My mother-in-law is still coming for dinner and my mom will pop in as she has every year since I moved out. We'll eat and later maybe do a gift or two. The kids are older so they are uber occupied with MP-3 players and Xbox Live. Tomorrow a bit of visiting and then just peace. The day after the fact is
my favorite day.
At some point before the new year, I hope to be the one wrapped up in
pretty ribbons and bows under the tree, or in the closet, or on the floor in the bedroom. Heh. The holidays do not dim my dirty, folks. In the spirit of giving, I'm running one of my favorite stories ever. SHE LOOKED GOOD IN RIBBONS orginally ran in
Love at First Sting: Sexy Tales of Erotic Restraint
edited by
Alison Tyler. If there are errors, I've snagged the wrong copy and it's my bad. Hope you have all your chores 'wrapped up' and can simply sit back and enjoy. Happy season, dear readers, I <3>
XOXO
Sommer
She Looked Good in Ribbons
Sommer Marsden
West stuck his hand in his jacket pocket, rubbed the paper, removed his hand. He shook his head at himself. He was going to rub a hole in the fucking paper if he kept rubbing it like a worry stone.
"Here you go, Mr. Harper."
"West," he corrected the desk manager.
The man frowned. "We have you down as Westbrook Harper. That isn’t right?"
West stifled a sigh. "It is but I’m here for the convention and…we’re supposed to check in under our…working names."
The man, whose name tag read, Blake, immediately flushed. "Of course, Mr. West. I do apologize. I am normally more discreet but the sudden flood of check-ins has me off my game."
West nodded and shrugged. "It’s fine." While he waited for his key, he found his hand returning to his pocket. He was crazy. Certifiable. He should throw out the paper and go back to the airport. Return to normal life. Let this go.
But he wouldn’t.
"…anything else?"
West glanced up at the man’s annoyed expression. He’d been off in space again. Way down deep in his own mind where he could barely hear the outside world around him. He cleared his throat.
"I’m sorry?"
"Your key."He slid the key across the marble counter. "Was there anything else, Mr. West?"
He had to clear his throat again and still his voice was slow to come. "Alyssa? What room is she in?"
Tapping on the keys and keeping a neutral expression, Blake checked. "I see here permission from Ms. Alyssa to tell you…Room 213."
At the word "permission", West felt himself go a little weak in the knees. She had made arrangements for him to know her room number. "Thank you," he managed.
"The dinner will be in the Ballroom at seven, Mr. West."
West nodded and practically fled to the bank of elevators. When he stepped in and hit the #2 button, he realized his hand was in his fucking pocket again. He was alone, so he gave into the urge and unfolded the badly creased paper.
W,
It’s not that I want to be trussed up like a turkey or anything. The whole idea of being bound somehow and at someone’s mercy (kind mercy, mind you ;) is thrilling. I guess it shows up in my work quite often. Is there such a thing as soft bondage, I wonder? Ah well, work to do. I have become way too wrapped up in your emails. You’re addictive.
Alyssa
P.S. Hope you can work out the trip to the conference. I can’t imagine meeting all those erotic artists and not meeting you. You’re my favorite after all…
So he had worked it out. Fought with his wife. Spent the money. All to meet this woman who seemed so much like him. He was addictive? That always stumped him. He was a normal man who did normal things. He just happened to be an artist whenever time would allow and sex had always been his favorite subject. So much to explore. So much inspiration. She did the same. And she was addictive. And he was on the second floor.
He stood outside the elevator, refolded the email, shoved it deep into his pocket. He checked the other pocket and heard the cellophane protest at his brutal squeeze. He pulled out the packet and checked them again. This whole damn thing was making him borderline Obsessive Compulsive. Checking and rechecking everything because if he didn’t, this wouldn’t turn out as it was supposed to. The fantasy would become a hideous fiasco he would carry with him forever. He let out the breath he had been holding. They were all there. Five ribbons; hot pink, turquoise, lime green, sunshine yellow, and red. Pilfered from his wife’s craft closet. You sick bastard…He ignored the thought, closed his eyes, called up the use for these ribbons he had been imagining for weeks. Sifted them through his fingers.
"Soft bondage," he whispered. Then he put them away. He turned left for 213 and prayed he wasn’t fucking up his whole life.
*****
She opened the door, looking twice as nervous as he felt. It didn’t effect what he saw when he looked at her. Nothing like he imagined. Then again, he wasn’t so sure what he imagined.
Her blond hair was the color of sunlight on water. It was cut into a short bob that reminded him of a flapper. Strands brushed her jaw line as she bowed her head and peered at him from behind the shield of her hair. Her eyes were what stopped his breath, though. She was tall, so he was looking dead into them and for just a second he fought for air as if he were drowning. They were the color of a sky right before the storm comes, flecked with a true blue. Around the pupils, a fairy ring of green accented the shades of blue.
