Tag Archive | Sommer Marsden

My Skin is Burning – A Snog for Sommer Blog Hop!


Today I’m excited to be joining the Smut for Good Snog for Sommer blog hop – does that sound like a tongue twister to you? Trying saying five times fast… Now, once you’ve untangled your tongue, let me explain. The wonderful crew over at SmutUK have put together a fundraising bloghop to support fellow erotica writer Sommer Marsden. Sommer’s currently facing all of our worst nightmares, having to confront cancer within her family – and right now, they need all the support we can give them.

So what I’d like you to do is one, two three or four of the following:

  1. Read the kissing excerpt below taken from my story “Summer in December”, which appeared in the Summer Loving anthology.
  2. Click through to the Smut for Good page and leave a donation, however small, to help Sommer Marsden and her family.
  3. Leave a comment below for your chance to win a real book – ie one that’s made of paper, not electrical current! (I’ll give the winner a list to choose from – but it will one the anthologies I have a story in.)
  4. Buy a copy of Summer Loving if you haven’t already done so!

I know, it’s a lot to ask of you – but take your pick. And please also send some positive vibes Sommer’s way, if you believe in that sort of thing!



PS I forgot to put a closing time for the competition when this post went live – so I’ll keep it open until Wednesday, September 17th, midday BST! Keep those entries coming!

Excerpt: Summer in December

Andi works as a chef at a research station in the Antarctic. To get her boss’s attention, she decides to go skinny dipping in the freezing cold sea. Maybe not such a good idea…

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.

“You didn’t need to do that to get my attention.  You had it from the get go.”

I put both my trembling hands up to his cheeks and look deep into his chestnut eyes.  I have to wonder if I’m delirious from the cold shock.  But he’s smiling at me and there’s a hunger in his expression.  A hunger for me.

“Your mouth looks cold,” he whispers.

His lips on mine feel like a hot brand and his tongue touches mine like warm velvet.


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Summer Loving: Summer in December


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 LovingThat’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.14767176_s

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.

Holy fuck!


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…


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Sommer Marsden – Poster Girl for Extraordinary!


Sommer Marsden’s latest release might be called Poster Boy for Ordinary, but Sommer herself is anything but! In fact, she’s a legend in erotica writing circles, so I’m delighted to welcome her to Superotica today, along with that ever so cute guy on her cover! Goodness, he’s cute…

Over to you, Sommer…

A naughty excerpt please! That’s what Tamsin said. So…I aim to please. Well, almost. I guess what I should say is, I aim to tease which is where this scene comes in. Aubrey and Mike’s first time truly up close and personal. Well, some of it…
There’s something to be said for just a taste. Don’t you think?

“Why are you nervous?” His kiss traveled from her mouth to her jawline. From her jawline to her neck. From her neck to her collarbone and that was when all the air seemed to whoosh out of the room in a great vacuum, leaving Aubrey pinned to a half-done wall trying desperately to breathe.
Mike stroked a gentle fingertip from the buttons of her top to the small, hard knot of her right nipple. He stroked it through the cotton with the tip of his finger, kissing her again more deeply, his tongue invading her mouth, his scent invading her mind.
Aubrey found herself arching her back, pushing against that finger, seeking the feel of his whole palm on her.
He pulled back and a panicky bird seemed to spread its wings in her chest. But he was just removing the camera and placing it on the bookshelf by the door to the stairwell.
“There,” Mike said, pressing back against her. She could feel the heat of his bare chest and the smell of sunscreen grew thicker around her. “Now I can get closer.”
He cupped her face in his palms and paid close attention to her mouth. Stroking his tongue over hers, licking softly along her lower lip and then nibbling so she felt the rush of excitement low in her belly. The rush of it quickly spread to her pussy and Aubrey knew if he so much as suggested sex, she’d be in. One hundred and ten percent. It had been quite a while since she’d gotten laid and there was no doubt in her lust-scrambled mind that Mike Sykes would be very good at it. And very generous to his partner.
She sucked in air like she was drowning and his big hand splayed along her rib cage. The heat of his touch seeped into her skin and then he was pushing his fingers up beneath her shirt and the direct contact was surprising.
A rush of fluid escaped her and puddled in the crotch of her jeans. If they got that far there’d be no playing it cool. She’d never be able to hide how much she wanted him if he saw that. And somehow the knowledge that she would be so easy to discover made her urgent lust a million times better.
Mike swept his hand higher, pushing her top up as he went. When he reached her bra, her body trembled. She shook beneath his hands though she was desperately trying to still herself.
“Are you okay?” he asked conversationally as he pulled her bra cup down and exposed her right breast. His lips captured the already taut bit of flesh and he sucked.
More fluid, more heat, more need. A shuddering sigh slipped free of her even as she tried to convince him she was fine. “I’m perfect,” she said.
He bared her other breast, raked his teeth along her skin. Her whole body responded with bright pleasure. Before she could stop herself she sighed, “Yes.”
Indie photographer and book cover artist Aubrey Singleton is living up to her last name. A long summer at the lake has cured her of her recent breakup, and she’s embracing life as a single woman. What she’s not prepared for is to come back home to find she has a handsome new single neighbor.
Mike Sykes is a roofer—though he’s afraid of heights—a father of two and recently divorced. Oh and one might classify him as smoking hot.
The photographer in Aubrey is smitten, the single woman in her is breathless. She’s ready to make Mike a star—on book covers and, though she’s wary of a broken heart, in her life. He’s not so sure. Mike sees himself as a life complication due to his younger son’s illness, and not hot by a long shot. In fact, he thinks he’s the poster boy for average.
But a “business” trip to Key West, rife with hunky models, sets a backdrop for a shot at true love…

