I Spy with Sommer

Here's the lovely Sommer Marsden... spying! 

                                            

I Spy Voyeurism in This Book

I've always been one of those people who will say, Oh, I don't think voyeurism would work for me. Personally. Not my thing. But then I end up writing a voyeuristic scene and I go: Oh! I get it! Now I remember why people get off on this stuff.

There's voyeurism-on-purpose in Restricted Release and then, quite a hot scene, where the voyeurism is quite accidental. Until...ya know...Clara should turn away and stop watching but doesn't.

What is it about watching someone when they don't know it that's such a turn-on? Is it that they're vulnerable? Not putting on the face that most of us put on when we go out into the world? That we simply should not be looking?

Probably all of the above. All I can say is, Clara never considered herself very voyeuristic. Until she was a faced with this:

Nothing screws with your head like waking up in the dark without being able to remember actually falling asleep. I rolled to my belly. Six p.m. Streetlights threw white discs of light onto my bedroom wall. I heard a gentle tapping and realized it was rain—maybe even sleet—hitting my house.

“What the hell?”

I remembered being sprawled on the bed in a patch of sun and talking to Cat. I remembered hanging up and lying there, my mind playing over every slate-colored shade in the pencil sketch Matt had done of me. And then I must have dozed off. Since becoming single, my sleep usually came in violent fits and starts. We wrestled each other until sleep usually won and I went down fighting.

This time it seemed to have settled on me like a soft blanket. Another oddity for this strange day.

I climbed to my feet and my stomach rumbled. I was hungry. Really hungry. But first I had to pee. A spur-of-the-moment nap will do that to a girl. In the bathroom, I took care of business and washed my hands and face. Braiding my hair, I caught a flash of motion from the bathroom’s floor-to-ceiling window. When I peeked I saw a naked, toned Matt Millen stepping out of his shower. The man had no curtains yet.

“Score,” I whispered softly and laughed at myself. But I didn’t even pause to consider. I simply cut the lights and stepped up to the tall thick-glassed window.

Matt was a work of art himself. His back and shoulders were expansive and muscular. He sported some seriously cut arms and a chest that made me emit a little inadvertent sigh. Water glistened on his super-short hair and he ran his towel over it just once to dry it.

I shifted on my feet, the attraction I felt for him beating a steady rhythm in me. I was wet, I realized, and it gave an urgency to my emotions I hadn’t felt for a long while. Wanting him wasn’t just an abstract feeling at the moment. It was a true need. My gut instinct was to march over there and jump Matt like a crazy sex maniac.

“A sex pervert,” I snickered. Which was what Cat had always said when we were growing up and dating a new guy. I hope he’s not a sex pervert.

Only I was pretty sure—after a super-long dry spell and the bizarre instant attraction to this new man—that I was sort of hoping he was a sex pervert.

A kinky, kinky sex pervert…

He turned in profile toward his medicine cabinet and toweled off. His cock was semi-hard and impressive. These houses feel close together by nature, but you don’t know how close they really are until a moment like this one.

I used to joke with Mrs. Desalvo that if she ran out of toilet paper I could hand her a roll in a pinch. Now a nude man who I lusted after was in Mrs. D’s bathroom with a semi-erection. He felt no more than a gnat’s ass away from me.

It seemed utterly natural when I slipped my hand into my jeans and found my clit. It had been ages since I’d had sex but it has also been about a month since I’d even gotten myself off. And now—now my runaway pulse told me—I needed to get myself off. I needed an orgasm. It felt like a bare-bones necessity; it was as simple as that.

Like I said, I'll tell you I'm not a voyeur. I don't really get it. It's not my thing. But if I passed an open window with a tempting view do I really think I’d look away?

Probably not.

Should I? Yes. But should and would are two different things, now aren't they?

