Sommer (time Blues)

Make with the clickie, donate some assistance for Sommer Marsden, one of my favorite writers, who is going through a really tough time right now...

If you can help, please do. If not, read around these blogs and check out the hot kisses (snogs - is it just me or does the British slang for making out sound more like a fluffy little monster than a kiss?) and spread the word...

Tweet or Facebook

Snog for Sommer! Enjoy the excerpts, win prizes and donate to help @sommer_marsden and family fight cancer! http://ht.ly/Ao8Lv

So, here's your Snog for today, a preview from Blues, sequel to my best-selling New Adult LGBT novel, Roll, which will be published in March, 2015...


Beau drew his lover into his arms, into a tight embrace. Vin's heart was frantic under Beau's fingertips, even through a jacket and vest and t-shirt, loud and anxious and throbbing. Beau ran his fingers through Vin's hair, product-perfect waves of highlighted medium brown. Vin smelled of fancy shampoo, cologne, smoke, and coffee. A rich, masculine scent that never failed to stir the swirl of wanting in Beau's belly.

"You know that I love you, right?" Vin said, his voice muffled against Beau's throat, breath warm. Beau was somewhat taller than his boyfriend, rested his chin on Vin's head, pulling him closer into the embrace, feeling the cold of the truck's side against his back where his shirt had rucked up.

"I know." And Beau did know that.

Vin tilted his head up and Beau kissed his forehead, the flat planes of each cheek. Vin opened his mouth, inhaled. Beau slid one hand around Vin's lower back, pulled him closer, the other hand going up to cup his chin, hold that teasing, torturous mouth just where he wanted it, thumb caressing the stubled skin of Vin's cheek. He descended on Vin's mouth, tasting the sweet flavor of tobacco. Soft kisses, easy and light, not giving in to Vin's wordless demands to thrust his tongue in. Nuzzling, play kisses, meant to drive his lover wild with wanting, until they were both so spun up in each other that nothing else mattered.

He couldn't hold out as long as he'd wanted; Ann-Marie's grief had upset him and Vin wasn't the only one who wanted some sort of reassurance. He deepened the kiss, his tongue plundering the depths of Vin's mouth, tasting, exploring, and then just plain fucking Vin's mouth with his own. The mingled sound of their harsh breathing, air rushing in and out of their lungs, was erotic and close. He could feel the cool exhale against his ear and throat. Beau slid his hand down, worked the thin t-shirt out of Vin's jeans, put both hands beneath to hold and grip that firm skin, caressing and eager. Vin reached up, grabbed a handful of Beau's hair and yanked, bringing a tingle of pain across Beau's scalp. He slid one thigh between Beau's, his cock hard and hot against Beau's leg.

Vin was eager, hurried. His hands cupped the back of Beau's neck, slid down his chest, found the buttons on his shirt and slid one out of the placket.

Beau shivered as cold air rushed in to fill the void, down along his chest and across his belly. His skin erupted in gooseflesh. "Jesus, it's cold out here," he muttered into Vin's ear.

"So?" Vin's clever, quick fingers found Beau's belt buckle and worked it, rubbing the heel of his hand against Beau's groin. The temptation of that hand was too much. Beau let his head loll back against the truck's window, staring up at the stars. Vin opened up Beau's fly, his fingers pressed inside, seeking, searching, finding. Oh, God.

###

I'm offering a copy of Roll to people who comment, plus - and here's the really nice bit - you will get an ADVANCED COPY of Blues to read before anyone else can! So, comment. Donate. Help out one of the best smut writers EVER...

(You do not have to donate to win... just comment. Those who donate and say so will get an extra entry... As a note, 6.15 pounds is ~$10 US. Paypal will do these calculations for you.)

Poster Boy for Average; Sommer Marsden

Pretty sure we all know Sommer by now; she's that wonderful lady next door in my e-neighborhood who usually has a glass of wine and some fresh chit-chat... so, have a lawn chair and there's a fluffy girl drink in the blender...

