“I can make zucchini bread,” he said. “Now that I see it, I’m craving bread. It’s the one recipe I know by heart. My boss’s wife made it for me. I went nuts, so she made it for me again. Repeat ten times. Finally, she showed up with ingredients and a big bowl and taught me how to make it. Said she was tired of making it only for it to be gone in an hour.” He laughed softly. “We do have flour at the
house, right?
She watched him, mouth open. “Um…yep. I think so. But if we are missing anything, Caroline will slip us a little something something from the kitchen.”
They finally got in line. Given the later hour it wasn’t nearly as crowded as Caleb imagined it would be during the day. They went out to the Wagoneer and loaded the bags. On the drive home it occurred to him that it all felt very normal. Eating out, grocery shopping, driving together.
He liked it but instinctively feared fucking it up. How long before he did? How long before he mangled this good thing? This good person?
He didn’t realize his mouth was set in such a tight, hard line until she tapped his knee and said, “What’s wrong? Why so gloomy?”
“Nothing. Just tired, I guess.”
“Does it bother you?”
“Being tired?”
“The whole Jas thing,” she said, looking out the window at the fleeing scenery.
“Yes and no,” he said. Surprising the shit out of himself by telling the truth. Caleb was very well aware he was normally an “I’m fine” and move along person.
“Yes, because…?” She looked very serious gazing out the window.
“Because I came here expecting one thing. And something entirely different happened. I guess it’s good though. When I really think about it, I can’t see me and Jas long term. I’d kill her. Or she’s smother me in my sleep.” He tried smiling at her but she was still looking away.
“And no because?”
“No because it shook my life up some. And things are…” He put his hand on her leg briefly. “Interesting, to say the least. It’s a new start, I guess. Maybe I was due this and the universe decided to shake up my cozy little snow globe of a life because I wasn’t going to change on my own.”
“Right,” she said. “I know that feeling.”
“Do we need to drop this at the main house?” he asked, pointing to the small bag she’d had the check-out girl package separately.
“Nah. We can take it up in the morning. Caroline is long gone. Her man is cooking her dinner. Lucky her,” Dahlia said, smiling.
“Hey! I can make zucchini bread. I’ll make it when we get home. I have to show off my baking prowess.”
“You said you were tired,” she said.
“I am. But I’m hungry too.”
“We just ate!” Her somber mood seemed to be lifting. He was glad of it. Only one of them should feel somber at a time and he felt he’d been there already. Maybe he’d influenced her.
“But I’m hungry,” he said. “I’m always hungry. I’m a growing boy.”
“Good God,” she said, eyeing him up and down comically. “I hope not.”
He laughed but caught an undertone of discomfort in her joking tone. He wondered about it. And realized, he was also a tiny bit worried.
photo credit: *~Dawn~* via photopin cc

A Many Splintered Thing / Day 29: He cleared his throat to fight that constricted feeling and said, “Meatloaf.”

