Snog for Sommer

I'm participating in the Snog for Summer. (Pop over there and check out all the other snoggers. Donate if you have the means. Share the link, please.) Here's why:

From the Introduction to Coming Together Treasures: Sommer Marsden:

Once in a great while, an editor collides with an author who is an absolute joy to work with. One who delivers the goods on time (or even early), one who needs minimal edits and is gracious when changes are necessary, and--in the case of Coming Together--one who is unfailingly generous with her words. Given how hard won my words are to me, the latter is extremely precious.

Sommer Marsden has been a Coming Together contributor since its first open call way back in 2006. Back when ebooks were the inferior cousins of real books. Before Kindles and Nooks and iPads.

Sommer was there.

She has consistently submitted her stories to Coming Together collections ever since. I don't think I've ever turned one away. And why would I? She writes edgy, raw passion. Unapologetic sexuality. It really doesn't matter if the protagonist shares your kinks and triggers. She'll hook you with emotion.

Sex is extremely difficult to write well. Sommer makes it appear effortless! That said, I'd seek her work in any genre. She spins an engaging tale (tail?) regardless of realm.

This inaugural collection of Treasures will benefit the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network (pancan.org), a charity selected by Ms. Marsden for very personal reasons. Your purchase not only benefits the organization directly, but also supports Sommer indirectly.

Thank you!

~ Alessia Brio

My snog comes from the novella Double Decker, which appears in my anthology of girl-on-girl hotness entitled Mirror Geography:

Outside, the storm still raged, but I no longer cared. I just wanted to get home and wallow in my intense disappointment with a bottle of blackberry wine. Maybe two. I was hurt and angry, and I needed to numb myself.

I set off on foot, snubbing the women who offered me their umbrellas and their rides and their lithe, eager bodies. The rain would hide my tears of frustration and loss. What had I done wrong? I replayed every word, every choice, in my head but couldn't pinpoint any significant faux pas.

Was it just overconfidence? I really didn't think I'd taken anything for granted, but judging from my level of shock, clearly I'd assumed a different outcome. Had the possibility of failure not even occurred to me? Given that I had no contingency plan, I had to admit that my arrogance may have been my Achilles heel.

I had no idea what to do next. As I trudged through the downpour, replaying the past twelve hours in my mind, I tried to formulate a course of action. When I got home—before I got completely toasted—I decided I would send her an email to explain and to apologize for throwing that at her in public that way. I didn't have the courage to call and try to speak to her directly, fearing I'd hear rejection or scorn in her voice.

Throwing open the door to my building, I stepped inside, stripped off my sodden jacket, and shook the water from my hair. The security guard did a double take before he recognized me as a resident, then grinned and nodded as I stumbled toward the elevator. If I hadn't been so damned destroyed by the turn of events, I probably would've asked him what the fuck he thought was so amusing.

It angered me that my normal behavior had been subjugated by desire for a woman who was so opposed to the idea of being with me that she bolted without even bothering to say why. I turned to recapture a bit of myself and give the guard a piece of my mind, but he was on the phone and I lacked the oomph to do the sniping justice. Pathetic!

Inside the paneled car, I slumped against the wall and punched the button for my floor. I rode in morose solitude to the perverted accompaniment of orchestral AC/DC, alternately kicking myself for my hubris and my cowardice. Now that I was under a roof, I couldn't blame my wet cheeks on the precipitation any longer. Few of the building's upscale tenants were ever out and about in the wee hours of the morning, though, so I didn't expect to encounter any inquisitive neighbors.

By the time the doors slid open again, there was a small puddle at my feet, and my arms and legs were starting to register the chill of the autumn rain. I stared at the toes of my boots as I made my way down the hall.

"You bitch!"

The familiar voice brought my head up with a snap. I stared incredulously, thinking my eyes were playing tricks on me. She looked different than I last time I saw her, brighter, more vibrant.

"Kayla?"

"How dare you pull a stunt like that? I should smack you!"

I couldn't tell if she was really angry or just playing with me, so I chose to pretend the latter. "Well, if that's what turns you on…"

Rather than laughing, which is what I'd hoped she'd do, she leaned against the wall and crossed her arms, shaking her head as if frustrated with a stubborn child. "Why, Tess? Why couldn't you just tell me?"

I couldn't look her in the eye. It was too raw, hurt too much. Not only did I believe I'd blown my chance with her, I feared I'd alienated a friend. "I guess I thought I needed to show you instead. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

Unexpectedly, she laughed. I looked up to find her eyes dancing with mirth, her cheeks rising to meet them, and the corners of her mouth stretched from ear to ear. "Uncomfortable? Woman, you royally pissed me off with your games, but I assure you that I'm not uncomfortable."

To emphasize her words, Kayla took a step forward and wrapped her arms around my waist. Instantly, my chill was replaced by heat. Every place her body touched mine was alive and thrumming. The intense sensations made the rest of my body feel bereft, and I felt the powerful urge to get as much of my skin in contact with her as humanly possible—to wrap myself around her and sink into her soul.

Without breaking the embrace, I reached for the door and punched in the access code. We sidled across the threshold as one rather than parting. When the door swung closed, I took her face in my hands—just as I had done at the Double Decker less than an hour ago—and kissed her. This time, however, there was nothing tender about it.

I swallowed the groan that escaped her throat. Devoured her lips. Sucked on her tongue like I had never tasted a more savory dessert. I couldn't get enough of her mouth, and there was so much more to consume. She met my passion with equal fervor, and I prayed it was more than just lust.