Fabulous Filthy Friday to you all!
This week we are being treated to a scorcher of a Christmas story penned by Sommer Marsden, the US authoress who writes unapologetic fiction for women who enjoy a healthy dose of erotic indulgence.
Sommer has been called “…one of the top storytellers in the erotica genre” (Violet Blue), “Unapologetic” (Alison Tyler), “…the whirling dervish of erotica” (Craig J. Sorensen, and “Erotica royalty…” (Lucy Felthouse).
Her erotic novels include Boys Next Door, Restless Spirit, Big Bad, Wanderlust and Learning to Drown. Sommer currently writes erotica and erotic romance for HarperCollins (Mischief Books), Xcite Books, eXcessica, Ellora’s Cave, Pretty Things Press, and Resplendence Publishing. The wine-swigging, dachshund-owning, wannabe runner author writes work that runs the gamut from bondage to zombies to humor.
Sommer’s short works can be found in well over one hundred (and counting) erotic anthologies. Her short stories have also been included numerous adult and romance magazines–both in print and online.
Visit sommermarsden.blogspot.com to see what’s up and drop her a line.
by Sommer Marsden
“I just don’t see why you won’t come over here, Abigail.”
I rolled my eyes and tried to remember that my mother meant well. “Because I’m happy here tonight. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” I watched the small white flecks batter against my sunroom window. I shivered, but it was a good kind of shiver.
“But it’s so saaaad!” my mother wailed.
“What’s so sad? That you can’t coddle me and tuck me in?” And drive me nuts, but I said that part to myself.
“That you’re alone on Christmas Eve. And we, your loving family, not five miles away.”
“It’s snowing,” I countered. I poured another glass of wine and warmed my hand in front of the low fire. I was content, my mother just couldn’t see that.
“Bah! It’s flurries. It’s nothing. You could get here in no time flat.
But I don’t want to. I want to enjoy my wine and my fire and my snow. Alone. Happy.
“I appreciate it, Ma. But no. I’m good. I’m already in my pajamas! And I have a fabulous order of Luigi’s fettuccini alfredo.” And beautiful, blissful peace and quiet.
My mother sounded unconvinced, and she hmphed into the phone, vocalizing her displeasure with sounds rather than words. “Well, I think it’s just crazy. We could all be together for Christmas Eve and tomorrow. It would be wonderful. But since you’re so hell bent on being alone, I’ll call you in the morning to see what Santa brought you!” My mother laughed her crazy holiday laugh.
“Deal. I’ll talk to you in the morning. I’d better go. My fettuccini is going to get cold if I don’t eat it.”
That did it. To my mother, cold food is a sin. Right up there with murder and infidelity and coveting. “Oh, eat! Go on, eat! You’re too thin.”
I would argue that at a nice curvy size twelve, I was not too thin. I was in great shape, though, and part of my holiday treat was the super-fattening, stick to your ass pasta from my favorite restaurant. I grabbed my warm bowl and my glass of wine and snuggled into the window seat that had been the selling point of my house.
I twirled up my first delectable bite and saw him. A man. A man in a big suit stumbling through the snow of my backyard straight across the stone wall into my neighbor’s yard. Molly—my single-mother-home-with-her-young-daughter-on-Christmas-Eve-alone neighbor. I knew they were alone because Molly and Sabrina had brought me homemade cookies and fudge earlier. We had shared some cocoa, and Sabrina had given me a rousing rendition of “Rudolph” that she had learned at school. I had given her a pair of purple mittens and a Nancy Drew book, and she had gushed like she’d won the lottery. Great kid. And now some doofus who appeared to be dressed as jolly old Saint Nick was stumbling through their yard.
I managed to choke down the bite of pasta that had solidified in my throat and jumped up to find my boots. I’d be damned if some would-be burglar was going to crash Molly’s first Christmas alone with Sabrina. With the death of Dan, Molly’s husband, they’d been through enough.
My Eddie Bauer duck boots did not want not to go on, but there I was shoving my feet, sock free, into the openings. “Come on, you rat bastards,” I hissed, and I knew my mother would be proud. Rescuer and potty mouth Abigail Halpern.