Buy links:
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About the Author:
Professional dirty word writer, gluten free baker, sock addict, fat wiener dog walker, expert procrastinator. Called “one of the top storytellers in the erotic genre” by Violet Blue, Sommer Marsden writes for HarperCollins Mischief, Ellora’s Cave, Excessica, Xcite Books and Resplendence Publishing. She’s the author of numerous erotic novels including Poster Boy for Average, The Accidental Cougar, Lost in You, and Learning to Drown. Visit http://sommermarsden.blogspot.com


I Can Never Say Never to Alison Tyler!


Yes, she’s back! Erotica’s most prolific writer – Alison Tyler (who else?) – has skipped on over with her latest title from Cleis Press, Never Say Never. But this one is a little different… Part sex guide, part erotic anthology, totally super hot – this is a book that every couple needs to keep things alive and sizzling in the bedroom. Or for that matter, in the kitchen, on the stairs, in the garden or somewhere else where you shouldn’t be doing it!


Okay, so here’s the formal blurb:

Never Say Never
Tips, Tricks and Erotic Inspiration for Lovers


Inspiration for Lovers

Monogamy does not have to equal monotony! Bestselling author Alison Tyler has made it her life’s mission to demonstrate that uninhibited, exciting and highly imaginative sex goes down best with lovers who just happen to be long-term couples, too. Half of a very happily married duo, Tyler explains how couples can build a level of trust that makes experimentation possible.

Never Say Never is a blissful blend of Tyler’s wisdom, expert advice and scintillating erotic scenarios guaranteed to liven up your bedroom. Finding the true object of your lust is only the beginning. The sizzling stories and helpful tips in Never Say Never will help you discover exactly what sets your pulse racing for a lifetime of satisfying sex.


And what’s not love about that? I’ve been dipping in and out of Never… for the last few days and not only have I been learning some new tricks (What? Did you think erotica writers knew everything about sex?), I’ve also been enjoying the superb stories from truly excellent writers – Kristina Lloyd, Sommer Marsden, Justine Elyot, Thomas S Roche, Janine Ashbless, Angell Brooks, Georgia E Jones, Charlotte Stein, Teresa Noelle Roberts, N T Morley, Shanna Germain, Sophie Valenti, Donna George Storey, Ashley Lister, Dante Davidson and of course, Tyler herself.

As my favourite editrix writes in her introduction… That’s what Never Say Never is all about: the endless array of possibilities that await when you place a handcuff key on your key ring, when you dig in the closet for four silk ties, when you cue up the camcorder to make a “home movie” you won’t be playing for the Mahjong Club. In this guide/erotic collection, I’ve gathered sixteen stories to set the mood, to spark ideas, to spank your inhibitions – and I’ve added tawdry tidbits from my own explicit experiences, as well as more than fifty filthy clips from more than forty well-known writers in the erotica industry.

(Oh, and I’m proud to say that I number among those forty! Find my clips if you can…)

Meanwhile, here’s a fabulously filthy excerpt from Sommer Marsden’s story, Beneath the Surface.