Any inconsistencies? Shout 'em out. As we progress, I trust my memory less and less. Days here are challenging. That's a good word. So if I ever don't show up, apologies. I take it day by day. So, needless to say, some days I don't trust my memory to supply the little details. Heh. Which is why I say if you see any issues...shout 'em out. 
XOXOSommer~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“So you know my story,” she said, fingering her scars. The tail ends rose above a dark aquamarine blouse she wore over dark jeans. She’d chosen to wear silver sandals instead of boots to go to town and Caleb found himself utterly fascinated and somewhat fixated on her painted toenails. “Do I ever get to hear yours?”
They sat at a small rough wooden table, handmade, according to a tag stuck to it, by Dave’s Woodworking. You could buy your own for only four hundred dollars. Caleb ran his fingers across the artfully distressed wood and thought if he had four hundred to drop on a table it would be this one.
“Not much to tell.” He bit into a wrap purchased at the deli counter. Rib eye, aged cheddar, fresh local produce and a horseradish mayo. “I was a punching bag until I was big enough to punch back.”
She played with her shrimp salad. Spearing a shrimp, putting it back. Instead she focused on the raspberry lemonade iced tea she’d declared “the best” upon their ordering dinner. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s nothing compared to—“
She held up a hand and gave him the evil eye. “It’s not a contest. Please don’t insult us both by painting it that way.”
“I know, I just feel weird bitching about my dad being a heavy handed drunk when you had—“
“A completely different childhood that has zero to do with what you went through. Where was your mom in all this?”
“Ah, yes, Maria, the original punching bag. She never confirmed it but I have to say, I’m pretty sure he was beating on her probably almost immediately after the wedding bells rang. Oh, he was happy go lucky guy, until you put some booze in him. And since he liked booze that became pretty much every day.”
“What’s the most vivid memory you have?” she asked.
In the past he’d have ended this conversation and either left or moved on to a new topic. He’d never confided any of this in a woman. Unless you counted Belinda. She and Bob had managed to get a lot out of him as the years went past. Mostly because they treated him like a son. Or, as he found out, how a son should be treated.
He normally didn’t go for I’ll show you mine if you show me yours, but he recalled her that morning, on her knees, bare to him body and soul, telling him her story. He cleared his throat to fight that constricted feeling and said, “Meatloaf.”
“Meatloaf?”
“Yeah. My mother, when I was about seven or so, made meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and peas for dinner. He was on the day shift at the time so he was usually home for dinner and he loved meatloaf. I remember, very vividly, my mother telling me she wasn’t using her normal recipe. She was going to use his mother’s recipe. She’d found the recipe card in some stuff she’d been going through. She thought it would be a nice surprise.”
He looked at the wrap that had seemed appealing enough to inhale just a half hour before and it turned his stomach. He pushed the plate away but snagged a fry.
“First problem was, he was an hour late for dinner. And she kept everything warm. So right there you’re drying out your meat.” He heard himself laugh. It was a bitter, hard sound that made him sad way down to his bones.
Dahlia speared the shrimp again, nibbled it, but put it down. Her eyes were full of many things—interest, sadness, affection, sympathy. It hurt him to look at her eyes. So he looked at his work-stained fingers. When he worked outside without gloves they always looked dirty even when he knew they were very clean.
“The potatoes were dry, the meatloaf was dry, even the canned peas looked sad.” He rubbed a hand over his face and realized how tired his eyes were. From the trip, from the sun, from this story. He felt a thousand years old all the sudden.
“So he stumbles in, obviously lit up like a Christmas tree. He liked gin, believe it or not. I heard that gin is an anesthetic.” He shrugged. “I have no idea if it’s true or not. None. I just heard it and remember him falling down sometimes and laughing. And I think, well, fuck, that makes sense because it was like he didn’t feel it. I remember wondering how he could hit her that much, and then, eventually, how he could hit me that much, without hurting his hands. But if gin is an anesthetic…”
He looked up into her big blue eyes. She was twisting a long lock of dark-dark hair around her finger over and over and over again. “Caleb, I’m sorry I asked. I don’t know why I treated it so cavalierly. I was curious about you—where you come from—and I didn’t think. Stop now. You don’t have to tell me shit. I promise.”
He grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Oh, but I do, Dahlia. What’s more, as much as I hate thinking about these things, I want to tell you. Sometimes if I can bring myself to talk about them and get them out, it’s like scrubbing a tiny little piece of my soul clean. Ya know?”
She squeezed back. “Actually, I do.”
“So back to my story,” he said with another harsh bark of laughter. “He comes in, lit up, and his eyes are red like fire and his face is flushed and he declares himself starving. Could eat a whole cow. My mother’s doing that thing she did where she scurried around like a rodent in a room with a cat. She sets the table and she gets the food and she sits. I can see how nervous she is. Hell, I felt like I was going to puke all over the table myself, because even at seven, I know my dad is the human equivalent of a ticking time bomb. She tells him it’s his mother’s recipe. She found it and she thought it would be nice.” He put his head in his hands again and then straightens up to take a sip of his soda. He wished on a star that it was fucking whiskey instead. Sadly, it remained soda.
“I’m guessing it didn’t go well,” she said, pushing her knee against his beneath the table.
“First the meatloaf hit the wall. ‘You call this shit my mother’s meatloaf?’” he yelled. “’It’s dry. It’s horrible.’ Then the meatloaf hit my mother. The rest of what was on the serving platter. He picked it up and threw it right at her.”
He inhaled deeply and then shut his eyes. “I’d seen him hit her before. Hell, I’d seen him hit her right in the fucking face with a fist, but somehow seeing him throw that meatloaf at her was just so….humiliating,” he said, his voice dropping. He looked around, thankful she’d led them to the table in the farthest corner of the small eating area. The thought of someone else hearing about what that man had done to his mother was horrifying.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“He proceeded to pretty much decorate our dining room in potatoes and peas and meatloaf. It was running down the walls, it was dripping off the ceiling fan. Then he snagged her by her hair and she—“ Here’s where he always had trouble. “She looked at me and told me to go to my room.”
Dahlia’s hand found his knee beneath the table. Her touch was one of the most comforting things he’d ever felt.
“I didn’t come out—coward that I was—until I heard him yell, ‘now clean this shit up’. I knew he was done so I came out and crawled around the room and helped her clean while he want and collapsed in their bed and passed out. Her face was swollen, her hair tangled, he’d ripped her dress.”
“Caleb, you weren’t a coward. You were seven. What the hell were you supposed to do?
He shrugged. “I don’t know. But it felt like I was supposed to do something. Anything. That was the worst I remember. And it was around that time I could see my mother systematically beginning to shut herself down little by little. Like a robot being turned off piece by piece. She became a bit more distant, a bit more introverted, a bit more broken every day. And it wasn’t long after that I began stepping in. Provoking him. Diverting him from her.”
“How old were you when you stood up to him?”
He smiled. “I was sixteen and six foot three. He topped out at six foot. One day I realized he was looking up at me when he yelled and that’s when it clicked. I was done.”
“Done,” she echoed.
“Done,” he said again. 