____


This whole pseudo blog tour of mine has basically been about my favorite moments. Not just in my book but in life and in the love story of two people. Here’s another favorite. The moment when all the b.s. begins to fall away. All the worries and the fears get dragged out into the light where they seem so much less terrifying than they seemed before. This is the beginning of that moment…

XOXO
Sommer

Excerpt:

Downstairs, she simply stared at her crazy dog. He was not standing by the back door for the sunroom, which led out to the deck. Nope. He was planted before the front door, wagging his tale and whining.
Which he only did when the person on the other side was someone he knew. Strangers, he barked. Known folks, he sat and whined until she let them in.

“Hello?” she said loud enough—she hoped—to be heard through the front door and the screen. Or had she locked the screen door? She couldn’t remember.

The hair on her arms stood up and her nipples grew tight and hot inside her jersey. She wasn’t sure if she was excited or scared. Maybe both.

A deep sigh. It was audible to her in the total silence of her house. Usually she had music playing or the TV going or even talk radio on. Right now the only sounds were her breathing, the swish-swish-swish of Bruce’s wagging tail on the hardwood floor, the tick of the clock and then, barely audible, “Aubrey?”

She’d known it would be him. She’d known it would be his voice she heard, but it still warmed her as if she were sitting beneath the bright summer sun.

“Yes?”

“Can you open the door?”

She stayed frozen where she was. Her heart pounding. Her body on high alert. “Maybe.”

“Did I wake you?”

She shuffled a step forward, wanting to rush forward and let him in, but afraid of what would happen if she did. Not to her body—she knew what would happen in that respect if she let him in—but inside her. The part of her that was hurt he was keeping her at arm’s length. Whether she understood it or not.

“A little. Mostly Bruce woke me.”

“I came to say I can’t stop thinking about you. Despite my own warnings to you, it’s me who can’t keep my shit together. Or my distance.”

Aubrey moved a bit closer to the door. Her hands were shaking. Her heart pounded. She licked her lips and watched Bruce wag his tail to the point where he nearly tipped himself over.

She unlocked the door, but left the chain on. “I can’t stop thinking of you either,” she whispered.

He reached through the gap, his hand above the security chain, and stroked her cheek. The touch made her shiver. What was keeping her from opening the door and letting him in? Pride?

Possibly.

“You don’t have to let me in. I wanted to say that maybe I’m an asshole.”

That made her laugh. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

His thumb ran slowly along her lower lip and it took everything in Aubrey not to stick her tongue out and lick it.

“I would. I think I’m pushing you away so very hard, Aubrey, because all I really want, to be honest, is to pull you close. You know you’re pretty fucking intense.”

She cocked her head and he took her braid in his hand and tugged gently. She felt the resounding tug between her legs in the wet warmth that was just begging to be filled by Mike.

She took a shuddery breath. “Me, intense?” A bark of laughter slipped out of her. “Are you serious? I’m intense?”

In her mind it kept echoing. All I really want, to be honest, is to pull you close…


Blurb:

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:

Ellora’s Cave: http://www.ellorascave.com/poster-boy-for-average.html

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00K0J0LLO/

ARe: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-posterboyforaverage-1498148-149.html

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

Accidental Cougar: Sommer Marden's Blog Tour

Like one of those favorite friends who drops in randomly to grab a cup of coffee and share a bit of gossip, Sommer Marsden hangs out at my blog... I've hosted her here several times and I talk about her a lot (in fact, I sold a copy of her book for her yesterday. I was talking to one of my girlfriends over lunch and said I'd just finished reading it. As she's forty-seven and just getting back into the dating scene after she lost her fiancee in a terrible accident last year, and the first person her sister tries to set her up with is twenty-six, she cracked up when I told her the novel's premise. I just sent her off the buy link Friday morning...)

So, I'm going to hand it over to Sommer while I get us some coffee (Burundi, single source. Good stuff.)