16748341_s“I think you need to let me put it in you for a minute.” He says this to me with a wry grin and I want to appear affronted. Offended. Shocked.
            I’m not. My body betrays me by sending out a rush of arousal. Nipples spike, stomach dips, pussy grows wet. I swear I can feel my eyes dilating and my pulse jumping like a cornered rabbit in my throat. My fingers are clutching cut up vegetables, my mind is on measurements and the final headcount. I’m frustrated, anxious and frazzled. I stare.
            “I know you’re busy, though, so just for a moment.”
            “I’m not…ready,” I lie. Why do I always do this to myself when he surprises me this way? Why do I never just say, Yes, dear fucking all that is holy yes! Fuck me now. I’m ready. No preamble is fine. Why do I always insist on the build up?
            Derrick reaches out to capture my hard nipple through my worn out UCLA tee. He pinches hard enough that my tongue roams over my lips to lick away the dryness. Pleasure and pain tangle, grapple, fight to the death and on that final bit of pressure pleasure wins. My pussy goes from wet to soaked, my need to have him now has become overwhelming. That fast. That easy. I drop my clutched vegetables on a pretty crystal plate because my hands are shaking.
            What he just did to me—so simply and so expertly—is why. I want the dance of warring emotions. I want the teasing and the torture. I want the blips of pain that slither beneath my skin, dark needs swimming in vibrant want. Like eels beneath the surface of a sunny pond.
            “Just a moment,” I gasp. “But I’m not wet—”
            “If you say you’re not wet enough Fiona, I’ll have to spank you. Because it isn’t just a lie. It’s whatever lies beyond a lie.”
            Something twists deep inside of me, rippling waves of fear and excitement radiate out from my center. My body seems to be humming with electricity. I chew my lip as if considering and then blurt. “But, I’m not wet enough.”
            “Lie,” he reminds me, smiling.
            He is absolutely right. We both know it. It is a big. Fat. Lie. But one I need to tell.
            “See,” Derrick whispers pushing his big hand slowly past the meager barrier of my ratty old sweat pants. I’m catering an event. I’m up to my eyeballs in batter and flour and small delicate cheese twists and fruit and that ever loving fucking veggie platter. I am dressed like a castoff or a college student. My dark hair is twisted up like a mad woman’s. But I can feel my pulse slamming in my temples and my cheeks blushing a hot, slatternly red.
            I watch his hand disappear inch by inch until he’s turned his palm to me, cupping my mound, long thick finger nudging between my nether lips to brush rudely over my clit. Too short, that touch was too damn short. But then he’s plunging a finger into me and my eyes are sliding shut. I’m so wet I can hear him sink a second finger into my willing cunt.
            “Feels pretty wet to me,” he says. His free hand yanks my sweats down around my knees and I gasp. It’s always a surprise when taunting turns to rough. And when rough turns to welcome it’s even better.

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Want to join Rachel Kramer Bussel’s Mile High Club?


Buckle up, strap down and put your seat in the upright position – we’re about to take off for a flight of fancy! Rachel Kramer Bussel is inviting you to join the Mile High Club with her latest Cleis Press anthology, High Flying. Destination? Nowhere in particular – it’s just an exercise in revving up your engines!

FlyingHigh_hiresAs usual, Miss Kramer Bussel has gathered together some of the most talented erotica writers around and this time she’s tasked them writing sex on a plane. And, as there’s nothing I love more than a bad pun, I’m delighted to say they’ve reached new heights. More seriously, there’s a lot to like about this book. Firstly, the cover’s cute – though whenever I try to hang my feet out in the aisle, some trolly dolly threatens to mow them down with the drinks cart! Next, the table of contents is like a roll call for fabulous writing, featuring Alison Tyler, Rachel herself, Kristina Wright, Cheyenne Blue, Donna George Storey, Thomas S Roche, Elizabeth Caldwell, Sommer Marsden, Teresa Noelle Roberts, Bill Kte’pi, Zach Lindley, Desiree, Jeremy Edwards, Matt Conklin, Vanessa Vaughn, Craig J Sorensen, Stan Kent, Geneva King and Ryan Field. So now you know you’re in for some fun!

Despite the limitations of the theme, there’s plenty of variety between these covers. Craig J Sorensen finds a novel use for a banana, Jeremy Edwards invents a whole new flight class, Sommer Marsden finds new meaning in the term ‘scream queen’, while Kristina Wright revisits first love, or should I say, lust. All in all, the pilots, the passengers and the flight crew simply can’t keep their hands off each other once they reach 30,000 feet.

Here’s a teaser from Donna George Storey’s Nasty Little Habit to encourage you to book your ticket…I mean buy the book!


He begins to strum.

Each stroke of his finger sends sparks sizzling through my pussy. My cheeks burn and I’m trying so hard not to moan, my ribs ache. I squeeze Paul’s wrist to steady myself but – devilishly – he only quickens the pace. There’s no turning back now, because I’m a slave to that jiggling finger. I’m a horny slut who wants it so bad, she’ll let a stranger finger her twat on an airplane, yes, she’ll let him rub her wet, swollen pussy until she comes, which is just what I’m doing right now, yes, I’m coming all over Paul’s hand. I grit my teeth to hold back the scream rising from my belly, ricocheting through my body as my ass jerks rhythmically into the cushion.

Amazon US

Cleis Press

Welcome to the Mile High Club – I hope you’ve enjoyed your flight!