Author's Note: the title of this picture is "Sacrifice"
photo credit: Luke Peterson Photography via photopin cc

A Many Splintered Thing / Day 28: it sent a thrill straight down the center of her from to top of her head to the soles of her feet...

 Well, one thing I've learned to accept about myself is this...I cannot CANNOT! resist the shower sex. It's impossible.

So...guess what today's entry is about? Hmm...kittens? candy? or maybe...zee shower sex!

XOXO
S

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Dahlia
“Are you at least going into town if you’re not going to tell me what’s going on with tall, dark and troubled up at the guest house?” Caroline asked.
Dahlia blinked. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“I can go into town. I have some stuff I need to get for the house. Why?”
“Because I want to go directly home. Stan is making me dinner and…” Her friend grinned and whispered. “I don’t feel like getting up early to get baking powder. I’m making Harrison those scones he likes in the morning but somehow—don’t ask me how—we’re out of baking powder.” She shrugged. “I was just wondering if you might be going to town tonight.”
It would be nice to show Caleb town if he wanted to go. She knew she should not assume that the two of them were now joined at the fucking hip just because they’d hit the sheets twice. Three if you counted the night before when no actual fucking took place and yet…
“Are you daydreaming or remembering?” Caroline asked. “Because your face is turning red, red, red.”
Dahlia shook herself and cleared her throat. “Hush up. I’ll go get you your baking powder tonight. I’ll bring it up to the house when I come in tomorrow or you can pick it up or—“
“We’ll figure it out,” Caroline said, waving a hand. “Thanks. And please get the Hane’s and while I’m saying it, might as well get me four.”
“Four!”
“I bake a lot and there are a lot of people here,” Caroline said. She disappeared into the kitchen and came back with two twenties. “Bring me the receipt for petty kitchen cash, M’kay?”
“M’kay,” Dahlia echoed and winked.
Harrison and Jas were still gone and she was grateful. It was only five and she figured she could go home and take a shower and then take Caleb (if he wanted to go, she reminded herself) to The Rice Barn. A grocery store slash eatery slash hangout joint slash coffee place owned by a local family with the last name of Rice. The store name amused her, though, she always pictured a big picturesque barn full of piles and piles of rice.
“You better get back to him before you start daydreaming again,” Caroline said. “You look in danger of more mental meandering.”
Dahlia stuck her tongue out but did just that. She went out the kitchen door after hugging her friend and hurried to the guest house. The lawn was the quickest route so she cut across all the perfectly maintained grass.
At the house, she heard the shower running. A beer was open on the living room table. She didn’t let herself analyze it, she went down the hall to his room and stripped, dropping her clothes near the foot of his bed where his dirty clothes were piled.
She didn’t knock and she didn’t call out. She simply pushed the shower curtain back and climbed in. He turned to her, surprised at first, his shoulder muscles bunching from anticipation of a confrontation. But when he saw it was her his big arm snaked out to grab her and he pulled her close to kiss her.
“You scared the shit out of me,” he whispered, but kissed her again before she could answer.
Dahlia took his length in her hand even as she kissed him back. He was wet and warm and his cock was so hard in her hand it sent a thrill straight down the center of her from to top of her head to the soles of her feet.
She knew what she wanted to do and it surprised her. So fast. So new. She’d never been ready to do that for a man so early into things. It was an act, for her, that could feel horribly wrong if she rushed it. But she wasn’t rushing it. Not at all.
She kissed his chin and his shoulder. His hand rand down her wet skin and danced across the ends of her dripping hair. “Where are you, Dahlia? You’re way down deep inside yourself,” he said.
“Just thinking about what I want to do,” she said above the rush of the shower.
She dragged her tongue across the water beading on his chest and skated her fingertips down his hipbones. Then she dropped to her knees, one of the green alligator slip mat she’d bought for the guest house just to annoy Jas bit at her kneecaps.
It was as simple as breathing on him at first and stroking her hand up and down the tops of his thighs and around his hipbones. She watched him go from semi-erect to completely hard and ready. His cock stood out showing his eager response to her humble attempt at seduction.
Dahlia gripped the base of his cock and sucked just the tip of him into her mouth. She slipped her tongue all along the silken wet skin of his cockhead.
Caleb made a gruff noise that seemed to originate in his chest. He placed both hands on the top of her head but there was no pressure and the touch was gentle. As if he sensed that anything heavy handed could turn this from a modest act of giving pleasure to something much darker. Much worse.
He began, as an afterthought, no doubt, to move his hands away but she shook her head, driving her lips further down his shaft to encompass more of him. She parted her lips and said, “Leave them. Please.”
He left them, twining his fingers through her hair. He thrust forward, his pleasure leading him, but not too much. She was very much in control of this scenario and he understood that. Past lovers hadn’t understood—why would they? But Caleb knew and he was reading her every motion as an instruction.
That thrill shot through her again. Feeling like joy and power and heat all entwined. It settled between her legs and she felt the throb and pound of her heart in her pussy.
She shut her eyes again. This was about giving something to Caleb and she could deal with her own demanding nether bits later.
The random thought made her smile.
She cupped his balls, squeezing gently. Just enough pressure to trigger that motion in his lean hips again. That involuntary thrust that speaks of arousal so demanding your body moves without your permission. She was aware of that sensation. He provoked it in her.
Dahlia drove her lips lower, her mouth kissing the base of his cock. His bristly pubic hair tickled her lips and she inhaled deeply through her nose to make room for him in her throat. Then she did it all again. Moving her mouth faster, her tongue more intensely, her lips more insistently until he was simply holding the ends of her hair in his fingers and using it as reins. He thrust but kept it gentle, she could tell he was tempering himself.
She tilted her gaze up at him and when their eyes met and he was paying attention, she gripped his hands and squeezed them around the hair he clutched. Then she drove her mouth to the base of him roughly.
This, she was saying in her head. Do this.
Her heart staggered with happiness when he got it. He held her hair and drove into her throat deeply now. Stealing her breath, startling her whole body. When she shut her eyes a single tear leaked out. More from his understanding than anything else. She hated crying but this single instance felt like it came straight from her soul and she could live with that.
He thrust once more and hissed. His come coated her tongue and he tried to pull free of her mouth but she held him by the hips, locking him in place. Another thing that never happened for Dahlia. She usually moved immediately, painting herself with come to give the visual to her lover. But she didn’t question this instinct or dissect it. She simply acted with her heart.
He said her name roughly, his whole body trembling as he held her hair in his hands. When she released him, he offered his hand and helped her up. Then he pushed her to the wet wall and kissed her.
Dahlia broke the kiss and laughed. “I thought you might want to go to town with me. Get some food. Look around.”
“Sweetheart, I’d follow you anywhere.” 