XOXO

Sommer

Copyright © SOMMER MARSDEN, 2013
All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.
*****

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.
Available from:
Amazon UK
Amazon US
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 http://sommermarsden.blogspot.com

Inventing Herself - Sommer Marsden

Today I have the lovely Sommer Marsden to highlight her new book - the funny thing is, just before I came on to the laptop to put this up, I did my morning yoga (not a daily occurance...) - and well, my oh my, I wish I could say it was as exciting as this exerpt... :D

Inventing Herself by Sommer Marsden

Sophie Calhoun has a good job writing for a hot women’s magazine. Her latest assignment is to do an article about how a strong, confident woman can look deeper into herself to find her centre. The only problem is Sophie feels lost. On a whim one morning, looking for the answers to her unwritten article and the silent turmoil in her heart, she takes a hike. In the wilderness she finds a very large man sitting alone, calm and still and smiling – everything Sophie wants to be. When he opens his eyes and that smile is directed at her, Sophie begins to find herself…

Available from:

Amazon UK
Amazon US

*****

Excerpt:

‘Now we move into downward dog.’ Joel’s rich caramel voice smoothed over Sophie.

If only she could feel gooey and bendy like caramel. Instead, she felt awkward and clumsy. She pushed back with the heels of her hands as she’d been instructed. Tried to “sink” into the stretch with the heels of her feet.

All she could think was what if I slip? What does my ass look like? And, of course, who farted?
Turned out that wasn’t so much of a myth. Someone had let one go and everyone was acting as if it was no big deal at all.

Which, technically, it wasn’t. It was just a fart, after all. Everyone had gas at some point in their lif –
‘You’re drifting,’ Joel said, his voice very close to her. So close it made Sophie go rigid. ‘Let me help you straighten your pose.’

He stepped up between her spread legs and settled his hands on her hips. Then he proceeded to move her a little here, a little there, until the stretch blazed up her calves and the backs of her hamstrings. It blazed somewhere else too, Sophie noticed as he lingered, tweaking her pose.
When he stepped back from between her legs, his hand stayed on her lower back for a beat before being removed. ‘Good,’ Joel said.

He was big and tall and obviously fit. A shock of dark – almost black – hair and grey eyes. His voice was as smoky and sensual as his body.

Sophie felt colour come to her face that had nothing to do with yoga or being inverted. The class lowered slowly to a plank pose and her muscles started to tremble. In her mind’s eye it was easy to put a face to it now. This man, down between her legs, his mouth on her. His fingers separating and skating over her nether lips. Finding her slick opening and plunging deep, curling to tease her G-spot until she gasped. Then taking her own juices, running up to find the needy swell of her clitoris. Circling and circling until plunging back into her cunt to stroke her most secret places again, his mouth sucking, his tongue nudging, licking, licking, licking until …

‘Now lower down into cobra pose,’ Joel said.

Sophie did, but as she did a noise burst out of her. Her body, on the verge actually coming, supplied the small blip and flutter deep inside of an almost orgasm. The sound was half sigh, half moan, and very, very sultry. Way too sultry for muscle stretching.

Joel chuckled softly. ‘Glad to know you’re enjoying class, Sophie. We’re glad to have you.’

She counted the heartbeats until class was over, she was so mortified. When Joel finally told them to stand and everyone gave what seemed to be the customary “Namaste” a woman in green leggings and a bright blue pullover whispered, ‘Don’t feel so bad. He has that effect on most of the newcomers. Once he touches someone … they’re toast.’

Sophie tried to smile and waited to self-combust.

She nearly set a record changing back into her work clothes, but when she came out Joel called out to her.

‘I was wondering –’ he said, sort of grinning at her.

Sophie caught the gaze of the green-legging woman. She was smiling, her look knowing.

‘Could I … call you? Take you out? Bring you wine and woo you with wild yoga tales?’ He smiled at her and the lust that smile inspired struck right down through the centre of her like a lightning bolt.
‘Um, yeah … sure. In fact –’ She broke off, thinking maybe she shouldn’t say what she was about to say. But fuck it. This whole “finding her centre” thing had taken her very close to thinking she was nuts. Might as well act nuts, right? Maybe Joel was that missing something. ‘How about you come to my place tonight. Bring that wine you mentioned and I can make a nice steak or – wait – do you eat meat?’

He nodded, eyes flashing with amusement. ‘I do. But thank you for asking.’