Superotica Valentine – Day 2



Welcome to my first fabulous guest, Sommer Marsden, with an excerpt from her new release, Hollow Men, a searing story of dystopia, survival and love rekindled…

“It will be okay,” he said. His voice so soft it was barely audible. “It will, El. You’ll see.”
I nodded, and when I did, I felt the firm curve of his cock beneath my cheek. I smiled. Wiggled my head.
“El,” he chuckled.
“Shh.” I said it this time. I found his zipper and pulled it down. Taylor’s snores soared and then stopped, and I froze—we both did—until he started again. They were asleep.
“Eleanor, I’m supposed to be—”
“So watch,” I said. “Just watch while I do this for a minute.”
I found the head of his cock with my lips, my tongue and thrilled when he groaned softly and stifled it with obvious difficulty.
“In a minute, I might drop dead from how good that f—”
“Shh,” I said again around his girth. It made him sigh softly, that rumbling vibration from my mouth. I raised my head. “You might wake them,” I whispered.
There is something to be said for stealthy sex. Sex where you must be quiet. It’s a big, fat secret you share. And the secret is all about titillation and pleasure.
I stroked his balls by sliding my fingers into his gaping fly. I sucked and ran my mouth down as far as I could go on his shaft. My lips pressed his pubic hair. My eyes prickled with water from nearly triggering my gag reflex. He tasted of soap and salt and cotton.
I inhaled deeply, the scent of my Evan, and licked up his length to run my tongue along the smooth-as-silk ridge of his cockhead. His fingers tangled in my hair, and he gripped hard enough to make pain shiver along my scalp. Between my legs, I went wet and needy.
The sound I made clued him in. He let me go down on him for just a few more seconds before he found my elbows and lifted me. “Come on, El. I need you.”
I swallowed hard and looked away even though he couldn’t see my eyes. Those words did something to me. Something strange.
“You’re on watch,” I reminded him. But when he touched my waistband, pulling me toward him, I shimmied forward, letting him kiss my belly, run his fingers over the plump split of my pussy. The soft fabric of my pajama pants rode that cleft, making the moment all the more unbearable.
Evan hooked his fingers in the waistband and pushed my pants down. He buried his face between my legs, tongue finding me, licking me, making me wetter.
“Come on. You face me. I’ll watch out the window, and you watch behind me. Where the partition ends. In case they sneak up on us.”
His voice was dark and gruff. I wasn’t fooled. At this point, neither of us cared if Sally or Taylor woke up. This was what we needed to do, and we were doing it.
The night was dark, uncertain and full of people who would not hesitate to fuck up your life forever. Both infected and uninfected. We needed this moment of sanity. Of togetherness.
I kicked my pants off, and he opened his fly all the way. Evan’s shotgun sat propped near us, an odd third party to our stolen moment.
He helped me straddle him, his big hand guiding my thigh as I moved. Evan pushed a hand to my chest, settling it between my breasts, pressing my tee to my thickly pounding heart.
“Stay right here a second. Don’t move.” He swept the head of his cock back and forth along my slit. Over and over until my thighs were trembling. “Now,” Evan said.
I sank down, slowly, relishing the tension and the penetration. Lingering to feel every shake and shiver of my thighs. Every struggling gulp of air. He moved up swiftly to meet me, thrusting in short brutal motions as his hands captured my face and he kissed me. His mouth insistent and hot.
“Are you watching, are you watching?” I murmured when I realized my eyes were closed and I was, in fact, not watching.
“I am…sort of.”
“The world can wait one minute, Eleanor Salt,” he said. His voice wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t smiling. He was dead serious.

HollowMenAmazon US
Amazon UK


Superotica Advent Calendar – Day 7

advent banner 3


My excerpt today is a very generous contribution from the most wonderful writer, Sommer Marsden. This is a super-hot scene from her current title, Restricted Release.

“Were you watching me?” he whispered against my neck, surprising me.

He had me pinned to the side table in his foyer and his hands cupped my ass so that I couldn’t get away. I had no choice. Honesty was the only way to fly.

“Yes. Why? Did you…” Had he seen me masturbating at my window? Dear God, what a nightmare. How shameful and yet under it all was a thrill that radiated through my bones.

“I saw a bit of movement. Streetlights on shadows. Like a person. I’m used to observing shadows and movement and people and…” He pushed my leggings and panties down so they were around my hips but no farther. His hands covered the exposed skin of my lower back, the top of my buttocks. He waited, kissing me like we had all the time in the world.

I could feel his cock, hard and ready but still covered by fabric, pressed to the split of my pussy lips. The air in my lungs felt meager. I slipped my hand between us and found him. I gripped his erection through his gray sweatpants and he groaned.

“You’re so pretty,” I confessed. “In sweatpants and nothing else. And you are gorgeous naked.”

I pushed myself to say the words. I was having an out-of-body experience, I thought. Or more accurately, some strange woman with a big mouth had taken over mine. Most men, most arousal, most attraction scared the shit out of me.

However, fear was not an option. If I wanted him I had to be bold.

“Isn’t it me who should be flattering you, Clara?” He sucked my nipple right through my cornflower-blue shirt. It hung off one shoulder like the tops I’d worn as a teenager. My nipple spiked inside my thin bra and I gasped. He sucked harder.

“I guess.” It was the smartest thing I could think to say, sadly.

“Are we going to do this? I need to know.” He stroked up my flanks and along the knobs of my spine, his mouth constantly moving along my throat and over my face. The softest kisses I could ever remember receiving.

And I realized I felt safe in his hands. It was a very foreign feeling to me. Security was extinct in my world.

“Clara?” He pulled back, dark eyes studying me. Instead of feeling the urge to shrink away I felt the urge to tempt him.