photo credit: StefaniaVS via photopin cc

A Many Splintered Thing / Day 27: He stroked her roughly, the kiss on her shoulder turning to teeth

Here we go. Ta and da. I have today's bit. I hope you enjoy.

I did two workouts, ran all over the globe, paid $14 (a sum I do NOT have) to mail a Goodreads prize to Great Britain. Must say, future Goodreads contests will have to be US only. I hate saying that because I love to be inclusive but goodness, my sad little budget does not allow for three dinners worth of money to mail something. And now...I've put in Lake Placid (a fave) because my brain and body have decided they're not getting along so I am sprawled in the ugly pink chair and just...Om...

XOXO
Sommer
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Her jeans were off, the panties too, and he just looked at her for a moment. His hand parted her thighs and he liked the looks of them on her skin. Big hands, slim thighs—tan hands, pale thighs. Nice.
“That’s getting to be a catch phrase, don’t you think?” He ran the tip of his cock along her skin. All around where she wanted it. He smiled when she tossed her head and made a desperate sound.
“What?”
“Shut up and fuck me?” He chose that moment to slide the tip of himself along her wet slit. She shut her eyes and tensed.
“Well, if the non-fucking shoe fits…”
“Point taken,” he said, and slipped into her. It was easy, sliding into her. Feeling and reveling in her wet grip on him.
She pushed her legs up and hugged the sides of his hips. She was strong and that made him want her more. She wasn’t some small and docile thing beneath him. She was strong and full of life. She seemed to vibrate with energy and spirit.
He buried his face where her neck met her shoulder and inhaled the scent of her. Then he kissed her there and those magical long legs moved up further to lock behind his back.
He was accustomed to talking dirty. To saying filthy things to amp up what was going on in bed. But he wasn’t unaccustomed to being boldly honest. Caleb pressed his lips to her ear. “I like the feel of you around me, Dahlia.”
His throat seemed to have narrowed as he said it but he pushed on anyway, realizing that what was happening here was important for him. To him.
“You feel…like…” But his mind stopped him there. Even as his body continued to move, his hips continued to thrust, his cock continued to respond to the slick, warm grip of her around him, his mind put up a roadblock.
Dahlia kissed him, holding his face in her hands. She arched her hips to take him deeper, the skin of her belly warm against his as she moved. He grabbed her wrists and pushed them down to her hips. He held her there, pinned, and felt her excitement increase because she grew even tighter around his cock. Almost unbearably so. Tight enough that the urge to surrender to his orgasm was almost too tempting.
But he resisted temptation.
“Caleb…” He stopped and looked at her. Her face was flushed, her big blue eyes wide. Trusting. That part almost cracked him right there.
“Yeah?”
“Turn me over?” Her eyes shot away as if, miraculously, Dahlia the great was feeling shy. Uncertain.
His throat went from narrow to a pinpoint. He struggled to focus on breathing normally.
He looked down at her, something in his heart twisted sideways, but then he read her apparent shyness it for what it really was—Dahlia being completely genuine. She wanted what she wanted, needed what she needed. So he pulled free, shocked by how quickly his flesh missed hers, and roughly flipped her. Her belly hit the big sofa and the air rushed out of her. Caleb gathered her long hair, not done up in braids today, in his hand and wound it around his knuckles. He tugged just enough to pull her head back and watched, humbled, as a rash of goose bumps sprang up along the muscled expanse of her back.
He slipped a hand beneath her belly and tugged until he got her up on her knees. Her upper body bowed, her elbows trembling from taking the brunt of her weight and balancing that way.Caleb slid back into her slowly, relishing and watching every single inch of his cock disappear.She turned her head to the side, her whole body trembling then. Caleb gripped her hips hard enough to see his fingers denting her flesh. He paused, swayed his hips back and forth so that he ground against her.
“Caleb—“ she said, but this time it wasn’t a question. This time it was whispered in pleasure and the power of that flowed through him like fire in his blood.
He hung his head, shut his eyes, got lost in her. His fingers tickled along the small of her back, the flare of her hips, the swell of her ass. He read her skin like braille and felt, beneath his fingers, the amazing life of a warrior. Someone who did not bow down unless she chose to. Someone who was not afraid to fight. And not afraid to lose. Was always willing to take the chance on herself. On others—if they were worth it.
She made a soft sound and moved her body back to take him. Her motions would end things soon enough so he focused on it. Forgot the poetic tale of her skin and the amazing strength of her soul and focused on how she felt rippling around him as he drove into her. He bent his body forward, folding himself over her, feeling muscles strain and sing. He kissed the back of her shoulder, her neck, and his tempo increased. Every thrust was hard and fast. His fingers slipped along her hip, her thigh and then under her body to find her clitoris.
He stroked her roughly, the kiss on her shoulder turning to teeth and when she came again, a gentle contraction of her body around his, he came with her. Tugging her hair at the end just to remind her he had it.
Dahlia collapsed under him, her body damp with sweat. She was laughing. It made him laugh. He let his body meld to hers for a second, relished the feel of them bound by the act.  She turned to face him and smiled, pretty lush lips turned up in pleasure.
“So what were you going to say?”
“What?”
“You said I felt like...and then you got distracted.” She pushed her ass back against him playfully. Joking.
“Oh.” He shrugged.
“So, what was it?” She turned her body to him, trailed her finger down his cheekbone and then over his chin to stroke his lips. He kissed that finger.
“Sex on a stick?” He raised his eyebrows at her comically.
“Please,” she laughed.
“Like honey?”
“Cliché,” she said.
“Like a grapefruit heated in a microwave for ten seconds—“
“Caleb!” She swatted at him but she was laughing. A real belly laugh that made her more beautiful. Which Caleb didn’t think was possible, to be honest.
“Seriously. I knew a guy. He’d cut a hole in the center and then nuke that sucker until it was nice and warm and then he’d—“
“Enough!” she yelled but she was laughing. “We have to get back to work anyway. If you’re not going to tell me, fine.”
He caught her by the end of her hair and pulled her in for one more kiss. “I don’t remember,” he lied. “Whatever it was, I’m sure it was amazing.”
Dahlia nodded, believing him. She stood and shimmied into her clothes. It was like watching a magic trick how fast she got dressed. She bent to kiss him. “You’d better get back to it,” she whispered.  “Some of the staff love to play tattletale.”
Then she was gone.
He watched her go, heard the front door shut and when he stood to pull his boxers and jeans back on he whispered, “You feel like coming home, Dahlia. That’s what I wanted to say.”

photo credit: Tc Morgan via photopin cc

We Interrupt This Previously Scheduled Dirty Novel for a Rant...

Please check back tomorrow for the continuation of A Many Splintered Thing. (I hope). I just got back from swimming and hanging out with my sister-in-law, niece, nephew and girl child. I'm pooped. But I did post this on Facebook this morning before I left. Because sometimes I wonder about people...for real.