‘Good,’ she hurried on. Yes, this was it. This was a good thing. Maybe she was just in need of a date. Maybe she was just horny. ‘And maybe a salad and whatever. We can just … we can talk. Get to know one another.’

‘It’s a date,’ he said. He gave her his number so she could text her address.

‘Yes. It is a date,’ she said and hurried out of the studio. Kate was going to kill her!

*****

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 Restless Spirit, Boys Next Door, Big Bad, Learning to Drown, Wanderlust and the Zombie Exterminator series. 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.

Secret Places with Sommer Marsden

Here's the lovely Sommer Marsden sharing secrets and her new release, Lion Hearted - look at that cover! - Over to you Sommer...

Secret Places…
And I’m not talking about your naughty bits! I mean hidden towns. Secret communities. Shifter havens. This is the basis of Divination Falls book one Lion Hearted. The final destination is a place not really  on any map. Not really in any human memory. It’s a secret.
Divination Falls isn’t the first secret place I’ve written about. I have “Town” in my book Big Bad. A town basically created and maintained (and patrolled) by wolves. So it was a natural leap for me—seeing as I get fixated on themes and even words, for goodness sake—to write another place that’s cloaked from humankind. (with a few minor exceptions)
I think there’s something wonderfully cozy about a secret hidden place. It has that safety aspect that is usually only found in books, rarely in real life—at least in my experience. Which makes it even better to savor and enjoy that sensation when reading a book to escape. Nothing beats a good story.
That being said, I certainly hope readers will find my little tale of shifter and empathy to be a good story. I hope that the reader will fall in love with this unlikely couple as much as I have. And that when all is said and done, Divination Falls will seem as tempting and picturesque and yes—more than a little bit perfect—just like it does to me when I write about it.
Do you have an imaginary place that makes you feel that cozy safe feeling? Despite all the murders *snort* Lillian Jackson Braun’s little town of Pickax is such a place for me. Or perhaps your place is real. Leave me a comment for a chance to win an All Romance Ebooks $10 gift certificate. I’ll go through all the comments along the Lion Hearted blog tour and draw a winner when all is said and done!
XOXO
Sommer

Blurb:

Tryg Avondale is the muscle for his pride, and when he’s called upon to hunt down two missing teens, he sees the job for what it is – a chance to give his pride a break from him and his “nature”. Tryg is a gay lion and it’s not something his “family” seems to embrace.

He takes with him Luke Dorchester – an empath and the perfect travel companion. Luke can feel and soothe every emotion that coils deep inside Tryg, and the sex between them is the hottest Tryg has ever known. Tryg has no intention of letting his emotions go any further when it comes to this brand new man. But he also has zero intention of letting him go. What follows is a road trip from campground to campground, hot nights in hotel rooms and close encounters spent together as they follow the scent of the two abducted shifters. A scent that takes them to Divination Falls, a haven for shifters and associated magical folk; a place where an old evil will surface and Tryg will learn just how far his love for lion-hearted Luke must take him.

Amazon US buy link

Amazon UK buy link:

Coming to all other vendors January 2013!

A tempting taster...

‘Here’s your whisky, Tryg,’ Matthew said. He slid the shot glass across the scarred bar top.

‘What kind?’

‘Rot gut, what other kind do you drink?’

Tryg grunted, almost smiled, and tossed back the amber liquid. ‘How about another?’

‘You up for trouble tonight?’ Matthew looked wary, holding the whisky bottle but not pouring. What kind of bartender didn’t pour?

‘Me? Never.’ Tryg fingered the scar that bisected his eyebrow and barely avoided his left eyelid. He realised Matthew was watching, and quickly dropped his hand. ‘I’m fine, Matt. Just pour.’

‘Word is –’

‘Word is none of your business and it’s just hearsay so … Maybe you should just pour and not worry about rumours.’

Matthew pressed his lips together, nodded, poured. ‘Fine. But any problems from you, Bolo, and you’ll be banned from my bar.’

‘Got it,’ Tryg said. ‘And don’t call me Bolo.’

Matt shrugged. ‘It’s your name, as far as I heard until you started drinking here. Damn, Tryg, I thought it was your name.’