It’s amazing what can start with a single look. My lust for a rust bucket ’66 Mustang coupe began with a single look. My adoration of pale pink lipstick also began with a single glance. When I met the man a 19 year love affair began with a single look. Hell, my kids began with a particular gaze if you want to get technical. And when a young man did a double take at me a few months back, that single look started a book. Which actually turned into three.

It wasn’t hard to write the beginning of The Accidental Cougar because I knew exactly how Abby felt when Charlie did a double take and gave her a longer look. When that happened to me in real life a while ago, it happened during a particularly crappy week here at Casa Sommer and I looked, quite frankly, like a cast member of the Broadway show Rent. I had on multiple layers of multiple things, no makeup and my hair was wild. When that young man did a double take I assumed it was because I was shockingly unkempt.

Until he smiled. When he smiled I realized he’d did a double take for a whole different reason.

And I came home and started the book—like a speed demon. Abby was born and she was just as flabbergasted as I was about that lingering look. Only she went on to explore it. Me? I just used it as a kick in the ass to start a novel.

So, dark haired, handsome young man out there, wherever you are: Thanks for the books. And that long look. And the smile. It was exactly what I needed—on many different levels.

XOXO

Sommer

I saw him coming. I just wasn’t paying attention. My eyes found him, glanced off, and went to my bag again. Cell phone, wallet, lip gloss, book…my usual OCD check upon leaving a store. I glanced up at the young man pinpointed by a stark ray of sun, and looked right into the dark blue of his eyes.

I had no idea who he was. Only that he was tall, dark and handsome. And that wasn’t a cop out or a cliché. He was tall, dark and handsome. He was also wearing a nametag from the store I’d just exited.

Northern Drug wasn’t a big place, and I knew almost everyone who worked there. I’d raised two children and had probably spent at least a year’s salary over the years on band aids, ointments, prescriptions, acne creams and sanitary products.

Irving was the pharmacist. When he was out Mary or Darren filled in. There were three women and two men who usually manned the non-pharmacy part of the store. Mr. Tall-dark-and-handsome wasn’t one of them.

All of this swirled through my head as he shot me a coy smile—downright flirtatious—and raised a hand in a wave.

I found that my own hand, a mere ghost of itself since I couldn’t seem to feel it, raised of its own accord.

I could barely make out his name from my driver’s seat. Charles.

“Thank God I’m farsighted, Charles,” I muttered but then I realized he’d cocked his head in my direction, catching the fact that I was talking.

He raised his eyebrows and delivered another half-smile. What a half smile it was.

I was a divorced woman, I reminded myself. And old enough to be his mother, probably, I reminded myself further. I didn’t like that second part at all.

He raised a hand again, this time in a ‘were you talking to me?’ gesture and I realized I’d never been very good at charades. I shook my head and waved at him, laughing dramatically so he’d know I found the whole thing funny.

Clearly, I’d misunderstood.

Pat, one of the women who worked almost every weekday, stuck her head out and called out to him. He looked a little crestfallen, it was a pretty cute look on an already cute guy. I got another half wave and then he sauntered toward her, all perfectly fitted jeans, low top Vans and navy pullover.

“And dark, curly hair that’s a little too long, let’s not forget,” I said aloud. “You uber perv.”

I started the car and left, hell bent for leather that I’d put Charles-the-young out of my mind.

blurb:

What would be the harm in a little fling? What would be so bad about bedding a young man who could technically be my son? He wasn’t my son. He wasn’t my anything. But he could possibly, if I could unclench my ass long enough, be my lover.

My lover.

What was so bad?

Buy Accidental Cougar at Amazon

bio:

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 Lost in You, Restricted Release, Boys Next Door, Restless Spirit, and Learning to Drown. Visit http://sommermarsden.blogspot.com

Restricted Release; The Not Quite a Blog Tour by Sommer Marsden

Can you see me now?