See you tomorrow. I hope to sleep like a log tonight given how bone weary tired I feel already. But now on to trying to figure out/scrounge dinner. :)

XOXO
Sommer



Maybe it's because I'm having a bad day right out of the gate. I've already asked the question: Do I need to take you to the hospital? today. So, I know my vision might be skewed. But I see these "news stories" on line and they make me wonder why I bother coming onto "social media" or more aptly, at times, "antisocial media". I know the answer. I have some amazing friends on here whose generosity, talent and kindness out shadows stories like "Man Buys Every Pie at Local Burger King to Spite Shitty Little Brat". Wow. That is SOME NEWS! Actually, that is internet news. That is the kind of thing most people would never have done or even thought to do had they not had a 24/7 open window of people willing to comment on how awesome they are for doing something so...childish. Let's consider this shitty little brat. I think of my nephew who is the sweetest, kindest, most good hearted little guy I know. He's also ADD and Asperger's. He melts down. Colossally sometimes. And he can't help it. And they're teaching him to try and control it and he DOES THE BEST HE CAN. You don't know someone's circumstances, you fuckwit (not you, the general fuckwit) and you'd do well to remember that considering one year the union of you and your husband/wife may produce one "Shitty Little Brat" aka a child with issues who needs some understanding. Do I know that was the case here? Nope. Could it have been? Yep. So how about we cut each other a little fucking slack instead of acting like an asshole and then reporting to the internet how clever you are. With that, I'm going to turn off the computer, go swim with my loving, challenged nephew and my sister-in-law and the girls while my son holds down the fort here so I can go do something "Normal" at the insistence of my husband. I hope that guy is one day in a position where he needs something to diffuse a situation and the clever motherfucker in front of him takes it away to show what a kick ass cool guy he is. I know that's wrong with the whole Buddhist thing I'm attempting, but I am human. Om, motherfuckers.

photo credit: Sommer Marsden 2014 photo challenge "Buddha's Shadow"

A Many Splintered Thing / Day 26: "I felt more comfortable—more sexual—around girls at the time.”

 Rough day round here. Sorry I'm late. I might take tomorrow off. We shall see. Every day is different and I can never tell what it will bring until I'm in it up to my neck.

XOXO
S
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Caleb looked up at her. Her cheeks were flushed from running. And from something else, maybe. “Tell me,” he said, sucking her taut nipple into his mouth again before softly biting the side of her breast.
Her body went rigid beneath him and she gasped. Caleb laughed against her skin, grabbed her wrists and pinned them down before laying a line of kisses from breast to belly. He licked the soft divot of her navel.
“Tell me how you knew to do that,” he said, hooking his fingers in her waistband.
“We were young. Sixteen? I want to say. Before everything went to hell in my family. And my mom worked for her mom…” She shot a hip up, dislodging him just a bit. He grinned. “But you know that.”
“I do,” he said, popping a button. “I know that but I don’t know how you know Jasmine hates to have her nipple pinched.” He looked up at her, and she cocked an eyebrow. Challenging him without words. “Well, unless you’re fucking her.”
Dahlia let out something that sounded like a growl. “Shut up.”
“Jealous?” he asked, just to push her.
“Never,” she said.
She was lying and they both knew it.
He parted her zipper and licked the pale pink panties beneath. They were thin enough—soft enough—that he knew damn well she could feel the heat and the wetness of his tongue.“I want to know.”
“It’s a brief story.” Her breath had a little hitch in it that he liked. A lot.
“I can handle that.” He peeled the wet panties down and licked the pale flesh beneath. Then he watched the magic trick of her smooth soft skin prickling up into goose bumps.