I couldn’t focus on it or it would terrify me.

I nodded. “We’re going to do this. Yes. But I need something from you.” I found my bravery and leaned in to kiss his neck. He smelled like soap and coffee and saltwater.

The smell was intoxicating, like huffing human vapors. I smiled and licked him to see if he tasted the same way he smelled.

“Jesus. What? If you’re going to do that right there you might have to drug me so I don’t come in my pants.”

A bubble of laughter burst out of me and I said, “Well, that’s sort of what I was getting at. I wanted to ask you to go slow.” I pressed my mouth to his ear and then licked him again. I felt his cock jump to press against my palm. He was big and Lord, was he hard.

My body let loose a lubricating rush of moisture. I had not wanted a man like this since before my marriage. I had not wanted a man period for what felt like decades. But my want was back with a vengeance because I wanted this one. For hours and hours, I wanted him. And then I wanted him again.

“I can go slow,” he said and pushed my leggings down farther.

When you come from a background like mine and find yourself nude in front of a new man, you have the urge it to cover up. To shield yourself and your undoubtable ugliness from him. So you won’t offend. I had to force myself to squash that impulse.

“Arms up,” he said.

“You have no curtains. Anywhere,” I murmured even as I obeyed him.

Matt yanked my top off and dropped it. My bra was next to fall victim to his nimble fingers. He latched his hot mouth around my nipple, his hands gripping my hips with a strength that startled me.

“I do right there,” he said against my skin, vaguely nodding toward the front window. And then he sucked again.

Heat spiked in my gut, my womb, my cunt. When he drew on my nipple again there was a slight tickling in my throat and a resounding tug in my pussy. He pushed a finger into me as if he knew how wet I was and I arched up to meet him. He curled his fingers and pushed a bit deeper.

“Congratulations on that curtain,” I said, smiling.


I was naked and he was not. It was making me nervous. “You need to take something off or put something back on me,” I said. I rubbed the hard arc of his cock. I could see it clearly pressing against the faded and worn fabric of his sweats.

“Right.” He pushed his pants down. He was bare underneath. When he kicked them off to the side, his cock arched up, pressed to my thigh. “Done.”

“That was easy.”

Matt grunted and kissed me. His mouth tasted like something sweet—soda, wine, tea. I bit his tongue gently and he growled. “Easy if you want me to last.”

“I’m starting to think if we finish fast we can start again.” I curled my fingers around his shaft, sliding my loose fist gently up and down. I refused to examine my boldness. I just went with it. Sex, gorgeous man, a sense of joy in my chest—why question it?

“Good plan.”

restrictedrelease_9781419947438_msrAvailable from:
Amazon UK
Amazon US
All Romance eBooks
Ellora’s Cave

Sommer on Sex in the Snow


It’s with great pleasure that I’m handing Superotica over to the gorgeous Sommer Marsden today, who’s going to tell us a little bit about a chilly experience she once had and then treat us to an excerpt from her latest title, Restricted Release.

Over to you, Sommer:

Sex and Snow

 I once wrote an article on real sex for the (*sniffle*) now-gone Ruthie’s Club. It was about sex in the snow. Which I’ve had. And yes, it was one of *those* sexual experience. No matter how old you get or how far in the past it is, you remember it. Always.

 See, it was outside (duh, did I just say that?), and yes it was cold as hell. But it was *outside* during a snowstorm. Under a tree. At night. It was spectacular. Having sex with snow rushing at my face at lightning speed.

 What was I saying?

 Oh! Right! Sex and snow.

 You can keep your heat waves and the whole heat makes you horny (baby)theory. Nope. Not me. Heat makes me miserable. It makes me hot and sweaty and usually grumpy. Now…turn on the air conditioner and crank that puppy and *that* will make me horny.

 So, as you can imagine, I am a much easier girl (in all respects) when it’s cold outside. Fall, bring it on. I love to snuggle. And then the step past snuggle. Cold wind a blowing?…oh yeah, make room for me under that blanket. And while we’re under there, well we might as well…*ahem*. Snow! Bring it. Nothing puts me in the mood faster. The urge to warm up and be close along with the magical, silent world that snow brings. It’s somehow more intimate and cozy than the regular old world. Certainly more so than a stinking heat wave!

 What’s my point? That winter is coming (no, that’s not a Game of Thrones reference, but hey, I love that too) and I’m going to want nookie? Well, yes! And no. Basically, there is a whole lot of snow in my new book Restricted Release. And a whole lot of sex.

 Coinkydink? Pthhpppt! I think not!

 If you get chilly as fall and winter hurtle toward us, consider picking up a copy. Because despite the wicked winter weather in my novel, it will certainly warm you up. I promise.



restrictedrelease_9781419947438_msrAn Excerpt From: RESTRICTED RELEASE

Copyright © SOMMER MARSDEN, 2013

All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

We sat in the center of his box-cluttered living room floor on a large blanket. Around us was scattered some leftover takeout, cheese, crackers, a box of lemon cookies, mixed nuts, olives, pickles and a bottle of wine.

