Here in the UK we’re having a heatwave and I gather it’s getting pretty hot in other places to! So it’s perfect timing for the release of an amazing new anthology, Summer Loving. That’s right – here in erotica land we’re all about Sommer-loving at the moment – and, no, that’s not a typo. Because this anthology has been brilliantly put together by erotica-uber-editor Alison Tyler to lend support to one of our own. Erotica writer Sommer Marsden’s family has been broadsided by cancer during the past 12 months; all the profits from Sommer Loving will go towards Sommer and her family. So please, please make sure you buy a copy and then spread the word to your family and friends so they can buy a copy, too.
So what’s it about? Here’s the blurb:
Summer speaks of balmy days, white-sand beaches, itsy-bitsy bikinis and romantic flings. The 20 sublime stories in this collection celebrate those decadent days and naughty nights with lots of sizzling summertime sex.
Erotic luminaries Donna George Storey, Sophia Valenti, Lucy Felthouse, Emerald, Jodie Griffin, May Deva, Teresa Noelle Roberts, A.M. Hartnett, Primula Bond, Sammi Lou Thorne, Elise Hepner, Tenille Brown, Tamsin Flowers, Kathleen Delaney-Adams, Thomas S. Roche, Cheyenne Blue, Delilah Night, Rachel Kramer Bussel, Justine Elyot, Angell Brooks, and Alison Tyler spin their sultriest stories ever.
Summer might only come once a year. But with this red-hot collection, you’re guaranteed to come all year round!
Alison Tyler did all the hard work collating and editing the stories, Willsin Rowe did the amazing cover that blasts us right back to the Summer of Love, and the ever-generous Selena Kitt handled the formatting and publishing jiggery-pokery! So a massive thank you to them, all the writers who so generously donated stories (including those who didn’t make it to the final cut) and anyone else who’s been involved… And a huge thank you to everyone who’s bought a copy so far.
And one last thing. I noticed that Superotica had been running a little low on home-grown Flowers recently – so here’s an excerpt from my story in Summer Loving, ‘Winter in December’. It’s all about midsummer’s day down in the Antarctic!
Winter in December
Call me a stickler for tradition but when it’s summer on the calendar, I like hot, and when it says winter, I want snow. Which is just one of the reasons why I should never have taken a job as second chef at an Antarctic research station. Yes, sure, there was snow in winter. But it wasn’t hot in summer, it was cold, and it wasn’t summer in July, it was summer in December. And when it should have been summer it was winter and even colder. Doing your head in? I live here and I can’t get my head around it.
And the other reason why I shouldn’t have taken the job? Al, the delectable head chef and my boss, who sees me as nothing more than the girl who peels, chops and mashes the potatoes. But then I didn’t know about Al when I took the job.
Between the two of us, we prep three meals a day for the thirty-five scientists that work at the research station, seven days a week, in two month rotations. If you’ve ever worked a kitchen, you’ll know how hot and intense things get. But if you work a kitchen with a guy who you can’t get out of you mind at the end of the shift, who you want to fuck senseless on the steel countertops and suck off in the walk-in cold store? It’s a whole lot hotter and a whole lot more intense.
But Al doesn’t see me that way. So I have to go into the cold store on my own to pour water on the flames. I do that by working out how many potatoes I will have peeled by my next home leave.
Apart from Al and myself, the scientists are all Australian, so they get the summer in December thing. But being weirded out by the seasons, that’s the one thing Al and I have in common. Like today: it’s December twenty-first, the summer solstice. It won’t even get dark but it’s still as cold as fuck. The scientists have all gone on a two-day expedition, so it’s only me and Al, having an easy day, just quietly preparing things for the week ahead. I know this is my one chance, so when Al suggests taking the evening off…
“What’s this?” says Al, when I put a glass down beside his computer, where he’s still working.
“Pina colada. It’s midsummer, so we’re going to the beach.”
He gives me the sort of look generally reserved for pesky younger sisters.
“Taste it,” I say.
Two words irresistible to a chef.
Down on the beach, we kick snow into the water and Al suggests building a snowman rather than a sandcastle. I know he’s humoring me now, wondering how long he has to stay here before going back to his work. I watch him running along the edge of the water. So hot with his dark jeans carelessly crumpled at the top of his snow boots, his narrow hips looking even narrower below the bulk of his down jacket. The wind ruffles his black hair, his cheeks so rosy with cold that I want to lick them warm. I desperately need him to notice me as something more than a potato processing drone.
It’s now or never.
“I’m going for a dip,” I yell, when he’s at the other end of the small, curved cove above which the research station sits.
If this doesn’t make him sit up and notice, nothing will.
I shed my parka, kick off my boots and slide out of my pants. I didn’t bring a bikini, so I’m wearing my most presentable matching underwear. I know it’s going to hurt like hell when I take the plunge, so I can’t afford to pussyfoot at the edge.
I take a low, horizontal dive into the water.
My skin is burning. My fingers and toes are pain like nothing on this earth. My teeth chatter like a pneumatic drill’s going off in my skull. Someone’s rubbing warm hands up and down one of my calves, massaging my foot. Someone’s talking to me.
“Can you hear me now? Andi, can you hear me?”
I think I nod but I can’t really feel my body.
“What the fuck were you thinking? You nearly killed yourself.”
I’ve never heard Al this angry, even when I ruined a whole day’s work by putting the oven on extra high instead of low.
“I’m okay,” I say but all I hear is chattering teeth and spluttering noises.
I’m wrapped in fleecy blanket and I look around. We’re in a bedroom and it isn’t mine. It must be Al’s. Underneath the blanket, I realize I’m naked. I see my underwear in a pool of water on the floor.
My whole body’s trembling and shaking. Any deliberate movement is completely beyond my control.
“Jesus, I’ve gotta get you warmed up fast,” says Al.
I’m naked on his bed. I have ideas about getting warm. At least my brain does; I’m not sure my body is quite there.
“Sh-sh-sh-shared b-b-body heat,” I manage through my teeth.
It’s true – it works. It’s what they tell you to do in the safety manuals. It was simply a sensible suggestion that could save my life. It had nothing to do with the thought of Al having to get naked too and press his hot body against the length of my cold one.
His look says that he knows exactly what I’m playing at.
Silently, he strips off his clothes and joins me on the bed, pulling the fleecy blanket around us and the rest of the bed covers up as far as our shoulders. He smells good in the confined space. Yes, a little sweaty. After all, he did have to pick me up and carry me up the shore and into the station, him fully dressed in a 750 fill power down jacket. But spicy and masculine in a way that makes me want suck the air around him and drink it up.
I press myself against him and this, I think, is when I finally breach his defenses. He lets out a long, low moan and wraps his arms tight around me. His body feels red hot in comparison to mine and, hell, I want to stay just pressed against him like this forever…
Buy it now! Buy it here:
All Romance—you can buy the e-book for the very special price of 69 cents!