Sommer Marsden's Blog, page 61

My current bookshelf...

This means what I'm reading, flipping through, cooking from etc right now. As. We. Speak.

If you are so inclined, tell me in the comments what you're reading, flipping through, cooking from etc.

Must say, just made my second soup from the 5 ingredients book and it was the bomb. I plan to try every single soup this fall/winter. I mean...there are only 5 ingredients.










Now that's eclectic reading, right?

XOXO

Sommer

Big Filthy Spotlight on Alison Tyler

Alison Tyler is one of my favorite people in the whole wide world. She is also the very first naughty writer I went gaga over. The first time I read one of her stories I thought, ah, this is it. This is the stuff. Imagine my surprise when after talking to her a few times regarding the first story I ever submitted to her (It was She Looked Good in Ribbons and it was accepted for Love at First Sting) we became friends. And still are all these years later. 

So here I sit, on this gorgeous chilly but sunny Friday and say I have exclusive content. Do I know it's exclusive?...um no. So that just means if you find this excerpt elsewhere, don't tell me. I like to think I'm special.

Here we go, from AT's newest Spice Brief Giving In ...we have wordage!

Blurb:
Ellis is unemployed, broke and nearly homeless—until her best friend Sasha whisks her away to a Venetian villa to stay with a family friend. But her dream of a relaxing escape is shattered when she spies Sasha being spanked and seduced by their sexy, dominant host.

Ellis quickly realizes the guests at the villa want her to join their intense erotic games, but she's never indulged such fantasies outside of her naughty stories. Now she has the chance to act them out…but does she have the courage to give in?


Filthy Excerpt from Giving In (Harlequin Spice)             “Lou’s been waiting for you,” the man said. “He wanted me to tell you that he’ll be going here tonight.”             He licked his finger and parted Sasha’s rear cheeks. Gently, he touched her asshole. Sasha shivered. So did I.            Sasha was going to fuck Lou? The man looked like a bouncer outside one of the meaner New York clubs. I crossed my legs, but kept staring through the crack in the door.            “You’re such a tease, girl. He’s been waiting since December,” the man continued, and now I watched, my mouth open, as he slowly started to push his finger into her hole. My pussy tightened I continued to stare, as the man firmly began to finger-fuck her asshole. “And you’re going to let him, aren’t you?”            “Yes, Sir.” Her response was barely audible.            “Why?”            “Because I’m a dirty little slut, Sir.”            Shit. Sasha was a dirty little slut? My friend Sasha? This had never occurred to me before. The girl only dated the best-looking, wealthiest men on the market. She never slummed in Manhattan. Whenever we’d discussed sex over the years, I always got the feeling that she enjoyed the activity, but would prefer a few rounds of shopping at Bloomingdales.            Now, she was bent over a man’s lap having her most intimate regions explored, and she was telling him and the polished antique hardwood floor that she was a slut? My heart couldn’t have been pounding any harder.            “Of course,” the man said, “I’ve been waiting, too.”            I swallowed hard. Were they both going to fuck her? Where had Sasha taken me? What world had we arrived in? And why were my panties sopping wet at the center?            “Yes, Stefan,” said Sasha, shocking me even further. This was Stefan? I’d assumed the man was another employee, perhaps the major domo of the Villa. He was nothing like what I’d expected. He seemed young—not quite our age, perhaps ten years older. He had thick, dark hair and the type of face you see in magazine cologne ads. Chiseled.            While I watched, he stopped touching Sasha. She moaned. I would have, too. “Ah, my girl likes to be played with, doesn’t she? It’s been too long since you last had a good hard cock up your ass, hasn’t it?” Sasha made soft mewing noises of assent. The man flipped her around, then picked her up in his arms and brought her toward the other end of the room. Now, I could no longer see them. Fuck. I wanted to watch whatever was going to happen next. But how could I? With a sigh, I turned around, coming face to face with Lou.             I upgraded my mental status from fuck to Holy Fuck.            He appeared completely nonchalant, undisturbed by the fact that I was spying on his boss and my friend. “Did you require something, Miss Ellis?” he asked.            Had my thoughts been coming slowly before? They’d just hit a brick wall. No going forward. I stared at him, blinking, as if I’d forgotten how to speak. Lou took me by the hand and kindly led me down the hallway. He didn’t say word, didn’t ask me what I thought I was doing—snooping on my friend and the host. He simply escorted me back down the hallway. I wanted to turn, to look over my shoulder, but unlike Lot’s doomed wife, I found a sliver of willpower and clung to it.            When we reached the bedroom, Lou opened the door and waited. Was he going to follow me inside? Was he going to spank me? I walked into the room. The bedside lamp gave the room a golden glow. On my bed? A new iPod with headphones and a vibrator.            I looked toward the doorway. Lou was still standing there, smiling. I opened my mouth to say something, but he simply bowed slightly and wished me a pleasant night.            Pleasant.            The word must mean something else in Venice, I thought.Buy Link for Giving In:http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B007WRFUJK?ie=UTF8&tag=prettythingsp-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B007WRFUJK

And if you don't know who she is (*Kermit flail*) here's more about the author:
Called a “Trollop with a Laptop” by East Bay Express, a “Literary Siren” by Good Vibrations, and “over caffeinated” by her favorite local barista, Alison Tyler has made being naughty a full-time job. Her sultry short stories have appeared in more than 100 anthologies including Sex for America, Liaisons, and Bedding Down. In all things important, she remains faithful to her partner of 17 years, but she still can’t choose just one perfume. Find her 24/7 at alisontyler.blogspot.com.