The snow was thicker than I thought, and my boots made a whoosh, whoosh, whoosh sound as I ran. My lungs hurt from the cold air, and it finally fucking dawned on me—why hadn’t I simply called 911? But it was too late, because me and my boots (and my snowman PJs) were hitting Santa in a flying tackle that my brother Joe would have been proud of.
“Oof!” said Santa. And then, “Fuck!”
He flailed under me, and I did my best to cover him with my body, a nearly impossible feat considering he was huge. And in all that faux fur and with all the snow, he was slippery like an eel. The bulky man under me made a frustrated sound and tried to roll. The sound reminded me of a big animal—maybe I had snagged me a Yeti. I found this amusing despite my fear and the fact that I was suddenly seeing stars. I had caught a flailing elbow to the eye socket.
“Son of a bitch,” I hissed, trying to cover my eye and still keep the greatly struggling man still.
“What is your problem, lady? Goddamn, let me go! I am supposed to be here. I am here for…”
I tried to pin him and ended up knocking him a good one between the legs with my knee. I felt him go still, and even over the wind I heard a great sucking sound of pain. And I felt bad. Why did I feel bad? Thieves and bad guys deserved a good knee to the nuts, right?
“Oh, my God. I am here for Molly’s daughter … ugh.” He had grown totally still.
“Molly?” I said dumbly.
“Yes. For Sabrina, actually,” he gasped. “Molly’s my friend. Her brother Jack is my best friend. I’m playing—” he started an open-mouthed breathing that reminded me of Lamaze. It was a labored breathing, I began to realize, caused by the pain I had inflicted.
“Santa.” I finished his sentence weakly and peeled myself from his snow covered bulk. I offered him a hand and he flinched backwards like I was about to hit him again. Okay, I deserved that. “Look, I am so sorry. I’m sort of protective of them and I … well, I sort of went off half-cocked—”
“Gee, ya think?” He growled and climbed to his feet, ignoring my hand. Just then the back porch light at Molly’s popped on and she stuck her head out. “Caleb?” she called softly, and then she finally spotted us in the shadows. The man named Caleb wiped snow from his Santa suit, while I rubbed my eye where a dull aching thud had taken up residence.
“Abby?” she said. Her eyebrows went up and I waved her off.
“Sorry. So sorry. I thought he was a prowler. I’m going home. Have fun. Merry Christmas!” I whisper-shouted in the gloom. The snow started to come down faster, and Molly looked half-amused, half-concerned.
I rubbed my eye and wished I would melt into the ground and disappear. Talk about embarrassing. But then big warm hands were on my wrist, and I finally looked at the mystery man.
I had tackled the most gorgeous, grinning, handsome, amused man ever. I blinked, and my eye ached a little worse.
“Did I get you in the eye? You okay?” The calmer, gentler Caleb asked.
Big eyes that looked brown and warm in the weak light. Dark hair peeked out from under his furry hat and tumbled over his forehead. He was tall and broad without being intimidating. Just a humongous Kris Kringle with a crooked grin. I blinked as snowflakes caught up in my lashes, hindering my view. I swatted at them and caught my eye wrong. “Ow, shit. I’m fine. Fine. Go play Santa, and I’ll pay for the cleaning of your, um, suit. And that, yeah, that rip right there.” I pointed to a torn section of his pants.
“No worries. I found this at the Good Will. Five bucks. No need to pay for anything.” He ran his thumb just below the painful part of my eye and shook his head, tsking softly. “You have a hell of a tackle and a knee straight from hell, but you sure do bruise easy, Abby. Abby, right?”
I nodded and swallowed the weird girly sound that was pushing up in my throat. I was cold and wet and mortified, but the feel of his finger stroking over my cold, sore skin was heaven. Even I couldn’t ignore that. “Yes, nice to meet you Mr…. um … Caleb.”
He leaned in so close I could smell peppermint on his breath. “Call me Santa. And you are a very naughty girl. You shouldn’t take down the big man.” When he said “big man,” he winked. My body did an all over shiver, and I was suddenly too warm even standing in the snow and the wind in my pajamas.