"Do you want to come in?" she asked, looking more nervous under his gaze. He realized she probably thought he was disappointed or having second thoughts when in fact he was simply stunned.
"I’m married," he said. A hell of an introduction, West thought. Stupid. She already knew that.
"Me, too," she sighed but then stepped back for him to enter. So he entered.
She sat on the bed and smiled. "I feel like I should shake your hand or something. Hug you? Would that be weird?"
"It’s all weird," he sighed but smiled.
When she offered her hand, he took it. Shook it. Turned it in his larger hand and studied her palm. The creases there. The paint stains on her fingers. Long, thin fingers with perfectly shaped nails. He loved her hands and what they were capable of. He had seen her work but had never expected her to be as breathtaking as the images she created.
"We don’t have to do anything," she said. Her head was still bowed but her hand twisted in his.
"We can pretend that we came here to meet and network. We can pretend that we had no intention of living out any of the things we discussed…"
When she said that, his skin felt two sizes too small and his lungs refused to draw air. Her confirmation of their intentions, the fact that she had thought the same things despite the fact that neither had put the words down on the screen, was intensely arousing. West sucked in a breath and held it, stabilizing his heart rate. He steeled himself for denial and then spoke, "I want to tie you up, Alyssa."
For just a second the words hung there, suspended in the air, not fading or falling to earth. They hovered. And he watched her.
Her eyes grew wide and it was if he had touched her. Her cheeks flushed to a deep pink, her full lips parted and she actually shifted on the bed. Squirmed. It was if his words had made her wet. Just the thought was enough to make his cock jerk to life and his heart beat wildly.
West had his answer. The one he had obsessed over for countless hours. Lost sleep over. Daydreamed about. The answer he wanted more than he wanted to breathe at the moment. He took in the room. The headboard was a solid hunk of wood, carved and trimmed in gold. No good. His eyes roamed.
She must have been reading his mind because she caught his gaze and said softly, "In the sitting room. It’s perfect."
West left her on the bed. He took a moment and touched his jacket pocket, hearing the reassuring and suddenly erotic sound of the cellophane bag. He walked through the doorway and surveyed the tiny room. Alyssa was right, it was perfect. A bent-wood rocker. It was a beautiful piece of furniture but it was the many curves and elaborate scrollwork that drew his attention.
He went back to get Alyssa.
*****
He didn’t say anything as he undressed her. He liked hearing the soft little sounds that escaped her when his hands brushed her naked belly. Naked thighs. Breasts. When he tweaked one dusky nipple and it beaded under his fingers, he started doing math in his head to tame his urge to simply sink into her heat without preamble. Her responses, how much she clearly wanted him had him half insane.
Alyssa remained quiet but he felt her studying him. Felt her gaze skitter over his skin, warming him she as she watched. She watched everything he did. Even when he closed his eyes to steady himself, he felt her staring.
"I want you to sit now. You’re ready? No second thoughts?"
She shook her head, sat, smiled. Ready, her actions practically screamed in the silent room. West felt a giant weight fly from him. She understood him. It was something that he was missing so severely lately. He was tired of the arguments with his wife about his work. Tired of hearing about the time it stole from "them." Tired of the insinuations that he was simply a pervert and nothing more. Your porn paintings is what she called his work. Sometimes, West, just wanted to grab her and shake her and shout in her face. You said you understood me. Now I think you lied. But he didn’t and he wouldn’t.
"West?"
He snapped back to her, drank her in. How open her face was. Kind, understanding, patient, excited. It was all there and he felt himself grow harder than he thought he could. So he took the bag from his pocket and he pulled the ribbons out one by one. Her eyes followed them. Tracked the slide of each brightly colored ribbon as he tugged it.
"Oh," she sighed.
"Soft bondage," he said, reminding her in case she had forgotten. He knew she hadn’t.
Without him asking, she parted her thighs, placing each delicate ankle by the shaped curves of wood near the bottom of the rocker. He started with turquoise. Blue like her eyes. He kissed her knees and then slid the ribbon around her ankles, through the scrollwork, over the wood. Tied the ribbon slowly. He pulled out the green one, looped it under one curvy thigh and slid it through the side of the rocker. Took his time and tied it. The pink cradled her other thigh and secured her. The yellow ribbon he draped across the back of her neck. He let it hang down between her breasts, the slightly frayed ends brushing the very tops of her thighs.
"Put your hands out," he said, running the wide red ribbon through his fingers.
They sprang out instantly and her chest rose and fell swiftly with frenzied breath. West heard himself moan softly. He wasn’t sure he’d actually have to touch her to get off. She was that perfect. That here. Right here with him and nothing was occupying her mind but what they were doing. He wound the ribbon around her wrists several times, pulling it tight enough that she gasped just a little. He wanted to make sure that Alyssa got what she wanted--what she needed--from him. West wanted to give her everything, anything she wanted.