He ground his cock against the sofa but that forced his upper body to sway between her legs. He could see she felt the friction and her teeth came down on her plump lower lip. He hoped she told the fucking story soon. They were on lunch break—officially, now, he thought—and all he could think of doing was revisiting this morning and sliding inside her again. Being there, entwined with her, and moving deep inside her.
And kissing her. He couldn’t stand not doing that anymore either. Caleb moved up her body, sliding his tongue up her skin as he went. “Tell me.”
He delivered a kiss to her collarbone just as Dahlia began to speak.
“We were young and bored and to me she was like a whole new life form. Rich kid who got what she wanted. Daddy adored her and not in an inappropriate horrible way.”
That made him pause but the tone of her voice said that she’d pinch him if he chose this moment for sympathy so he parted the neckline of that top he was so obsessed with and kissed her shoulder.
“So we started making out,” she said.
When he ground his cock against her this time, they both groaned. “Tell me,” he said. Then he pinched her nipples tightly between his fingers until she shuddered beneath him and inhaled deeply. Apparently, Dahlia didn’t hate it. His cock ached to get the story over with and the sex in motion. But he focused.
“There’s really nothing to tell. I felt more comfortable—more sexual—around girls at the time.” Her voice was a little breathy thing and he reached down to push his fingers inside her panties.
“Makes sense,” he said softly.
“So we made out under this weeping willow and we sort of fucked around and believe it or not, she made me come.”
He paused. “Jas?”
“Jas. Yep. Did something for someone else for once.”
He smiled.
“But when we were messing around I pinched her and she didn’t like it. Not until later…” her voice trailed off.
“Later?” He sat back on his haunches to slide her jeans down over her hips. She wiggle to help him and his heart damn near stopped watching her move that way.
“When I figured out how to pinch them while I went down on her.”
Caleb looked at her, fairly certain that his heart had stopped. “Oh,” he said. Even to his own ears he sounded slow and stupid. Caveman much, Caleb?
She tugged his shirt hard and he buckled over her, kissing her again. “And that’s all I’m saying about that. Okay? It was a million years ago and…well, let’s just say, it gave me ammo for today. Okay?”“Okay.”
“Condoms are in the side table,” she said, pressing her lush mouth against her ear.
He moved to look into her eyes. “Are you kidding me? Is this the magical condom house?”
She snorted and wiggled beneath him to prompt him into action. Caleb climbed over her partially to open the drawer of the side table.
“I had an extra box from the bunch Jasmine commanded me to distribute. I didn’t know what to do with them so I shoved them in there. It was kind of a joke, actually.”
He popped the button fly on his jeans, yanking so the row of copper discs surrendered to him, and then pushed them down along with his boxer briefs. Caleb ripped into a foil packet with his teeth and waggled his eyebrows at her lasciviously. “A joke that paid off my dear. Now we’re on the clock. Working folk that we are. So how about you slide out of those Bobby Brooks while I put this on.”
She cocked her head at him. The question was in her eyes.
“Bobby Brooks?” he said. “John Cougar Mellencamp? The eighties?”
She shook her head.
He shook his, mimicking her and then grabbed her hips in his hand and went in for a kiss. “I can see your education will have to extend beyond my amazing bedroom prowess.”
She took his face in her hands and Caleb realized the touch was so comfortable, so familiar, it was if she’d been touching him for years instead of just a day. “Caleb?”
“Yeah?”
She gently slid a hand down his neck, over his shoulder and then seized his nipple to deliver a pinch. He hissed between his teeth. “Can you shut up and fuck me?” She smiled pleasantly.
“I think I can do that,” he said. 