Eye Banged by Amazon

So yesterday I get this email from Amazon (a lot of my fellow authors did I'm sure), announcing--wait for it--author ranking.

My initial reaction was NO! DEAR GOD NO! FUCK NO! and the ever popular HELL NO!

I just...I mean just, broke myself of obsessively checking stats and ranks for book. I used to check all over (Goodreads, Amazon, ARe etc) every day multiple times. And it was making me a lunatic. I was putting way too much stock in those little tiny numbers and what I thought they meant.

If they were good, I was ecstatic, if they'd dropped I was bummed, and if they were even lower than I ever anticipated I was so fucking ridiculously sad it was getting beyond bad. So I stopped. I also stopped reading reviews if I could help it. Because again, if there was anything negative, I was mortified and heartbroken.

I know the whole thick skin thing, and I do have a bit of one, but I am also one of those people wired--it's just how I am--to care what others think about me. And I cannot seem to shake the need or want for people to always like me 100%. I know it's irrational, but there it is--big fat confession for you.

Anyway, I found that once I broke myself of that ritual of checking where I stood at any given moment, I was a much happier, saner person. (Note I said saner not sane...Heh).

So what happens? Amazon comes along with another mindfuck of a "feature" (read obsession) Author Ranking.

I refused to look. However, when I did my daily run through and delete emails I don't need to keep, my eye found something as the email opened. A blue box. Inside the blue box was...the number. My rank in erotica (given it's my primary genre).

I did not want to know.

I did not want to see.

But there I found myself, eye banged against my will by Amazon.

You cannot unsee a number. You cannot wipe the memory of a number from your mind.

I will not look anymore, though. Ever. Ever! (When I do crack and look, please remind me to put money in the jar that I put a dollar into every time I crack and read a review. I donate to charity when the wad gets big enough). Ahem. Like I said--Ever!

XOXO
Sommer
p.s. As for the number, I don't know if it's bad or good, I just know that I refuse to place too much stock in that number. The number really isn't anything other than another way for me to be distracted from what I'm supposed to be doing. Writing.

Fear is good...

At least sometimes it is. I'm at author Zara Stoneley's blog today for my Boys Next Door laid back tour talking about that--fear. And of course some hot men and sex. Duh. It *is* me we're talking about :) Stop in and say hi if you get a second!

XOXO
Sommer

You can find me...

Yammering at Madelynne Ellis today on her blog. I'm talking about writing a more than a menage. How confusing it can be to get tangled up in boys. Handsome, sexy, lovely men...

*ahem* Right! You can click HERE to get there. ;)

Tuesday! One day closer to Friday! :)

XOXO
Sommer

Lily Harlem...

Has welcomed me onto her blog today. I've posted about voyeurism and one of my favorite scenes in Boys Next Door . Stop in and say hi if you get a moment .

Oh! Speaking of Boys Next Door , first book review site review came in yesterday from Booking It. Yay! Grade A! :)

Have a great Monday. Mine started a bit rocky, but I'm going to try and reboot it.

XOXO
Sommer

Upcoming...

On my super laid back Boys Next Door book tour~Here are a few dates where I'll be guest blogging:

10/8 for Madelynne Ellis on her blog
10/9 for Lily Harlem on her blog
10/10 for Zara on her blog

I hope you'll come join me on any or all of these dates. I'm loving talking about what is one of my favorite books ever. Thanks to all of you who offered up your blog to welcome me. :) It makes me feel all warm and cozy. Like this:



XOXO
Sommer

So it's fall, y'all...

And I have not blogged for two days...three days? I was thinking of this routine this morning and wanted to post. My favorite Halloween related comedy moment. I say listen to the whole thing. Or you can go to 2:13 and start listening. As for his theory on how all candy corn was made...I am pretty sure he's right!

XOXO
Sommer

"I figured, fuck it..."

My whole week is tempting me to say fuck it. ;) But I shall not. I shan't! I will however put up a much delayed taste of my new novel Boys Next Door. One of my fave scenes in fact.




I have a bit of a laid back blog tour coming up for this book, kicking off tomorrow at Victoria Blisse's place. So pop back in for updates for upcoming guest spot dates. Tomorrow's a big day here at Unapologetic Fiction. I'm over at V's and I have a guest popping in to share a blog for y'all.