“So, so, sorry,” I whispered.
“Caleb?” Molly called again. She was so quiet I could only assume Sabrina was asleep or nearly asleep.
“I’d better go.” He looked reluctant and damn him, still very amused.
I touched my hair. God! A mess of a topknot. Literally a tangle of honey blond and faded red left over from summer. Big boots, pajamas, no makeup, and a rabid disposition. No wonder he was amused.
“Yes, you go. And again, I’m really very, very sorry for um … jumping on you and tearing your costume and…” I let my words taper off, too horrified to continue.
He brushed his fingers over my face one more time, and my nipples peaked even as a demanding heat flooded my pussy. “You’d better get some ice on that,” he said softly and then ran his fingers over my lips for a split second.
My knees went a little saggy, and I bit my tongue to snap myself out of it. “I will.”
Then he turned toward the house and was gone. His sack on his back and his ripped pants flapping in the wind.
I had accosted Santa.
“Right. Let’s try this again,” I grumbled. I put the fettuccini in the microwave and zapped it. The ice making my face hurt worse, but I knew it would help. I gulped wine and waited for what should have been my peaceful, sinful Christmas Eve dinner to reheat.
It was good but not as good as fresh. Luigi does it up right with lots of cream and parmesan and herbs. I twirled pasta and shoved it into my mouth because I was starving. Abusing strange men in the backyard worked up an appetite, apparently.
“Good, good, good,” I chanted to myself and swigged a bit more wine. The second bite promptly scorched the roof of my mouth, and I was swigging wine like a drunkard to cool the burn.
Then I inhaled when I should have exhaled and I was coughing, bubbling wine and pasta all over. “Damn!”
The doorbell rang. I dropped the ice from my face, swiped my chin with a napkin, and ran to the door. I put my bad eye to the peephole without thinking and let out a pained gargle as the swollen skin pressed to the wood.
“You okay?” came a voice.
I stilled. Was it? No way. It could not be. The universe was not that cruel. I put my good eye to the hole and groaned. Yes, yes it was. The universe was indeed that cruel. “Can I help you?” I half-yelled.
“Can I come in?”
Shit, shit, shit. My heart was a chaotic beat, and I surveyed the splatter of wine on my pajamas. The wino look. I was a mess. More of a mess when he saw me in actual light instead of a snowy twilight glow. Did I have to open the door? Did I owe him that for attempting to take him down like a bad guy?
I put my head against the door and sighed. “Hold on!”
I took a few deep breaths and opened the door. God. He was better looking when he was upright and not writhing in pain. “Hi, there. If you came to scold me, I know. I’m really sorry. And—” I stepped back and he filled my doorway. My mind flashed to the feel of him under me. Long and big and hard. All man. Warm in the freezing night. Smelling of peppermint and evergreen and cold air. Easy going considering how quickly he flipped his concern from his injured penis to me and my eye.
I lost my train of thought. Stared at him. He stared back. Pleasantly, patiently. Waiting.
“What?” His eyes were brown with flecks of green. He was huge. He was looming over me. He was probably seeing the spattering of wine on my ridiculous pajamas. I touched my hair nervously, and he caught my hand and my attention.
“You said, and. That usually means you have more to say.” He touched my eye softly, and I winced. “And I thought I told you to put ice on it.”
“I did but then I—”
“You?” He grinned and it went straight to the V between my legs. I clenched my thighs, and a pulse started to beat in my pussy. Was it wrong to climb on Santa and kiss him until the New Year came?
“God. I really can string a sentence together.” I took a deep breath and shut my eyes. There. That was better. Much easier to think clearly when I wasn’t actually looking at him. “Okay. I had ice on and it hurts like a bitch, let me tell you.”
Caleb made a soft sound like, “Mm-hmm.”
“And then I was eating my pasta. It had gotten cold, and it burned my mouth because I forgot to stir it.” He touched my hair and I sucked in a great breath. Easy, Abby. Prove you’re not brain dead. “So, I took a swig of wine and had too much in my mouth, and I choked and then you came.”