I recently wrote a blog for Tabitha Rayne about the voyeurism in my new novel Restricted Release. Funny thing, though, I guess I felt the need to be fair because I put a little exhibitionism in my book to balance things out. In fact, the large (ceiling to floor) windows in the houses featured in Restricted Release could almost be considered a fourth in the sexual ménages found within its pages. They're almost another willing partner in the sexual situations.

Clara never considered herself a voyeur, but she also never figured herself for an exhibitionist...until Nadia and her toys showed up. Then all bets were off. Clara found her inner exhibitionist.

(Warning NSFW)

“How about you make her feel pretty, Nadia?” Matt said, his voice smoke and vapors.

It was in my head, his voice. In my gut and in my cunt and winding its way steadily into my heart. My soul perked up when he spoke, and when I thought of him touching me, it soared.

It was a dangerous thing, my connection with him. Too much, too fast, and yet—I craved it when I was honest with myself.

“I can do that,” she said. Her pretty slim hand found its way into my pants and she slid her finger along my slit. I was still wet from earlier and the rich musky scent of my previous orgasm filled my head.

“In fact I have just the thing if you’re game. I want you to put your hands up there on the glass. Both of them.”

I did it and prayed no one was on the roof looking down. It was really the only way for anyone to see me but for Matt. He could see all of me but for the window frame that cut the glass in half. He could see her pushed up tight against me. Her hands in my pants. The look on my face. And I could see all of him. Handsome him pulling a tall-backed stool up to the windowpane and taking a seat to watch.

“Actually, raise your hands like you’re under arrest,” she said loud enough for him to hear.

I did it.

She slipped my tee over my head, mussing my hair. It fell in a crazy halo around my face. I was bare and chilled and then she pressed my palms flat to the window again.

“Check out those perky pretty tits, Matty,” Nadia said and left the room.

I was breathing like I might cry.

“Just be calm, Clara. They really are perfect. You worry too much. You are so…spectacular.”

And then I did cry because I wanted so badly to believe him but it felt so much like a lie to me.

Aren't you glad I decided to be fair? :)

Much like I said in my voyeuristic blog, if you asked me about exhibitionism as turn-on, I'd tell you it doesn’t really work for me. Not my thing. Not for me. But when I wrote that particular snippet...I gave it a second thought.

I might have to change my opinion on the whole being seen scene.

XOXO

Sommer

An 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.
“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.

“Really?”

“I…”

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.

Blurb:

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.



Amazon US

Amazon UK

All Romance eBooks
Ellora’s Cave

Bio

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

Guest Post: Sommer Marsden

Bio and Pic shamelessly swiped from her website

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 for Blog Critics Books).


Her erotic novels include Restless Spirit, Big Bad, Angry Sex, and Hard Lessons. 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.



Now, my person first experience with Sommer was this... not exactly an endearing first moment. (I originally didn't post her name in connotation with the entry because I was afraid she would think I was a complete spaz. I am. But now, knowing her quite a bit better, I'm thinking she'll probably get a bit of a laugh out of it. I admit to being the tiniest bit jealous that my husband will read her erotica, but not mine. Ack vell...)

So, that particular story was actually On the Fly and I submitted it for a newbie anthology that ended up getting cancelled in an "overabundance of real life." I know how that goes. I was assured by Sommer that, had the antho actually gone through to completion, I was in her "yes" pile. I submitted the story elsewhere and it was picked up immediately. And now... well, now I don't count as a newbie anymore, do I?

Last year, I got the opportunity to work with Sommer on a different collection, and I jumped at it. Pleased to say that Coming Together: Hungry for Love was a great collection, and I'm thrilled to be in it.

Yes, I'm in this

So, enough about me, let's talk to Sommer, shall we?

What are your greatest challenges in your writing career?

The chatter in my head. The voice that tells me I'm not good enough, not fast enough, not doing enough and not as good as so-and-so. I think we all have one, but mine is a real bastard. Getting him to shut up is a real feat.

When did you find out that you wanted to be a writer? What inspired you to put pen to paper?

