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Welcome Sommer Marsden to my blog! She's here to promote her new book Boys Next Door. Everything you need to know about this wonderful book is below.
Blurb:
Three Men,
One Woman, Maximum Passion
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.
Buy Links:
HarperCollins: http://www.mischiefbooks.com/books/boys-next-door/
All Romance Ebooks: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-boysnextdoormischiefbooks-957573-144.html
Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/boys-next-door-sommer-marsden/1112032934?ean=9780007479313
Excerpt 1:
He was warm against me, but I shivered.
‘Your hands are freezing. Are you claustrophobic?’
‘Not so much that,’ I whispered as if louder noise would make us plummet to our deaths. ‘I just don’t like elevators. How long? How long will we be here?’
‘Do you want the truth or do you want a lie?’
I sighed. ‘The truth, though the smart money is probably on the lie.’
‘Probably half an hour to an hour. George has a good heart but slow hands.’
‘Great.’ I moved my hands around to try and find the railing that ran along the sides of the elevator. I didn’t think this poor man needed to be holding me like some damsel in distress. But what my fingers brushed was most definitely not the wall of the elevator. My hand froze.
‘Um . . .’ he said. And there was that dark and almost sinister laughter that somehow slid up my spine and under my hair and prickled my scalp like electricity.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered.
A moment ticked by and I was afraid to breathe. I felt like I might laugh or cry or scream, or possibly all three at once.
‘But not enough to move it, eh?’ he asked, moving his body just enough that I felt the hard push of his cock to my hand.
My face heated with a blush. I was grateful he couldn’t see.
‘Shit. First I grope you and then I . . . just keep right on groping you. I don’t even move my hand. Have I mentioned the one thing that freaks me out is elevators? And a dark one that is being worked on by a slow man is the worst case scenario.’
‘Hunh,’ he said and I could hear him smile.
‘And my hand is still on your cock!’ I blurted, finally ripping my hand away.
‘Hey, whatever calms you down, Farrell McGee.’
I couldn’t help but snort, but my hands were shaking and I felt a little light-headed.
‘You’re really scared,’ he said.
‘I’m –’
‘It’s coming off of you in waves. It’s palpable. That’s hard to pull off. Palpable fear.’
‘I am nothing if not talented.’
‘What do you do?’
‘I’m a failed actress. You?’
‘Failed writer. But I am currently the butcher for our small town.’
‘Ah, I love meat.’
Dead silence.
‘Oh my God. I swear I’m not normally this stupid.’ I put my hand up to brush my hair out of my face, in the dark it felt like a million tiny spiders tickling my cheeks. But I brushed over him instead – I was starting to wonder if it really was an accident – and he took my hand and squeezed it between his warm ones.
‘Breathe,’ he said. He put my hands flat on his chest and then placed his over the top of mine. I stood there, trying to calm down and feeling the steady and easy beat-beat-beat of his heart.
I took a deep breath and held it before blowing it out. The same way I did for stage fright.
‘Better?’ he asked, his face close, his breath smelling of mint.
‘Better,’ I echoed.
‘You smell good,’ he said. ‘Like peaches and . . . I can’t quite put my finger on it.’ Deke leaned in and sniffed right at the juncture of neck and shoulder. My skin prickled almost violently. ‘Honey?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘All I can smell is you.’
What was I doing? My God, I had just met this man, had only seen him in the light for a few moments and now – if my nether regions were to be believed – I wanted him. Badly.
‘And what do I smell like?’ He put his hands on my lower back, splaying his fingers, spreading their warmth. He pulled me just a touch closer and though his cock wasn’t touching me, I felt – or imagined I felt – the energy from his hard on mingling with my own lustful energy.
‘Pine and cinnamon and wood smoke. Like the outdoors. That’s what you smell like.’
‘Hunh. Good nose. I spent all day at a client’s fishing cabin, dressing a deer.’
For some odd reason, I imagined a deer in a skiing ensemble and snorted. But even as the laughter burst out of me, I pushed my pelvis to his. Brazen, but it was what I felt the urge to do. So I did it.
New life. New way of doing things.
‘Dressing?’ I rotated my hips just a bit and his fingers brushed over my skin sliding lower to slip beneath the waistband of my jeans.
‘It means butchering. But don’t worry,’ he said, when I went a bit stiff. ‘I cleaned up real good and even had some coffee by the fire before I left.’
His mouth came down on mine then and I figured, fuck it. I was scared and horny and he was handsome and Satan-ish and felt damn good pressed against me.
I let his tongue bully mine before I put my hands in that dark mussed hair I remembered and hauled him to me. Deeper went the kiss and when he bumped his erection against me so I could feel how turned on he was, I nipped his lip.
‘Damn,’ he said. ‘Welcome to town.’
‘Shh. Kiss me,’ I said, rubbing my hand over his cock, squeezing his length through his jeans until he groaned. ‘I need to be distracted.’
‘I can do that,’ he said against my lips. Then he was turning me. A flipping, flying, falling sensation because of the darkness. My back ended up pressed to the wall of the elevator, my ass riding that metal bar I’d been searching out.
‘Touch me,’ I begged. I wasn’t sure where this new ‘me’ was coming from, but it was fine. She was okay by me.
‘I can do that,’ he echoed and his warm fingers ran down my belly, making me tremble. His hand slipped below my jeans before plunging into my panties. Deke’s hot fingers found my clit and he pressed so that all my breath slipped out of me. Warm wet circles brought me close to an orgasm right off the bat. He was good.
I arched against him and kissed him again, finding his face – a bit rough with stubble – with my hands. I sighed again, arching up to meet his touch and he lazily slipped a thick finger into my cunt.
‘You’re so fucking wet, Ms McGee,’ Deke said against my throat. His teeth grazed my pulse point and he gently sucked that fragile skin until an echoing tug sounded in my cunt. My body tightened around his finger and this time we both groaned.
[To be continued]
Excerpt 2:
‘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.’
‘Spiders?’
‘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.
‘Yes?’
‘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 - 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 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.
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