I opened my eyes and he was a fraction of an inch from my face. “You smelled like cinnamon out in the snow,” he said. His breath puffed over my mouth like an invisible kiss. I tried not to groan, and I barely managed. Instead I sighed like a love-struck teenager. “I’m sorry you choked. And thanks for watching out for Molly and Sabrina.”
I was nodding at him and nodding at him and nodding at him, completely caught up in the warm brown stubble beginning to peek through his skin, his full bottom lip, and his slightly crooked front teeth. My heart beat faster. And how his hair curled over his one eyebrow. Without thinking, I reached up and pushed the lock away. He caught my hand and grinned.
I had caved. I had touched him first.
Then that mouth was on me, and his hands grabbed around my waist with a fierce kind of strength that would have scared me had I not caught a glimpse of his true nature. “Hope it’s okay that I kiss you. I figure it’s better than tackling you,” he said against my throat.
A crazy hooting laughter escaped me, and I felt the blush stain my cheeks. “Yes, kiss me please. More, I mean.” What the hell. It could be my Christmas gift to myself. Satisfaction.
His lips slid over mine gently and then rougher. He nipped my lower lip and cupped my bottom in my flannel PJs. “I knew I was in trouble when I could remember what you smelled like,” he said, kissing over my clavicle. “Especially since you slammed me a good one. So good my eyes watered.”
“Sorry, sorry,” I murmured. But I was really focused on pushing my hands into his thick, dark hair. His Santa hat hit the floor with a whisper. I tugged handfuls of his hair and yanked him closer.
“Easy. You’re a bad, rough girl, aren’t you?” Caleb hiked me up and I took advantage. I wrapped my legs around his waist and hung on for dear life as he walked me back toward the window seat.
“I am. I am. I’m glad I tackled you. Although, I’d take back the uh…” Fuck it. I ran my hand over the fuzzy red crotch of his suit and sighed happily. He was hard and long and very ready, it seemed. “Oh gooood,” I breathed. “I was afraid I broke it.”
Caleb froze, and then his big shoulders started to shake as he laughed. He took in my confusion and leaned in, kissing me once more. “I assure you, it’s completely unbroken. Let me show you.”
“Okay,” I said, but it was more like a wheeze. Because he was peeling off the jacket and his black T-shirt and underneath was a nice firm chest and abs that showcased a fine line of hair that led below his pants. To the sweet spot. I reached out and touched it. “Can I add that I don’t usually jump on strange men in the dark and then let them…um, well, into my home.”
“Good, because I rarely follow home women who beat on me.” He pulled my leg out straight and I let him. My heart thudded in my chest as his fingers closed around my ankle, moved up my calf. “You’re pretty brave,” he said softly, working a sweet tender spot behind my knee. I watched the muscles in his forearm dance under the skin.
“Some might say stupid,” I said. Caleb dropped to his knees in front of me and worked on the buttons of my top. I held my breath, my ears ringing. He was so close. So there. And I wanted him so bad.
“Not stupid. You took a chance for someone else. It shows what kind of person you are. Besides smelling like cinnamon and being the kind of woman I can’t shake from my head. Even while eating Christmas cookies and pretending to be a magical elf man.”
“You seem pretty magical,” I said and meant it. The cool air hit my nipples as he pulled my top off and they puckered instantly even with the fire burning. Caleb leaned in and captured one and then the other in his mouth. An invisible string of pleasure tugged and I felt the suckling in my womb. My pussy flickered, begging to be filled. “Oh, God. That is too good.”
“Yeah?” He pinned me with his warm brown gaze. Kissing under my breasts, kissing down my belly.
“Yeah.” I couldn’t breathe at all. I could see my chest fluttering from my heart beat.
“How about this?”
I let him peel my pajama bottoms off, and I spread my legs when he asked. Splayed them, really, I was so eager for his mouth to be on me. Between my legs. Where I wanted him to kiss me and then kiss me again. When his lips touched me, I shook under him, shivering from the excitement and the pleasure and the cool glass against my back as I lay in the window seat.