He stared at the red encircling her wrists, binding them together. How her hands looked as if folded in prayer. It was the most erotic image he had ever seen. It embodied everything he wanted from her: trust, obedience, attention…love?
"Done," he whispered and then stepped back to study her. She met his gaze and smiled. Her eyes all shiny and full of hope. Full of arousal. The blue startling and vivid. He shut his eyes and memorized the look of her pale skin wrapped in the vibrant ribbons. He would paint her. There wasn’t a way he could not paint her.
He took his time removing his clothes. Piece by piece he folded them, setting them on the loveseat behind him. He gave her time to watch him. Time to change her mind or come to her senses. When he turned she smiled again. The same eagerness evident on her face and god help him, she licked her lips. His cock jumped in response and her eyes grew even brighter. So West took the yellow ribbon in his hands.
His cock slid between her lips effortlessly. She parted for him, taking him in, like his wife never had before. Like no one ever had before. She had been waiting for this and he could tell. The feel of him, the taste of him on her lips was something she had considered many times before. The truth of this set West free. He pushed beyond the barrier or her teeth, felt her soft tongue on his erection, fucked her mouth. He was free. Lulled by the feel of the hot suede of her mouth rushing to encompass him as he gently pushed the rocker back and forth, back an forth. A metronome of pleasure. The universe boiled down to one bright point in his mind--her mouth on him.
She looked up at him with her eyes wide open, hair swinging gently against her jaw from him rocking her. He felt it building within him, an orgasm he had thought about for too many days to count. He withdrew, feeling a brief stab of melancholy at the loss of her moisture. He pushed the feeling away and knelt before her. He feathered his hands over her skin, and felt nearly out of his mind when her skin pebbled beneath his touch. She wanted him. That fact was almost too much for him to bear.
His fingers sought her out instantly. How wet she was startled him for just a moment. How easy it was to sink first one and then a second finger deep inside of her. Fascinated, he watched as they disappeared within her, sinking to the hilt. He moved them, pushing deeper, forcing against her, watching her face so he could see each flicker of pleasure. He grabbed the yellow ribbon again and pulled her forward, tilting the rocker to his advantage. He kissed her. Her mouth opened for him as easily as her body had. She pushed her tongue against his, devouring his mouth with hers. The inside of her mouth as hot and moist and the inside of her cunt.
Alyssa moaned into his mouth and the sound mixed with the vibration made his body short circuit and suddenly he could think of nothing but driving into her. Making her body open for his. The sweetest invasion he could think of.
He didn’t release the yellow ribbon, though it cut into the soft skin of her slender throat. Seeing her body tilt toward his as he led her by her neck was enough to make his blood sing in his veins.
"Scoot forward. Toward me. As much as the ribbons will let you," he managed. His voice sounded primitive to his own ears. Unrecognizable. An animalistic growl buried under the words.
Alyssa did. Wriggled in the caned seat. She moved toward him, her knees falling open even further, her cunt opening to him. He parted her, tried to tattoo the image of her swollen sex in his mind. He kissed the small bud of her clit. Allowed himself the pleasure of suckling her there. Tasting her. The little cry that escaped her reminded him that he had to be in her.
Kneeling between her knees, he pushed into her. No finesse. No patience. Just pushed into her. He buried himself in her and she cried out softly near his ear as he tugged the yellow ribbon. Her arms came around his neck, a bright flash of red in his peripheral vision. The red ribbon bound her in prayer. Prayer that this would one day actually happen and he moved faster, deeper inside of her. His mind shut down. His body took over. His ears buzzed as he looked at her. Her face a mask of pleasure even as tears slipped from behind her closed lids. She looked like a woman who had found something she thought was lost to her forever.
He pulled the yellow ribbon. Thought of the red one behind his head, trapping her hands together just for him. At his mercy. Kind mercy. Pulling the yellow ribbon, he moved her faster toward him. Driving himself harder against her. He felt her cunt clench around his cock, felt her muscles as they galloped around him.
"Oh," she sighed again, and that one word spoke volumes as she came.
It did him in. He gave the yellow ribbon one final yank and heard himself nearly sob as he came inside her welcoming heat. Then he let himself fall on her. Let his skin rest on her skin. He knew she was crying. Hell, he felt like crying himself.
Her arms were still looped around his neck. The red ribbon tickled the middle of his back. It made him shiver. West kissed her forearm. Ran his tongue over the skin. Tasted the salty sweet tang of her.
"We have two days," she said almost shyly.
"We do," he agreed.
