Femme Fatale

Femme Fatale

Sommer Marsden

Price: $1.99

Molly has issues with her self esteem. Her no good husband isn't helping. When Rick takes her to a roller derby for her birthday she's smitten. Femme Fatale lives up to her name, a bad ass on the rink and off. During an autograph session, Femme thinks Molly is pretty fierce and invites her to join the team. Femme's huge, hot husband Mark, the team owner, agrees. Turns out all a girl's ego needs is a hot tryst. Or two. READER BEWARE: f/f/m explicit sex & language, BDSM
PUBLISHED BY: Sommer Marsden
CATEGORIES: Erotica, BDSM, Contemporary, Multiple Partners, Romantic Comedy
KEYWORDS: BDSM, cheating, contemporary, erotica, explicit language, explicit sex, ffm, humor, infidelity, menage, oral, roller derby, sommer marsden, three way,



COPYRIGHT Sommer Marsden/2009
After the derby, he scurried off to get his program signed. He wanted to get the signatures of Mary Little Lamb, Hazardous Material, and Bettie Bang. I looked for only one woman. I had suddenly become a fan. Enamored and in awe of her as she streaked past like she had been born on skates. How she could take an elbow to the eye socket and keep going. How that red thong pushed those fishnets into the spectacular cleft of her ass. I thrilled at how she looked so dangerous and sexy and in control all at once. It was clear. I had a bit of a girl crush. “What’s your name, Chickie?” She took my program and scrawled her name in lime-green Sharpie. Her fingernails were short and dark red. Chipped like a punk and I marveled at her long thin fingers. She pinned me with a whiskey-colored gaze, bit her bright red lip and smiled. The whole encounter had sent a zap of arousal straight through me. For the first time in my life, a woman had made me wet in the panties. A woman had me shifting from foot to foot like I had to pee. I blushed and I felt it. The heat and fire of embarrassment stained my face all the way up to my hairline. “Molly. Moll for short.” God. Why had I said that? Moll, for short. What else would a person shorten Molly to? Lly? Ridiculous. I clenched my hands around the program and then realized I didn’t want to crush her penmanship. I released the paper and turned to go. “Why’re you running, Moll? Marauding Molly. That could be your roller derby name. You're downright edible, sweet thing. You know you could really work a pair of fishnets. I’m thinking red. Red would go good with your skin tone. Your hair is that crazy kind of dirty blonde. Some red highlights, red fishnets, black skates. I could make you a skull skirt. Damn. That would work. A little tiny black skirt with the Jolly Roger on it.” She winked. My heartbeat had somehow migrated to my throat and I tried to swallow but failed. “Um…I’m not very good on skates.” Plus, I was pretty sure she was joking. She had to be, right? “We can fix that. If you come practice with me, we’ll work on it. What do you say?” I opened my mouth and nothing came out. My heart fluttered erratically, and I was shifting from foot to foot again. A hand smoothed up the curve of my back, rested against my bra strap. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Rick asked. “Femme, this is Rick. Rick, this is Femme.” She practically ignored him. She flicked him a tiny wave and then returned her smooth whiskey gaze to me. “So, come practice with me. We practice Tuesdays and Thursdays right here. I’ll be here with your skirt. What do you say? We’re down a girl. Taser is out on maternity leave. So, you’d be doing us a favor.” My husband snickered rudely. “Molly? Roller derby? Oh ,that is rich. She doesn’t have the nerve. No way.” I turned to him, anger flaring bright in my belly. Then I smiled at Femme. “I’ll be here. Don’t worry. What time?” “Seven will do,” she said and shocked the hell out of me by leaning in and planting a kiss on my lips. Her mouth tasted like cinnamon. I couldn’t tell who gasped louder, me or Rick. “We’ll be here,” he breathed. “No, darling. She’ll be here. No men allowed.” “Except for me.” The voice came from up high. He seemed to be a giant. Had to be close to seven feet tall. I looked up and tried not to laugh. Dark hair, big blue eyes, a nose that had been broken more than once. Staggeringly handsome and thoroughly imposing. “Mark Marcus. I am the owner of the team.” “Yes,” I said. It made no sense, but he smiled.

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