photo credit: ViktorDobai via photopin cc

A Many Splintered Thing / Day 25: “Are you fucking her, Caleb?”

Didn't think I'd get this up before the pool but I surprised even myself. Now, I'm off for a few hours of swimming. We were invited and we accepted and now I plan to lie in a chair and pretend my life is a little bit sane for a little bit of time :)
Have a lovely day.
XOXOSommerp.s. CJ, I thought of you as I wrote this due to yesterday's comment. Heh. ;)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   Dahlia
She watched from the front room under the guise of dusting. Jasmine stood at the very edge of her vision but Dahlia liked it that way. At a glance she did not appear to be to be stalking the mistress of the house.
“What are you doing?”
Dahlia turned, clutching her feather duster. She was technically known as the ‘house manager’. She was the person who called herself a maid. Mostly because she learned growing up that if you dress up a turd you are still, sadly, stuck with a turd. And Jasmine could call her whatever she liked, she was still a maid.
“I’m dusting, Caroline.” She rolled her eyes at Harrison and Jasmine’s private chef who had also become a dear friend. Dahlia often playfully called Caroline “Cookie” as if she ran a chuck wagon.
“You’ve dusted the same picture frame for the past five minutes.”
“It’s really dirty.”
“What are you really doing?” Caroline sighed, crossing her arms. She was tall and lean in her white chef’s coat. In a position where one would expect a person a bit more rotund, she often worried that her svelte figure would discredit her food.
Dahlia had eaten her food at group meals with Caroline and her back-up staff. And those women were magic in the kitchen. Caroline’s figure didn’t discredit her food in the least.
“I’m dusting. Sort of.”
“You’re watching Jasmine. What’s up with her? Ever since the new lawn guy showed up yesterday she’s been like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”
“She’s always like that. And he’s a groundskeeper,” she said, trying not to smile.
“Okay, she’s worse, then. And that’s saying something.”
Dahlia felt her mouth twist up in an expression of displeasure. She tried really hard to fix it, but Caroline was a sharp one and the two women had become good at reading one another over the years. Caroline said, “What? Jesus, tell me!”
Just then Dahlia heard an engine catch. She looked across to the guest house and Caleb was absent from the ladder. The Spitfire went rocketing down the small service road that lead from main house to guest house. Jas’s dark hair trailed out behind her like a swiftly moving thunderstorm.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Dahlia said, dropping the duster on a butler’s tray full of sterling silver photographs. “I have to go. We’ll kill a bottle one evening and I’ll fill you in. I’ll be back,” She held her hand up trying to think fast enough to act appropriately. She was having a hard time. “Right now I think I have to go stop a murder.” She tried to laugh to show she was kidding but he laugh came out in a high, psychotic warble.
“Dahlia!” Caroline called as Dahlia darted for the door.
“What time is it?” Dahlia called back.
“Twelve-thirty.” Caroline had followed her.
“I’m taking my lunch break!” Her hand was on the knob and her mind was scrambling. There was no way she could beat Jas on foot.
“You take your lunch break with me,” Caroline said, hands on her hips.
“Rain check,” Dahlia said. “But save me some soup.”
“It’s chowder.”
“Even better.” And she was out the door, rushing to the opposite side of the house. She found the golf cart for the groundskeeper tucked back by a large bush. Out of sight, obviously, so as not to mar the beauty of master’s house. The thing cranked over right away and her heart leapt. Then she pushed the gas pedal down and took off at an alarmingly slow speed. “Great,” she muttered. “I should get there by Christmas.”
She had plenty of time, as she chugged along, to consider what the fuck she was doing. Caleb was easily six foot three and about two hundred and ten pounds. He didn’t need her to defend him. And yet, she felt that innate urge to protect him from the craziness of her boss. Even though he was familiar—intimately so, she realized with a touch of bitterness—with Jasmine’s craziness.
