October 14, 2014

Two-fer Tuesday: Sommer Marsden

It's like "Trixie Delicious Week" Chez Trollop with a Laptop

Maybe in a previous life I was a deejay. (Actually, in this life I was a deejay, but it was so long ago I sometimes forget.) I wrote a deejay character in Strictly Confidential, and I listen to the radio more than most people these days. This explains why I was inspired today by the concept of playing an oldie paired with a new song both by the same artist.

First up is Sommer Marsden. She has a fabulous novel out called The Mighty Quinn. And I'm going to let her take the mic in a little while. But right now, here is an oldie by Ms. Marsden that I worship to pieces.

Sommer Marsden
             "I love her," I whispered. I called the car her because that’s what he did.
             "You know nothing about cars," he said with a knowing grin.
             "I know I like old. I know I like shiny. I know I like that growl and rumble sound. I know I like you," I finished, forcing the words past my lips. So what if it was something I would never say in a million years?
             "You know nothing about me. Not really." Another grin.
             "True. Maybe that’s what I like." My heart rate tripled and I took a gasp of air. My breath smoked out of me when I exhaled.
             "We should go back, it’s cold out here." He held out his hand.
             I took it. Held it. Felt a flutter that traveled straight to the already slick spot between my legs. Like a brush fire. Like an electrical storm. My skin tingled and I forced more air into my lungs. "Can’t I get in?"
             Like a dream, images unfolded in my mind. What I would do if I could get him to climb into that backseat with me. His eyes grew dark in the meager light from the street lamp. His face went from amused to predatory. He pushed a stray piece of my hair behind my ear. I caught the flash of blonde in my peripheral vision. Under the street lamps it looked like platinum.
             "We could get caught. We probably would get caught," he reminded me.
             "We could," I agreed. "But isn’t everything in life that makes you feel this way risky? Worth the risk, even?"
             Who was I trying to convince, I wondered. Me or him?
             His hands pinned my hips as he walked me back slowly. Soon my back was pressed against the cold, red steel. The door handle jabbed me in the lower back. The cold air froze in my throat and I made a small, wounded sound. A needy sound. The feel of his hands on me was dark and sinister, secretly pleasing.
             "So you want to risk it? The lives we know. The lives of others. Is that what you’re telling me? You’re willing to possibly throw it all away just to fuck in the back of my car?"
             "To fuck you in the back of your car," I answered, forcing way more bravado into my voice than I felt. "Yes."
             His mouth came down on mine. Hungry and demanding. Almost angry. No soft kisses and nibbles, there. A powerful consuming kiss that lit me up on the inside like a shower of sparks. My nipples responded instantly, so rapid and intense it was nearly painful. Each stroke of his hard chest against them was agony. Blessed torture.
             "Get in," he growled into my mouth, his lips still attacking mine.
             I found the handle and pulled to release it. The inside of the car was dark. Warmer than the cool fall night air. I slid across the seat, my jeans making a slick sound as I moved. Just the faintest hint of street lights. The interior of the car lit blue and surreal. The kind of lighting that would allow me to tell myself that I hadn’t done what I was about to do. That it was all a dream.
             My zipper sounded like a freight train in my ears as he pulled down the tab. My hips shot up on automatic pilot to allow him to peel off my jeans. My thong was shoved down with them without a second glance. And I had spent so much time picking out these panties. Then he was on me in an instant. Fingers, lips, tongue and slick went quickly to soaked as the breath tore out of me. My insides boiling, my body clenching already around something that wasn’t even there yet. I wanted him in me so badly. My body was demanding. Cock. His big, smooth cock. But that would mean giving up the feel of his tongue probing my cunt, and I wasn’t ready to let that go. I had waited too long already. In moments, just moments, I was dancing on that line. Sliding down that razor edge of orgasm and I didn’t want to come. Not yet.
             "Please," I managed and the word came out all breathy and strangled. My voice didn’t seem like me to my own ears. Maybe that was a good thing.
             Another shot gun report of a zipper sliding down its track of teeth. The sound alone made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I was being killed. Slowly and beautifully murdered by a man I shouldn’t be with. My heart double-clutched as he sank into me. One smooth stroke and that cock was in me, moving. The moving was the torturous part as I clenched and writhed somewhere between pleasure and pain. Trying to hold on but wanting to let go.
             High and hard. Each thrust a blissful agony. I felt my hips slamming up to meet him. Too impatient to wait for his strokes, I added my own.
             "Christ," he hissed in my ear and then bent and nipped one of my nipples way too hard.
             I let out an agonized cry, but he did it again anyway, his tempo increasing. His hands grabbing me up by the hips so he could push into me harder. The second nip shot me over the edge. Wave after wave of pleasure coursed through me, and I vaguely heard him growl out as he came. My eyes, though half closed took in the phantom tattoos of fingerprints on the back window. Like primitive cave drawings, lit up by blue light and the fog of our breath. Like a fever dream. Not quite real.
             He laid his head between my breasts, stroked my thighs with big hands. "Was it worth it? The risk?"
             I nodded, still studying the fantastic light through the windows. "Yes," I whispered, catching my breath.
             It will be the next time too, I thought.
            And I knew I was in trouble.


So there's the first cut. I'll post the second in a few hours. And if you are an author who has worked with me previously, and you have a book to sell, drop me a note at msalisontyler at yahoo dot com so I can schedule you for a Two-fer Tuesday in the future!


P.S. Yes, the Smut Marathon ended at midnight. I will be discussing the results tomorrow!

1 comment:

Miz Angell said...

K. So that was HOT. And so incredibly visual. WTG Sommer! Alison, I can see why you love it so much.