‘A bolo is a knife,’ Tryg said.

‘And you’re an enforcer.’

‘Go away.’

Matthew grinned and went to fill another order. That had been close. Tryg had been itching to clock him to teach him some manners. But he wouldn’t do that.

We thought it might be good for you to have a break from the pride …

He shook off the echoes in his head and downed the glass of whisky. About 600 more and he might feel better. He might even get his drunk on. Tryg set his glass down with a bang and Matt looked up. He was annoyed.

‘So let him be annoyed,’ he growled.

Someone bumped into him and he practically roared, the urge to shift rippling under his skin and along his spine. This was not the day to provoke him. When your pride wants to send you away for “a break” you’re pretty much over. Especially if you’re supposed to be the muscle. Again he touched his scar and it made him angrier when he realised he was doing it. Whoever was behind him had better be ready.

‘What the fuck is your problem? You can’t see where you’re –’

Something made him bite off his words. Maybe it was the flash of fear in the man’s bright blue eyes or the nervous duck of the head that caused sandy blond hair to fall across his brow. Tryg bit back another roar because he found himself even more annoyed that he found the kid attractive.

‘Move,’ he growled.

The kid moved. Tryg called him a kid because he might be 25 to Tryg’s 32. Might.

Their shoulders brushed as he tried to push past, and he felt a comingling of instincts. The urge to lash out and hurt immediately contradicted by the urge to protect. What the hell?

‘Sorry,’ the kid said.

Again, he wanted to hit him and kiss him. Tryg shook his head and moved away. He needed some air. Maybe he’d had too much to drink.

Or not enough brain cells in your damn head…

He forced his way through the small bar. As he passed the first booth he heard Ozric. ‘What the fuck? You’re still here?’

‘You’re not on the road yet, Bolo?’ someone else piped in.

Tryg tried to drown out the voices. These were the guys who’d gotten him to the point of being asked to take an indefinite road trip. Ozric and his crew had issues with Tryg. Issues about his ways, his job, and who he chose to fuck.

‘Just keep going. Just keep walking,’ he told himself. He wanted to return to his pride after his mission was complete and be welcome. Even if his pride included assholes like Ozric and Ronnie and Dane.

‘We don’t need your kind anyway.’ This time it was Ronnie who spoke. He was short and sort of out of shape. Were they forced to live in their animal forms, he’d be the first to succumb to starvation and die. He was a shit hunter and a worse person. ‘It’s not like you help expand our numbers.’ He snorted, hefted a beer, looking smug and amused.

That was when Tryg snapped, his body rippling from the surge of adrenaline and rage. The toxic soup of hormones that ushered in a shift boiled under his skin and he felt his feet turn to rush the group instead of keep on a steady course toward the door.

The roar ripped up and out of him, but he heard it more than felt it. His fingers clenched, then went warm from his joints softening to reconfigure. He felt a canine tooth slide against his tongue and tasted blood. It was fine. He wanted to taste blood.

‘Remember what I said, Bolo!’ Matt called from the bar. Tryg caught a flash of his wide eyes and his fingers delving under the bar where a dart gun was kept. One shot from that thing and almost any shifter in the bar went down like 50 pounds of shit in a 10-pound sack. The only creature to ever manage to stay conscious had been a visiting shifter –a Kodiak bear.

The Bolo reference only made him angrier and he moved fast. Faster than was normal even for him. His nails had just bitten into the soft wood of the table, ready to tear the top off and maybe use it to beat the fuck out of the morons sitting there – but then a hand settled on his shoulder.

Two things happened. His brain said “attack”. His body said “relax”.

What the hell?

He turned to find that boy. Those water blue eyes wide but intent. ‘Easy,’ the kid said.

Tryg considered taking a swing anyway. Attempted to tell his brain to raise his fist to clock this kid and teach him a lesson. His body betrayed him. Under all the confusion, that made him nervous.

‘Are you insane?’ Tryg rumbled, but felt his muscles relax further, his claws contract, his muzzle reform. He felt a loosening in his solar plexus and a syrupy kind of peace.

Maybe Matt had hit him with that tranq gun, after all...

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 HarperCollins (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.