Chances are if you read erotica or erotic romance you’ve read something by Sommer Marsden. Sommer’s stories appear in a plethora of anthologies, and her novels and novellas are published by what seems like every erotic publisher in existence. So you know Sommer. You might not recognize her if you bumped into her in the grocery store, but you know her through her words, her stories, her humor, and her zinging writing.
Sommer’s husband is battling pancreatic cancer, and her family are battling on several levels. There’s already an anthology Summer Loving with all proceeds going to Sommer (Have you bought it yet? If not, why not?) and now the lovely people at Smut for Good have organized a day of snogs. Read my snog, hop over to Smut for Good and see who else has signed up. Read them all. Win prizes. And use the Paypal button at Smut for Good to donate to Sommer and her family.
My snog is a lesbian snog, taken from my story Out for the Count in my just-released anthology Forbidden Fruit: stories of unwise lesbian desire. Leave a comment here and you can win your choice of the following paperbacks: Girls Who Score, lesbian sports erotica edited by Ily Goyanes, Morning, Noon and Night, erotica for couples edited by Alison Tyler, or Best Lesbian Romance 2012 edited by Radclyffe. Don’t forget to include your email address for contact and your book preference.
The keys she saw in Francesca’s purse do indeed fit a Lexus. A silver late-model one. Linn sinks into the leather seat, fakes a wide-eyed look around. “Lovely car,” she says, and leans forward to twiddle the radio dial.
Francesca slaps her hand away, and as Linn feigns hurt, Francesca picks up her hand and presses it to her lips, kissing away the red mark.
This time, Linn’s gasp is not feigned. The touch of Francesca’s mouth on the back of her hand sends a jolt of silver desire along her arm. One touch from the red lipsticked mouth pressing a kiss to her flesh, and she’s molten. Wide-eyed she stares at Francesca.
Francesca withdraws. “Did I read you wrong, darling? If I did, it’s a first. I thought you knew what you were getting into. You don’t want poker tips any more than I want to give them.” One side of her mouth lifts in a half smile, and she seems amused.
Caught off balance by the directness, Linn stammers an apology, but Francesca leans across the gearshift and presses her lips to Linn’s. She kisses her hard, her mouth firm and assured. Her hand rests on Linn’s thighs, pressed protectively together. A shaft of desire pierces Linn’s belly. She knows the parking garage is covered by CCTV, she knows that Raoul may be watching this, but right now, she doesn’t care. She wants Francesca with a fierceness, an immediateness that equals Francesca’s own post win high. It’s doubtless going to be a euphoric fuck for Francesca, but Linn is there with her, and if Raoul is watching—well, she will make her excuses to him later.
So she kisses Francesca back, pushing her tongue into Francesca’s mouth, and tasting the lust that leaks from her. But she keeps her thighs together; Francesca is probably so high she would fuck here in the parking garage, uncaring of security cameras. But Linn won’t go that far. Indeed, she thinks, she will stop this soon. But not just yet.