Please welcome the fabulous Sommer Marsden to my blog today!!
Sommer has a new story out, The Boys Next Door, don't miss it, I know I won't!
Never in her hottest dreams did Farrell McGee expect a move to Tower Terrace to be such an erotic roller coaster ride.
"Good luck getting your key. I’m the middle house across the road should you need anything. At all," he said. The tone, the words, the accent on the anything. Oh god, he was one of those men. Men who had tons of self assurance and sexual prowess and total faith in their bedroom abilities. Those men were dangerous.
Starting over at twenty eight, Farrell McGee discovers sleepy Tower Terrace teeming with handsome men. Well, maybe not teeming, but three heart-stopping men do live across the road from her.
Despite feeling she's fallen backwards into a fairytale, complete with a big stone tower, a local legend and missing love letters, it becomes clear that all three of her neighbours have a sensual grip on her. She's powerless to choose just one, and just as powerless to get them out of her head or her bed. Deke, the devilish good boy who's superb at being bad. Coop, so often annoying in his gruffness, but oh so dominant where it counts. And Stephen the pretty, sweet, slightly submissive one. Her sex life has never been so good and her heart never so torn. She needs to choose one man, when she's not ready to give up any of them. But deep down she knows who she wants.
Take it away Sommer...
One of my favorite scenes in Boys Next Door is a voyeur scene. Farrell goes to visit one of the men she’s been seeing and instead sees him with another person. Another guy!
So what about you, would you watch? Would you peek through the window? I’ve never been faced with that problem in real life. But in fiction, I’ve been there done that.
I love voyeur scenes because for most of us the instinctual reaction to seeing people together in an intimate way is to leave. And then—if we wait a beat too long— there might come that instant where the knee jerk reaction to leave is overridden by something inside of us telling us to stay.
Or maybe we just want to—like Farrell.
I knew he was bisexual, he’d been very upfront about it, but seeing him like this – with another gorgeous man – it did something to me. It turned me on in a way I’d never really experienced before. And I wanted to watch.
Anyone else have The Clash stuck in their head? Should I stay or should I go now…
Anyway, as you can imagine, this being a hot scene in the book—Farrell lets her internal something override her. And she watches her lover with another lover. It’s one of my top five favorite scenes in the book. Speaking of scenes in the book, I believe there’s one below…
‘What now?’ I sighed.
I grabbed my mug and watched him appraise me with that sharp stare. Why did I still feel naked?
‘That is your sump pump, Farrell.’
‘Oh.’ To be honest, I had no idea I had a sump pump.
‘It’s on a battery backup in case of …’ Coop waved his hands around. ‘This.’
‘Ah,’ I said.
Brilliant. One word answers, dingbat.
I listened to the infernal beeping for another moment and tried not to squirm as he studied me, that mysterious twist of a smile on his sensual lips. Coop crossed his arms and there was a Celtic cross, a feather that might or might not be a raven or a crow, a swatch of blue and … he crossed them the other way and there was the hint of a scaled tail. A mermaid?
When I took a shuddery breath and simply could not stand the beep-beep-beeeeeeep anymore I blurted, ‘My God, how do I make it stop?’
He chuckled, gave me a decisive nod and took my hand. ‘Let’s start by going in your basement where the sump pump lives.’
‘Yes, let’s,’ I echoed, rattled by his strong hand on my wrist. When he held my arm, though, I saw more of that tail and yes, it had to be a mermaid. Or a very curvy fish.
‘It’s a mermaid,’ he said, following my gaze.
‘Oh, I didn’t – I wasn’t –’ I shook my head and we took my very steep, wooden, horror-movie-esque basement steps slowly.
‘Have you been down here yet?’
‘No,’ I admitted. ‘I have a basement phobia.’
‘Nope. Just basements.’
Another smoky laugh and then he was tugging me into the corner by the washbasin and the laundry area.
He squatted down and I tried very hard not to study the firm line of his ass and thighs in his dark blue work pants. Or the way his work boots made my body flash all hot like and needy. Or how the small swatch of skin I could see and the slice of boxer short waistband was visible, or how any of that made my breasts feel tender and my mind sizzle like I’d been electrocuted.
I was learning about my sump pump. Sump. Pump. And that was all.
‘This red light,’ he said, pointing.
I nodded. Thankful, suddenly, for the flood of sunlight from the small window high over the washbasin. I realised without it we’d be down here in the darkness – okay, murky daytime ‘darkness’ but darkness nonetheless.
‘If it goes off on a glitch, you push it for one second. Once it stops beeping you move your finger.’
‘Got it. But this isn’t a glitch. This is an actual outage so …’
‘So you do this,’ he said. ‘You push the button down and count to five.’ He pushed his finger to the button near the red light and looked up at me. ‘One … Two …’ On two I blanked out because I was watching the plump invitation of his lips and yes, my eyes had darted back to that lovely strip of exposed skin and his ass. Oh, man, the man had an ass.
‘Are you counting?’
‘Yes,’ I whispered.
‘What number are we on?’
I blinked, took a step back, right into a clothesline strung from the rafters and I promptly freaked the hell out and started waving my arms, dancing in place, screeching – convinced I’d backed up into the world’s largest spider web.
Then I tangled myself in the slack line and screamed in earnest. It wasn’t until Coop, who I could tell was mightily trying not to laugh, grabbed my arms and whispered, ‘Settle down,’ that I stilled.
I’d looped one arm up and one under and had effectively twisted myself up. He reached overhead. ‘Let me just find where it’s hooked and I can …’ he stopped talking, feeling around in the rafters.
‘Spiders,’ I wheezed, reminding him that they were waiting to eat his hand.
‘I think I’ll be fine.’ He looked me in the eye and smiled and that was that. My cunt flexed wetly, my stomach bottomed out and I licked my lips without thinking.
I moved my arm and managed to get my wrist unwound. ‘I think I’ve got it –’
‘Here.’ He gave up trying to find where it was tied and untwisted my other arm as I worked on the right one. I had caught a flash of tattoo at waist level when he’d raised his arms.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘What is what?’
I gave up. I’d gone from scared of him, to panicked lunatic twisted up in ropes, to tentatively bold. ‘This?’
I lifted the tail of his shirt and touched the small swatch of colour visible above his waistband. But the blue work pants shielded the rest of the picture from me. When my finger brushed his skin, electricity – real or imagined – hummed along my own skin.
‘Be careful doing that, Farrell,’ he said, catching my hand in his. ‘I’m just a man. And you’re just a new, very beautiful, very intriguing neighbour.’
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 Boys Next Door, Restless Spirit, Big Bad, Wanderlust and Learning to Drown. Sommer currently writes erotica and erotic romance for Harper Collins (Mischief Books), Xcite Books, eXcessica, Ellora's Cave, Pretty Things Press, and Resplendence Publishing. 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 sommermarsden.blogspot.com to see what’s up and drop her a line.
WOW! Thanks so much for stopping by and sharing THAT Sommer, you can come anytime :-)
Buy Links for The Boys Next Door