She finally pulled up outside the guest house and parked the cart near the front entrance. She could hear Jasmine’s voice raised in anger through the open windows.
“Fuck me,” Dahlia sighed.
She hurried toward the door, running on the toes of her boots to try and avoid announcing her arrival. Inside she heard it right off the bat. “Are you fucking her, Caleb?”
Dahlia peeked around the edge of the white ledge that led to the main room. Jasmine was in his face, her small hand clutching a hunk of his red tee.
Caleb smiled and slowly uncurled her fingers one by one. “What would it matter if I am, darling?” The word darling was practically dripping with acid and Dahlia had a shameful but wonderful moment of pride in him.
“I brought you here—“
“To fuck you, yes, I know. You brought me here to be with you is what you said. And when I got here you were once again back on board with daddy’s blueprint for your life. Which is fine. I kind of like Harrison, actually. I am, to be honest, Jas, starting to feel sorry for the man, too. If I were him, I’d have fucked a maid. Shit, I’d have fucked all the maids.”
She took a swing at him and he grabbed her small fist out of the air with ease and smiled. “You’re letting someone else rule your life and you resent the shit out of it. So you’re punishing everyone around you but the man who deserves it.” He pushed her fist down to her side and took a step back.
“Caleb—“The steam had dissipated from her words. The anger had simmered down.
Dahlia took a deep breath and pondered leaving. Until she heard him say: “And even if I was fucking her, it’s none of your business. I have no idea what I was thinking packing up and heading out here for you. I should have known you’d screw me over. However…” He laughed. “I do have a new job to show for it. And I’ve made a nice new friend.”
“Tell me!” Jasmine yelled and she took another swing at him. Caleb caught one fist but the other rocketed up toward his head. Dahlia crossed the room in three big steps and managed to block the fist. Barely.
Jas’s eyes went wide and she thrashed against the two of them. Caught almost in the middle. Pitching the biggest fucking fit Dahlia had ever seen—and she’d seen plenty.
Dahlia did the first thing that came to mind. She reached out and pinched Jasmine’s nipple as hard as she could.
Her boss let out a shriek like a cat being singed and jumped back, dropping her hands.
Caleb stared at her wide-eyed, a half-smile on his pretty, kissable mouth. Jasmine stared at her, mouth open, eyes blazing with rage.
“What the hell?” Caleb asked, choking on a laugh.
Dahlia shrugged. “I panicked. She hates that.”
Jasmine was just gathering steam, moving toward them again with malicious intent when they heard the voice.
“What in the bloody hell is going on in here?”
They all froze and turned to stare at Harrison in an outfit so ridiculous he could only be headed out for golf. Dahlia opened her mouth though she had no idea what she was going to say, but Jasmine beat her to it.
“They were arguing, Harry. And I guess I got caught in the middle. It’s my fault. I hate to see them fight.” Each word of her last sentence came out harshly as if she were spitting out pieces of gravel. “Did you come to get me for the luncheon?”
“I did,” he said, his eyes ping-ponging between the three of them. He wasn’t buying it, Dahlia thought. Not a lick.
Jasmine tucked her wild hair behind her ears, cleared her throat and went to take his arm. “Let’s go, honey. They can work it out.”
The door snicked shut and Dahlia and Caleb stood there staring at each other.
“I’m sorry,” she said finally. “That I intervened. I’m sure you had it under contr—“
“You pinched her,” Caleb said.
She nodded, swallowing hard. “Yes, I panicked. See once upon a time…I mean, never mind. I just knew that it would stop her in her tra—“
That was as far as she got because he grabbed her so fast and so hard it cut off her words and her breath. He pushed her down onto the largest sofa and shoved up her shirt. “You pinched her…” he said again. But she’s misread it. Initially she thought he’d been horrified, but now she heard that he was actually impressed. Incredulous, even. But then his mouth closed over her nipple and she forgot everything but the feel of him touching her.

photo credit: Kikishua via photopin cc