“This should be disgusting,” he said, eating a pickle with a piece of cheese on a cracker.

“But it‘s so, so good,” I said, eating my own cracker with cheese. I ate it in small nibbles because my stomach was electric.

“Really?” He cocked his head. “Because you barely seem to be eating.” He touched my leg with his bare foot. He was warm.

“I‘m eating.” I pulled the sweatshirt he‘d draped over me close to my body. Besides his sweatshirt, I wore my white slouchy socks and we‘d located my panties.

He held out a box of cookies. “I’m good,” I said.

Matt studied me. “I‘m not as dumb as I look, you know.”

I ate the rest of my cracker and took a sip of wine. It was nice. It had that whiskey aftertaste I usually hate and yet I didn‘t this time. There was enough of a fruity burst in it to temper the oak. “I don‘t think you look dumb at all. I think you look really smart,” I said.

I hoped he didn‘t hear the mixture of annoyance and anxiety in my voice. I wanted to get past the food thing.

No chance.

“So tell me, mysterious neighbor. Why do you seem to be a person who sticks very close to home? Why do you seem so…gun-shy? Is that a good description?”

I tried to nod but my head barely moved.

“I know why I‘ve been a monkish man for almost a year. Why have you been Sister Clara Barrett?”

I cleared my throat. “I don‘t know.”

He cocked his head and then cut his eyes away. He tried to make it look nonchalant, but I knew what he was doing. He was giving me a moment to consider the situation.



Matt held up a hand, looking me right in the eye so I felt totally naked. For a crazy moment I felt as if there were no barriers between what was inside of me and what was inside of him. He said, “You were bold enough this morning to straight up tell me you wanted to have sex with me.”

I opened my mouth but he kept that silencing hand up and I shut my mouth with an audible snap. His fingers slipped beneath my sock, circled my ankle and he said very softly, “Please let me finish before you throw up your security fences and barriers.”

My throat was tight. I nodded.

“You were bold enough to watch me in my bathroom. When I probably could have spotted you at any time, and I sorta kind of did at the end there. And…” He squeezed my ankle and the pressure went right to my pussy. “You were bold enough to come over here on a…” He chuckled. “Booty call.”

I made a small noise of protest but then laughed. Our laughter mingled and I felt a rightness I couldn‘t remember feeling. It scared the shit out of me.

“But you won‘t tell me what your history is, Clara?” He didn‘t say it to belittle me. I could tell he wasn‘t angry. It was simply a question to help him understand. And that made me tell him.

I finished my wine in three big gulps and leaned back on my hands, keeping my legs in crisscross-applesauce fashion.

“I was married.” I picked at a loose thread on my sock and then looked at him. His eyes were amazing. Gorgeous and kind and deep—if they were the windows to Matt Millen’s soul, his soul was a wonder of the Universe.

“I‘m going to say this in one big breath and get it over with, okay?” I said, feeling my eyes sting a little. I willed myself not to cry. I could not cry. That would be stupid. That bad part of my life was over. I needed to move past it.

“Okay,” Matt said. His hand stayed around my ankle, loose but comforting. He wasn‘t eating or drinking, but he wasn‘t poking or prodding either. He was waiting. Listening. Paying attention.

“I was married to a man who wasn‘t…nice.” I shrugged but it felt like I was being blasé about something that was anything but. So I stilled my body and went on, willing myself to be strong. “He didn’t beat me or anything. But he carved me up emotionally. My sister Cat once said it would have been better if he had beaten me.” My voice had gotten small. My stomach hurt.

His eyes flashed with anger but he kept his face schooled. “And why is that?”

I blew out a shuddery breath and whispered. “She said that if he‘d left bruises on me—broke bones—I‘d have known that it was wrong. But as it stood, he got inside my head and…” I tapped my temple. “Fucked with me. He played on my biggest fears and weaknesses to control me. It‘s like in those books where you read about demons and possession and Hell,” I laughed. “He infiltrated my brain and he trapped me with my own fear.”

Matt sighed and popped an olive in his mouth. “I‘m going to go out on a limb here, slim lady, and say one of your issues is food and body image?”

My cheeks heated and I nodded, saying nothing at all. I had to fight the urge to cover myself with his sweatshirt. To pull it down over my knees and hide myself in it. It was a war I still waged most days, even thought I was alone about 80 percent of the time.

He watched me. He was waiting.



Clara is the recovering anorexic who’s nearly become a shut-in after the end of her emotionally abusive marriage. Matt is the new boy next door. Graphic artist, nice guy, funny…accepting of Clara.  She wants him, he wants her—but Clara is afraid.

Nadia is the stand-in—Matt’s idea, Clara’s challenge to accept. A longtime friend of Matt’s, she’s a sexual surrogate intended to guide Clara until she’s not afraid of Matt’s desire for her or hers for him. Twosomes become threesomes, watching becomes touching and lust becomes love.