Make sure you come back and see who it is. Hint, it's a he and he's an UF virgin. :)

XOXO
Sommer

From Boys Next Door :




‘It’ll be okay,’ he said, pulling me back just enough that I brushed against him which helped me get my bearings.
He was warm against me, but I shivered.
‘Your hands are freezing. Are you claustrophobic?’
‘Not so much that,’ I whispered as if louder noise would make us plummet to our deaths. ‘I just don’t like elevators. How long? How long will we be here?’
‘Do you want the truth or do you want a lie?’
I sighed. ‘The truth, though the smart money is probably on the lie.’
‘Probably half an hour to an hour. George has a good heart but slow hands.’
‘Great.’ I moved my hands around to try and find the railing that ran along the sides of the elevator. I didn’t think this poor man needed to be holding me like some damsel in distress. But what my fingers brushed was most definitely not the wall of the elevator. My hand froze.
‘Um …’ he said. And there was that dark and almost sinister laughter that somehow slid up my spine and under my hair and prickled my scalp like electricity.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered.
A moment ticked by and I was afraid to breathe. I felt like I might laugh or cry or scream, or possibly all three at once.
‘But not enough to move it, eh?’ he asked, moving his body just enough that I felt the hard push of his cock to my hand.
My face heated with a blush. I was grateful he couldn’t see.
‘Shit. First I grope you and then I … just keep right on groping you. I don’t even move my hand. Have I mentioned the one thing that freaks me out is elevators? And a dark one that is being worked on by a slow man is the worst case scenario.’
‘Hunh,’ he said and I could hear him smile.
‘And my hand is still on your cock!’ I blurted, finally ripping my hand away.
‘Hey, whatever calms you down, Farrell McGee.’
I couldn’t help but snort, but my hands were shaking and I felt a little light-headed.
‘You’re really scared,’ he said.
‘I’m –’
‘It’s coming off of you in waves. It’s palpable. That’s hard to pull off. Palpable fear.’
‘I am nothing if not talented.’
‘What do you do?’
‘I’m a failed actress. You?’
‘Failed writer. But I am currently the butcher for our small town.’
‘Ah, I love meat.’
Dead silence.
‘Oh my God. I swear I’m not normally this stupid.’ I put my hand up to brush my hair out of my face, in the dark it felt like a million tiny spiders tickling my cheeks. But I brushed over him instead – I was starting to wonder if it really was an accident – and he took my hand and squeezed it between his warm ones.
‘Breathe,’ he said. He put my hands flat on his chest and then placed his over the top of mine. I stood there, trying to calm down and feeling the steady and easy beat-beat-beat of his heart.
I took a deep breath and held it before blowing it out. The same way I did for stage fright.
‘Better?’ he asked, his face close, his breath smelling of mint.
‘Better,’ I echoed.
‘You smell good,’ he said. ‘Like peaches and … I can’t quite put my finger on it.’ Deke leaned in and sniffed right at the juncture of neck and shoulder. My skin prickled almost violently. ‘Honey?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘All I can smell is you.’
What was I doing? My God, I had just met this man, had only seen him in the light for a few moments and now – if my nether regions were to be believed – I wanted him. Badly.
‘And what do I smell like?’ He put his hands on my lower back, splaying his fingers, spreading their warmth. He pulled me just a touch closer and though his cock wasn’t touching me, I felt – or imagined I felt – the energy from his hard on mingling with my own lustful energy.
‘Pine and cinnamon and wood smoke. Like the outdoors. That’s what you smell like.’
‘Hunh. Good nose. I spent all day at a client’s fishing cabin, dressing a deer.’
For some odd reason, I imagined a deer in a skiing ensemble and snorted. But even as the laughter burst out of me, I pushed my pelvis to his. Brazen, but it was what I felt the urge to do. So I did it.
New life. New way of doing things.
‘Dressing?’ I rotated my hips just a bit and his fingers brushed over my skin sliding lower to slip beneath the waistband of my jeans.
‘It means butchering. But don’t worry,’ he said, when I went a bit stiff. ‘I cleaned up real good and even had some coffee by the fire before I left.’
His mouth came down on mine then and I figured, fuck it. I was scared and horny and he was handsome and Satan-ish and felt damn good pressed against me.

Did you snag yours?

Free, free, free! My favorite flavor :)

Passionate Cooks is out now at All Romance Ebooks for the low low introductory price of...no dollars! Go snag one if you like to get busy in the kitchen. Um...I meant cook, you know.

Packed full of a wide variety of recipes (including a gluten free noodle recipe by moi), you can't go wrong with a price tag of uh...nothing!

So why are you still here? Go cook! :)

Happy Tuesday. And no, I have not had any caffeine.

XOXO
Sommer