Sommer Marsden is HERE with her "Best of" and giveaway

For the fantastical The Best of Sommer Marsden book tour, I wanted to address an age old question faced by many dirty, dirty writers. Is this story true?

I’ve chosen five stories from my collection and have answered the question: True? False?...Mebbe?

I’ll warn you, most of them are a mix of true and false but don’t fall squarely in mebbe. Mebbe is the coy category where the writer says: I’ll let you decide.

Here at Seduced by Books, we’ll talk about Grip. The first story I ever wrote (as a greener than grass newbie, no less) entirely based on a photo. The photo is not mine to share, but it was an image that stuck firmly in my head and the story that spun out of that image is one of my most beloved stories.

The unceremonious cutting of a very long mane of hair into a short, sexy choppy hairstyle becomes a power play where the question is…who will be on top. Annalee has cut off her long hair—that her husband likes to use as a sort of rein during sex—and now he’s pissed.

So as for the question: True? False?...Mebbe?

False!  Actually, at freshly minted age forty I find myself living the reverse of this scenario. Since my early 20s I had short, flirty, fun hair. Sexy choppy bobs or even shorter than a bob. A few years ago, I decided to let it grow out and see how much silver cropped up. Now the longest section has reached the bottom of my shoulder blades. And as the man says, “Oh look, something to grab onto…”

And that’s totally true. ;)

Excerpt from Grip

‘Jesus, Annalee, what have you done?’

Jacob stared at my hair and I tried not to shift. It was my

hair. I could cut it any way I wanted. I would not feel bad.

The only reason he was pissed was a small reason. Ninety-five

percent of the time he didn’t give a shit about my hair.

Not the colour, not the style, not any of it. It was that five

percent of the time that my hair was cherished.

‘I like it,’ I sighed. ‘Look, don’t get pissy. I needed

something new and I went ahead and did it. You’ll get used to

it.’ I set about making dinner, intent on ending the turmoil

right then and there.

‘But you know how much I love your hair. Loved,’ he

corrected himself. There was venom in both the statement and

the tone.

‘You love it when you fuck me,’ I sniped. ‘More

specifically, you love it when you fuck me from behind. You

like to twist it up around your fist and yank me back with it.

Yes, Jacob, I love that, too. However,’ I banged the stock pot

down and cringed at the loud noise, ‘during the times when

you are not playing caveman and using my hair as a rein, it’s

a pain in the ass!’

We stood there, eyeing each other in the kitchen, both of

us angry, both of us thinking we were right. He could think he

was right. That was fine. But it was my damn hair and I was

sick of the work and the struggle of keeping a waist length

mane clean, detangled and neat. I liked the new hair; just

below chin level, layered to be shaggy but not messy. I threw

my shoulders back. No guilt.

‘I’m sorry if you don’t like it but you’d better adjust. I am

not growing it back out and I will not apologise for doing it.’

Then I turned my back on him and started the water to boil.

Jacob barely spoke to me for three days. Every time I said

or did the slightest thing he didn’t approve of he would pause

for several beats and stare at my hair. As if to say; look what

you have done.

While he was busy frowning upon my new ‘do, I was

falling more and more in love with it. No more long mornings

steaming myself in front of the mirror with a blazing hot hair

dryer. No more combing out knots so big and stubborn I

ended up in tears holding a fist full of my own hair. No more

torture, muss, fuss and annoyance. It was freedom, this

wonderful short flirty hair. I loved it enough for both of us.

Needless to say, it was a while before I got laid. Without

my crowning glory of long chocolate coloured hair, I seemed

to have lost my appeal. Or so it seemed.

The first time Jacob stooped to touching my new hair was

the night of his boss’s dinner party. Stewart J. Beckett was a

prick and a blow hard and he loved my husband. We were

expected to attend dinner. We were expected to be amusing

and classy. We were expected to dress the part.