When Matt moved in next door, lust was the last thing Clara expected. Two lovers never crossed her mind. And the need to make a choice was something she thought she’d never encounter. But she’s bolder now, healing, and everything has changed. And a choice must be made, no matter how hard.

Inside scoop: Clara’s healing includes a hot woman who wants to show her how desirable she is, as well as f/m/f menagés.

Available from:
Amazon UK
Amazon US
All Romance eBooks
Ellora’s Cave



Sommer Marsden’s been called “…one of the top storytellers in the erotica genre” (Violet Blue), “Unapologetic” (Alison Tyler), “…the whirling dervish of erotica” (Craig J. Sorensen),and “Erotica royalty…” (Lucy Felthouse).

Her erotic novels include Restricted Release, Restless Spirit, Boys Next Door, and Learning to Drown. Sommer currently writes erotica and erotic romance for Xcite Books, eXcessica, Ellora’s Cave, Pretty Things Press, Resplendence Publishing and Mischief Books. The wine-swigging, dachshund-owning, wannabe runner author writes work that runs the gamut from bondage to zombies to humor.

Sommer’s short works can be found in well over one hundred (and counting) erotic anthologies. Her short stories have also been included numerous adult and romance magazines–both in print and online.Visit her at Unapologetic Fiction http://sommermarsden.blogspot.com

Super Sexy and Seriously Scary – It’s Sommer’s Latest…

I’ve got to admit it – Sommer Marsden has long been one of my favourite smut writers and, let’s face it, what’s not to like?  She’s written a fantastic canon of smut – from shorts to novellas to full-length novels – and they all bear the hallmark of her fluid, super sexy writing.  So of course, I’m thrilled to be able to bring you a spine-tingling excerpt from her latest work, a fabulously hot ghost story called Under My Skin, out now from Resplendence Publishing.

Happy reading!



Summer writes:

Writing a Ghost

Not as easy as you’d think. I mean, they’re invisible, they don’t eat much, they come and go as they please and…are way more complex than one would imagine before one (who would be me) attempts to write a ghost.

My ghost in Under My Skin has suffered the ultimate loss—the life she was supposed to have. And now she’s back to help usher someone she loves more than anything over to her side. Talk about a hard thing to write.

The trick was to make it honest, and intense, and sexy (that was a hard one) and noble and write scenes that blend said ghost with a living, breathing, and yes, lusting young woman who’s dealing with her own emotional turmoil.

I sure as hell hope I pulled it off.

Under My Skin is like nothing I’ve ever written. And if I did it right, every re-write, every mad bout of reading aloud and I’m-so-frustrated-it’s-wine-time evenings were well worth it. When writing a ghost you have to manage to capture all they were, all they are and what they might end up being. So, ya know…no big deal. Right?



Here’s the blurb:

House bought for a steal online when it turns out there’s a damn good reason—check.

Malicious ghost with a body count to his name—check.

Sad, lingering female spirit pining for her still living (but currently dying) fiancé—check.

What’s a widowed medium to do when a departed soul asks to ride piggy back in her body?

To share her space and get under her skin? Juliet Bale does the only thing she can do—with her twin sister’s good counsel—she lets Lanie share her body to help her dying beloved Elijah cross over. The problem is that with all the reuniting, and sharing one body, things get seriously intimate and Juliet can’t help but see exactly why Elijah Rivers was so beloved.

It’s so wrong to sorta kinda fall for a dying man, and yet—check.


Excerpt from Under My Skin

© Sommer Marsden

“I’m telling you, Minnie, it feels off.” I tucked the phone under my chin and tried not to trip on the damn thing. My brand new kitchen had a way-old phone. It actually had a cord, for goodness’ sake.

“Off how? Off is relative when it comes to you, twin sister, dear.”

I snorted, and Minnie made a high-pitched sound that said she was laughing at me. “Har har.”

I slipped my silverware—triple wrapped in plastic—into my freshly washed and tidied drawer. I had just spent three hours wiping down the room and cleaning everything. I wanted it as spic and span as possible for me and my own energy. Most people don’t realize when you move in a new home, along with other people’s dirt, you get other people’s emotions.

“I mean, what is off, Juliet? Is the paint too bright or the window too small or…what?” My sister was mocking me.

“The energy,” I said, pushing a stack of brightly colored cake plates into a small side cabinet. “Don’t play dumb, Min. You haven’t just met me. You know, your sister…the sensitive. Resident psychic medium,” I chuckled, making a joke at my own expense.

I swore I heard her smile over the phone line. I could picture my sister in my mind. Same long unruly dirty blond hair as mine. Same startling blue eyes that could turn gray with mood, weather or depending on what color we wore. But we weren’t identical, we were fraternal. She was shorter and curvier than me, her nose just a bit sharper. And her tongue.

“Juliet, let’s face it, any place is going to be off to you, right? Any place you go is going to be steeped in someone else’s emotions and past, yes?”