I've always known. The first Winnie the Pooh story had me sold on the magic of story telling. I've never wanted to be anything else.

Of your published works, do you have a favorite? Why?

Wanderlust. I wrote it as an experiment. I wanted to see if I could live-write it and if folks would show up daily to read it. It ended up being the longest novel I've ever written and the answers to those questions were yes and yes. Yes, I could. And yes, folks showed up every day like the sun.

What are your biggest pet peeves for other people's grammar? Are there any mistakes that you find yourself making regularly?

I always get flummoxed by lay/lie etc. Otherwise I'm usually good. However, my brain often supplies to me what I meant instead of what I put on paper so I either have to proof aloud or I have to put something aside for a long period to spot my common errors. My nemesis is the comma. I often feel like I'm throwing them up in the air and letting them fall where they may. But I plod on despite this character flaw.

Do you ever want to go back and edit an older story? 

Almost always. It's why I rarely read my work once it's published.

How do you decide on character names?

Randomly. I will either glance around and find names on newspapers, books or even the TV or, since my family is used to my insanity, I just might yell, "I need a name!" The response will be, "Boy or girl? Fantasy or reality? Is this a main character?" Or similar.

What's the worst thing that ever happened to you that you've incorporated into a story?

My son had some health issues that were staggering and scary to me. I've never felt more helpless. I funneled those emotions into my book Angry Sex. My emotions at the time are clear in that book. The worry and frustration.

How much of your life and the people you know end up in your work?

A good amount but in small doses. So in a short story there might be a smidge of reality. In the next there might be a lot. In a book it could be a single line or half the content. It all depends and there's no rhyme or reason to it. I just go with the flow.

What projects are you currently working on?

I just started a new novella yesterday. I just wrote three short, fun, sex filled pieces as another persona. This thing came out of the blue and it's a bit darker, a bit more emotional and a bit more erotic instead of erotic romance. I'm excited about it. Sometimes the surprise projects are the best!

Sommer's work space

What's your writing routine?

Lately it's changed. A year ago my son started homeschooling. I used to have 8 blissful hours of uninterrupted alone time to work as I wanted. I had to reroute my brain. I usually get up, have coffee, get girl child off to school, come home, have a second cup and at 8 a.m. I attempt a 1k/1hr sprint. That way I know I've at least managed a chunk of work whatever the rest of the day turns out to be. I often get more writing time later in the day (or sneak some in in the evening) but sometimes I don't. So that 1k/1hr (it usually ends up to be between 2,000-2,500 words in that sprint) guarantees I get words on the page every day.

Is there a character or story that's stuck in your head and won't leave, from either your work or someone else's?

Ellis Bach, my werewolf extraordinaire, took a hell of a long time to vacate my brain after I finished the Big Bad/Long Lost books. And my zombie exterminators hang out and crop up to talk to me from time to time. So much so that I plan to write book #4 this year. As for other book characters, I must say I adore the whole crew in Janet Evanovich's books. I've been reading them so long they feel like family when I crack the current novel open. Repairman Jack from F. Paul Wilson's books is also a long time, close personal fictional friend of mine.

What writers or novels do you consider “must reads”?

Janet Evanovich, F. Paul Wilson, Gillian Flynn, Chuck Palahniuk, Stephen King, Richard Kadrey, and more I can't remember!

Promo For Under My Skin by Sommer Marsden

Nothing creepy about that, no...

Today, I bring to you my special guest, Sommer Marsden. (Check back here in a few weeks for some more personal time with Sommer... ) Her new book, Under My Skin, has just come out and wow, it sounds fantastic! I love Sommer's stuff, although she writes so much faster than I can read, so I have only made small dents into her production pile. But her werewolf series, Big Bad and Long Lost are excellent, and I so much adore the Zombie Exterminator series... I really like Urban Supernatural stuff. It's the orsumest!

Back Cover/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.

“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.

Buy Links
Resplendence Publishing:

ARe:

Coming to other vendors soon!