Tapping started at the window pane and he murmured against my pussy, vibrating my clit so I hummed softly. “I think the snow has turned to sleet.” But then he was back to wet slick circles with his tongue, and I didn’t care about the weather at all.
I came, clutching at him and trying to pull him as close as I could. He rustled through the Santa suit and came up with a wallet and then a foil packet. “Wait,” I said, and grabbed his hand.
“Change your mind?”
I shook my head. “No, I just wanted this first.” I pulled him forward and pulled down his boxers. His cock, rosy and hard, sprang out, and I leaned over and pushed my lips to the velvety head of him.
“Oh, that.” His voice was gruff.
I smiled, taking him deep, licking him until his hips shook with his attempt at self control. Then I steadied him and took him deeper, still. “I need you to stop that, brave Abby, or I’ll never make it.” I stopped, rolled the condom on him, and glanced up.
He touched my bruise, and I shied away. “We need to get some ice on that.”
I opened for him as he slid his hips between my knees. His cock pushed into me slowly, my back cold against the glass, my pussy warm with him filling me. The sleet tapped the window, and I inhaled the candy cane scent of him. He pinned my hips. “Stop jumping.”
“I can’t. I’m vibratey.”
I could see him grinning in the low fire light. “I can tell. The neighbors are watching you. Dirty girl, fucking Santa,” he teased.
But it pushed me over the edge and I fought his grip, thrusting up and coming so fast he stilled. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Caleb thrust deeper, faster, fucking me so that I slid along the striped seat cushion. “Do it again, Abby.”
His rhythm increased. He leaned in and licked my nipple, my throat, my lips. His kiss was hot and deep and his cock slammed into me faster. “Again?” I breathed, my pussy clenching up around him as I hovered on the cusp of coming for him again.
“Give it to me. Give me a present,” he laughed softly.
“And you?” I asked, holding on for dear life. Refusing to come yet.
His cock nudged my G-spot, and I clutched handfuls of throw blanket in my fists. “And I’ll give you one, too,” he agreed. His jaw was set, his eyes hooded. The fire popped and complained, and he bit my throat a little too hard, the sudden sharp pain sparking my pleasure.
“Merry Christmas,” I laughed wildly as I came.
Caleb drove into me, holding my hips with his big warm hands. “And Merry Christmas to you,” he chuckled, and then went taut as he came. He continued to thrust for a moment, making deep animal noises in his throat that secretly thrilled me.
I watched him lit with orange glow and was very thankful to be a nosy buttinsky who went and jumped men in the snow.
The sleet tapped the window more insistently, faster and angrier. The wind howled. “Sounds bad,” he said, stroking my hair.
“Maybe you should stay,” I said, shyly. I wanted him, too. Would he?
“Maybe I should. You could lose power. I wouldn’t want you alone. I know how helpless you are.” He winked.
I bit my lip to keep from laughing.
“Yeah. I’m fragile.”
He touched my eye and I pulled back. “Ow.”
“Serves you right. Now let’s get some ice on that, pronto. And I am starved. Is there enough of that pasta for two?” He wrapped me in the throw blanket and pulled me to my feet. Caleb kissed my nose, and I studied him in the near darkness. Such a hot Santa.
“Sure, plenty enough for two. And I can reheat it … again.”
If you enjoyed Accosting Santa, we think you’ll really like Restless Spirit, Sommer Marsden’s full length erotic e-novel!
Here’s the blurb…
Tuesday Cane walks out on her life and her abusive man when she inherits her grandmother’s house at Allister Lake.
There she finds plenty of distractions to take her mind off her loss with her sexy neighbor and handyman Shepherd, former TV star Reed and her old flame Adrian.
But as time passes, she senses that something is not quite right with her new life. And no amount of steamy sexual encounters can hide her anxiety.
Surrounded by so many interesting men and erotic enticements, Tuesday has no intention of committing to one man ever again. But the more she insists she’s nobody’s girl, the more she wants to be somebody’s girl. Will she continue to be a restless spirit and run from love or will she be won over?
If you want more ~ here’s where to go to get it!