He started to untie her but he did it slowly. Not quite ready to give this up yet. He knew he would have to return the ribbons to his wife’s stuff. Not the red one, though. He would find someplace safe to keep it. Maybe in the part of the garage he used as a studio. Keep it safe. Keep it close.
I would tell you how excited I am that my werewolf novel Base Nature is out, but I can't quite explain it. So we'll just go with eep! eek! woohoo! yay! and yeeeeeehaw! Oh and in honor of the wolves, grrr-ruff!
edited by Alison Tyler got an uber nice review and I got a mention. Moi! I love when I get a mention. And Jeremy got a mention. And Teresa Noelle Roberts...and Shanna and Nikki Magennis and...well, go read the review!
Because we're gonna show you ours. Skirting the Issue is the brand new mini-antho with stories by moi, Alison Tyler and Sophia Valenti. Good news, it's all about the ever popular little plaid skirt. Grab yours today!
) in two day at best. Now, I am not nearly as fast. There are kids and a husband and paperwork for school, a fat dog, and oh yeah, I write books. So I'm chin-deep in words most days and I've slowed considerably since then. So when I find something that can keep my ass in the seat-as it were-I like to share the info. Here are a few (but not all) of my favorite entertainment ploys from 2009. Bright shiny baubles that kept me amused during my 'down-time'. Maybe you'll find something for yourself...or share yours with me!
I was hesitant at first because very few horror books really grab me now. I like to be scared in a deep-seated way, like an itch under my skin I can't reach. I don't like to be shocked or grossed out. I want you to work for it. Joe Schreiber did-and then some- in his super creepy, intensely written No Doors, No Windows. And I think I will be forever and ever grateful to Miss Scarlett Greyson for phrasing her love of this book in just the right off-the-cuff way to pique my curiosity to the point that I had to read it. I now must own it and plan to do just that very shortly. The Gargoyle
is a book that must, must, must live on my shelf. I have never read anything quite like it before.
by Chuck Palahniuk because you will never ever ever read anything like this book. It took me forever. Why? He is one of my favorite authors, you say? He sure as hell is, but since he basically constructed an entire language to write the book, you have a huge learning curve at the beginning just to decipher what's being said. Don't worry, once you do, it's 
fascinating and creepy and terribly wonderful and all the surreal stuff that Chuck is made of. And yes, per the norm, there was scene that was so perfectly awful I had to put my head down and laugh until I cried. Awesome!
and Christmas music. And on Christmas Eve (before the plague hit me) the man surprised me with the brand-spanking-new Coming Up for Air
. Happy, happy girl. Do yourself a favor, if you haven't checked out Davy Knowles and Back Door Slam, do it now, now, now! You can thank me later.
At some point I hope you'll find...me! It's been a hectic season and it all sort of came crashing down last night. The man was sick, our to-be-company was sick. I wasn't feeling so hot. After mucho sleep (10.5 hours for me, 14+ for the man!) all who live in this house are feeling much better. So the roast is roasting, the carrots will be done, the peanut butter pie was done yesterday and I'm feeling sad that we won't have our scheduled guests but not so horrible that it will be a bit of a quiet Christmas Eve. 
my favorite day.
of snow, you pervs! This is actually an old picture of Oyv as the first flakes fell a few years ago. My camera AND my camera phone are both on strike, so you'll have to settle for Sommer stock photos. :)
A project that has lived in my head for a while, and has been worked on for quite a bit, is now going to be a reality. More details to come, but I wanted to just say...yay! I'm very excited and I hope you, dear readers, will be excited with me. I'm happy dancing and raising my glass of wine. Slainte!
Today has been a LOL kind of day. As in LOL or beat my head against the wall. I've been sick, there were some issues with a library card, the oven has gone up right before Christmas. But I have to laugh. Have to. It's my nature.
I have broken free from the sofa to make dinner and post. Sadly, that little stupid bit of normal life has exhausted me! Oh well, here is a tiny nibble of Furtive. Taste it, you may like it.
...cause I woke up done. I got up today feeling pretty much ready to put the day behind me and it hadn't started. All I wanted to do was sleep but some lunatic put me in charge of this joint, at least on week days, so here I am. I have thus far fed my children breakfast (leftover pretzel salad, pineapple upside down cake, OJ and vits. Mother. Of. The. Year.) and made coffee. I have one very short, very close appointment to keep and then I have a date with the last hundred pages of Stephen King's new book, the big brown sofa, fuzzy socks and a box (or two) of tissues. I'm trying to stay positive. No fever so no real need to panic. Just an average garden variety aggressive cold type thing...with a vengeance.
And I'm so excited!! That werewolf book I just wrapped up? The one I yammered on and on and on about? The one that had me filling my blog with images of wolves and Little Red and my closet with red hooded clothing? It was officially signed for by Ellora's Cave. Yip!
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