I straightened my taupe and black wrap dress. I fidgeted

with the black satin collar for the millionth time. I flipped the

cuffs up to show the black satin. I flipped them down to create

bell sleeves. Designers who make dresses that can be worn

several different ways should be shot. Do they not realise that

the woman wearing their dress will most likely be a nervous

wreck, which will result in her having absolutely no decision

making skills? Black cuffs, bell sleeves, black cuffs…

Jacob took pity on me. ‘Leave them flipped up. Let the

cuffs match the collar.’ Then he put his arms around my

waist, temporarily it seemed forgetting my traitorous

behaviour. ‘You look stunning, by the way. It’ll be fine. We’ll

eat, we’ll be fake, we’ll leave. Plead a headache the moment

dessert arrives,’ he chuckled, then kissed my ear.

He did not smooth his hands over the length of my hair as

he normally did when we were about to go out. Of course, the

length itself was gone.

 ‘Time to go,’ he sighed and pulled my hand. ‘We’ll make

it as quick as possible.’

‘My necklace!’ I raced back in and grabbed the antique

necklace he had given me for Christmas. It complimented the

vintage nature of the dress. My hands were shaking just

thinking about Miriam Beckett. Such a prude, such a bitch. I

felt sick.

‘Let me.’ He draped the necklace at the hollow of my

throat and clasped it. Then he kissed the nape of my neck.

That spot. It gets me every time. I froze and let the pleasant

tickle and tingle run down my spine.

Then his hands were in my hair. Shoving up under the

chunky layers along my neck. His fingers slid up to rest below

my ears, which made me shiver. He sifted my newly shorn

hair through his big fingers and I heard him make a low

sound. A pleased sound? I wasn’t sure. Then he gripped a

fistful of my hair at the base of my head and tugged ever so

slightly. I gasped and felt my nipples bead against my silk

bra.

‘Time to go,’ he said again but this time his voice was a

little thicker. A little slower.

We went.

*****

From edgy and intense, to light and comedic, this collection of over twenty hand-picked dirty tales runs the gamut of erotic fiction.

Stories include a supernatural spurred ménage, a captivating Dom who takes control at a crowded house party, an irresistible alpha who makes recycling kind to the body and the planet. A husband encouraging his wife to take advantage of a girl crush and a woman who can’t help but lose herself between two of her two best friends in a night of passion. A curvaceous woman gets stuck in her boot—that’s right, just one—before an important interview with a handsome applicant and a public spanking makes a young woman reconsider the disposable nature of her rebound guy.

Find out why Sommer Marsden’s been called “…one of the top storytellers in the erotica genre” (Violet Blue), “Unapologetic” (Alison Tyler) and “…the whirling dervish of erotica” (Craig J. Sorensen). It’s all right here in this collection. All you have to do is step inside.

Available in paperback from Amazon UK, Amazon US, Waterstone's and The Book Depository – and coming soon to all other good retailers.

eBook edition is available from All Romance eBooks, and coming soon to all other good eBook retailers.

*****

About the author:

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

  Her erotic novels include Hard Lessons, Calendar Girl, Learning to Drown, Lucky 13 and The Best of Sommer Marsden (coming December '11). Sommer currently writes erotica and erotic romance for 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 over a hundred (and counting) erotic anthologies. Her short stories have also been included numerous adult and romance magazines--both in print and online.
 
Visit Sommer at Unapologetic Fiction by visiting http://sommermarsden.blogspot.com or find her on Twitter (@sommer_marsden).
Email: hot4sommer@yahoo.com
Website: http://sommermarsden.blogspot.com

Giveaway Info:

For a shiny pdf just say hi or…if you’re inclined to share, share an idea that you’ve used to put a bit of a zing in your love life. All levels of hotness welcome. After a week a winner will be chosen and contacted. Make sure to leave your contact email address!






Thanks to Writer Marketing Services for hosting this tour - http://www.writermarketing.co.uk we are glad to be working on your tours - and check back later today for our own review of The Best of Sommer Marsden