“Yes,” I agreed, wiping my hands on my shirttails and leaning against the giant butcher block island in the center of the room. “True story.”

“Well, then, just deal with it. There is no clean space for you, really. Unless you build a brand new home from scratch and not a single worker has a bad day or an illness or any of that.”

I nodded even though she couldn’t see me. She was right.

“So take this new home and treat it as your own. Smear your own energy all over the place.”

I snorted, eyeing my shirt. It had been Justin’s. My heart crimped up at seeing it. Three years had not dulled my loss, and despite being psychically sensitive and talking to spirits more often than not, I had yet to see or talk to him. I wondered if it were somehow taboo for us to speak or if he thought it would be too painful for me to see him.

“Hello?” my sister sighed.

“Sorry, I hear you. You’re right. Though I don’t know about smearing my energy all over the place. Kind of makes me sound like a monkey—”

“Juliet!” she snapped, knowing where I was going with that analogy. “Onto other things. How are you doing? I mean…how are you doing?”

She meant moving out of the former home that Justin and I had shared before he died. She meant on my own. She meant finally embracing the fact that I was single and maybe moving on with my new life. Montgomery House was that chance. I mean, how often do you get to buy a house with a name? And I’d gotten it for a song. Which worried me, but…

“I’m fine,” I lied. “No worries.”

“I’m coming to see you soon,” she threatened, and I smiled.

“You’d better.”

* * * *

He was big—big and looming. But he was also thin. The kind of build that made the mind pull up images of a praying mantis or some ungodly sea creature trapped in the darkness near the ocean floor. Just seeing him turn his muddy eyes to me made my heart thunder.

“You’re here,” he said and smiled.

The smile was the most frightening aspect of his appearance. It twisted his face in such a way that it reminded me of a molded rubber mask that had gone askew. Almost as if his skin didn’t quite fit on his bones the right way.

I turned to run, and when I did, his long arm shot out to plant a big, strong hand on my shoulder. Being touched by him was like experiencing the most sudden and all-consuming emptiness imaginable. A sob ripped out of me.

“I thought three was my lucky number,” he said, his voice gravel turned under a tire. Sand scraped across stainless steel. It made my head hurt, and my heart followed suit.

I pulled against his strength, knowing I’d never break free until I awoke. I knew by the energy I was trapped in a dream. Knew he couldn’t really hurt me…not yet. But I also knew that as long as I slept, I was his. This was the secret my new house held. This energy. And this was where I’d be until I could drag myself back up to my conscious mind.9373468_s

“Three what?” I managed, stalling.

“Three girls before you came.” The cadence of his words stirred goose bumps along my skin. The fine hairs of my scalp prickled with dread.

“You killed them?”

“I consumed them,” he said. “Their essence.”

The urge to scream was overpowering. The urge to weep even stronger. Instead, I did the only thing I could do. I turned into his grip to face him. He looked surprised for a moment, his long rubbery face and his sick brown eyes showing shock. But then he smiled, and that hole seemed to open in my stomach again. I studied the face. The old-fashioned brown suit. The proper white buttoned-down shirt. Cufflinks, a tie clip, wingtip shoes and close-cropped hair.

Then I bit my tongue as hard as I possibly could and tasted blood. His face lit up when the coppery taste flooded my mouth. Maybe he could smell it. But then he realized what I’d done and frowned at me.

“You’ll be back,” he said. “I’m here all the time.”

I woke up.


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Sh! XXXmas Pleasure Hunt – Win Super Sexy Goodies!



Christmas is coming and it’s definitely time for fun and games!  And what could be better than an online treasure hunt?  No need to go outside in the freezing wind and rain – just surf from blog to blog hunting down treasure and you could win an amazing goody bag of prizes or some fantastic books from the authors taking part.

So for my post today, I want to really BIG UP the girlz over at Sh!  They do an amazing job and the shop over at Sh! is brilliant – if you haven’t dropped in yet, I would urge you to do so.  But if you live to far away, you still get your hands on all their naughty delights by ordering from the website.

And I want to thank the Sh! girlz for something else – thanks to them, I experienced one of those seminal moments that only happen once in a writer’s life.  I popped into the shop the other day and there, piled high on a table in the middle of the shop, was one of the anthologies I’m in.  That was the first time that I’d seen a print copy of one of my books, on display in a shop.   Boy, did my heart skip a beat with delight.

And the book?   It was Smut by the Sea – maybe a little unseasonal for this time of year, but actually what could be a better way of banishing the winter blues than reading about saucy sex on hot beaches?  And it would make a great Christmas present for someone special…

And remember to visit today’s partners in crime to get your other two clues:

Sommer Marsden

Janine Ashbless

Enjoy the rest of the treasure hunt – tomorrow you’ll need to visit these blogs for your clues:sbts-vol1-cover

Tabitha Rayne

Lily Harlem Erotic Romance

Kay Jaybee – Everyone Needs a Bedtime Story

And if you want to find out how to take part, all the details are on the Sh! blog

Good luck to all who enter!