You may recall the lovely Sommer Marsden joining me a few months back—she is both a fabulous writer and an all around sweetheart. I’ve had several amazing interactions with her myself, and over and over again, I’ve heard others say the same. She’s genuinely the nicest person around, and it’s impossible not to think of Sommer’s writing without knowing about the woman with a giant gold heart behind it all.
Unfortunately, Sommer’s family has been going through a very hard time. Her husband is currently fighting pancreatic cancer, so today, in honor of Sommer’s sweetness, several writers have gotten together to drum up some help for her family. Each author listed on the Snog for Sommer page will be posting an excerpt of a story involving a kiss, and we’re hoping that you will join us in helping Sommer’s family, too. How? On the official Snog page you’ll find a donation widget—so please, if you could, take a peek at all the authors participating and donate a little something for Sommer.
To provide more incentive, I’m offering up both a prize and an excerpt!
Updated: The previously offered prize of Violet Blue’s Kissing: A Field Guide has been claimed! However, if you are still able to donate, we would surely appreciate it. All you need to do is go to the Snog page and make a donation. Thank you!
To put you in a giving mood, I have a kissing excerpt for you! (Sommer writes the *best* kisses, so this is why there’s a kissing theme!) This excerpt comes from a story I wrote a couple years ago called “Marm,” which is currently hosted over at The Erotic Woman:
Angie backed against her kitchen counter and shifted her legs, the wool of her skirt itchy and grating, contradicting the silky moisture pooling at the apex of her thighs. Sometimes, she had to remind herself that Ms. Patrick did not exist beyond school walls. The dark-framed glasses, the long braid, the wool uniform that constantly aggravated her skin—that was not her.
That was who she channeled, day in and day out: the structured, successful, orderly English teacher she’d become after all these years, teaching at St. Sebastian’s since she’d graduated from college. Max had spent a mere three years there as the brazen Bio teacher, and already he’d inspired all the girls to write their names alongside his in cursive, with hearts and stars and endless swooning commentary. He was a lady killer, at school or at home, but what he was to her was something else—someone who understood that when Ms. Patrick climbed into her car at the end of the day, she became herself.
“Tell you what,” she said. “I’m going to unlock the front door. Give me three minutes, then come in and find me.”
She hung up the phone and unlocked the deadbolt, then ran back to the tile countertop. She hopped onto it and arranged herself just as she’d done this morning in the staff lounge, then resumed the undoing of her shirt until it exposed the top portion of her chest. Angie crossed her feet at the ankles and pitched forward, waiting. The hair stood up on her arms as she wondered what he’d do when he saw her, and the images running through her mind made the heat coil deep within her core.
Max’s three minutes was two, and when his count was up he nearly threw open the door. He pursed his lips and looked her over. Not a word came from his mouth as he inhaled so heavily through his nose she heard it across the kitchen.
Angie cocked her head and shifted her hips on the counter. “Hi there,” she said.
Max still didn’t say anything. He walked with measured steps across the room until he stood in front of her, then placed a hand on either side of her legs. He stared into her eyes. “Do you have a thing for countertops lately, Ms. Patrick?” Then he tilted his head toward her neck, pressing his lips to the edge of her jaw. He trailed his mouth down to her collar.
“I thought you were after Angie?”
Max nibbled at her skin, rolling it gently between his teeth. He cupped his hands around her ass and raised his mouth to her upper lip. “No.”
“Oh?” Angie maintained her straight back but closed her eyes as his lips lingered over hers.
“I’m after the real Ms. Patrick. The one that exists beneath that rigid shell.”
She ducked her head. “She’s right here, you know.”
“Almost,” he said. He ran his finger along the flaps of her blouse, peering into her face. “She’s still breaking free.”
Angie slid off the counter and to the floor. Her pulse raced—he always said such things. He was thirty-four, and handsome, and though he was only a few years younger, his pushiness was not so different from that of their students. “Wine?” she muttered.
Max watched her while she poured the red liquid first into his glass and then her own. She raised it to her lips and he took a drink as well, then walked around the bar top. Before she finished her sip, he snatched her glass away and pushed her back against the tile.
“Whoa! What’s this?”
He planted his lips on hers, cutting off her words, her breath. Angie sucked air in through her nose and sank into the kiss, enjoying the probe of his tongue as his hands clawed their way across her lower back. He rubbed the contour that formed above her bottom and growled. He was most certainly not like the other men she’d dated.
“This is what I’m after,” he said between kisses. He fondled her buttons and tugged them open. Angie shivered—and when she teasingly pulled away, Max shoved his pelvis into hers, pinning her against the counter. “My sweet, sweet marm.”
Thanks so much for supporting the cause!