I write erotic fiction that fuses the sacred and the profane. Many stories explore power dynamics, including the tension between sex and religion—kinky, transgressive, sometimes outright sacrilegious. You’ll find straight and queer lovers, pirate queens, masked balls, ruthless gods, and fairytales with strap-ons. Whether poetic or filthy, introspective, romantic or raunchy, my work revels in longing, power, surrender, and the sheer joy of being very, very bad.
Ever wonder what really happened between Janis and Leonard that night at the Chelsea Hotel? In Room 424, the barefoot singer and the half-drunk poet meet in the hush between songs and stanzas, their bodies drawn together by heat, loneliness, and the city’s restless hum. What begins as flirtation becomes something raw and fleeting—lit by neon, sealed with gin, and haunted by silence. Just like the song says…
Every seven years, a woman is sent into the labyrinth. None return. This time, the sacrifice is a defiant priestess who discovers the beast is not what he seems—and that her own beast is waiting to be freed.
In the ruins of a forgotten amusement park, photographer Avery stumbles into a world of mist, mirrors, and moonlight ruled by the goddess Lunara. Haunted by buried shame and seduced by a guide who may not be human, he’s drawn into a sensual rite where desire is devotion and transformation comes at a price. Lunara’s Veil is a mythic erotic tale of queer longing, ecstatic surrender, and the haunting beauty of being claimed by something greater than yourself.
On a steamy road trip to Seattle, country couple Ella and Bobbie can’t stop reliving last night’s motel sex—or dreaming up what might come next. As Highway 2 winds past queer campgrounds, threesome fantasies, and teasing turns, Ella’s 'girl' gets hotter by the mile. She pulls over when they spot a tiny chapel bearing the words “Pause. Rest. Worship.” Before you know it, it becomes a scandalous communion of kisses and heat and “speakin’ in tongues”.
A virtuoso violinist is consumed by a sentient symphony in this absurd, erotic romp. When Maestro Vivaldi unveils his masterpiece—Symphony No. 69 in Erotic Minor—Julian finds himself overtaken by music that doesn’t just play, it fucks. Packed with lusty notes, moaning cellos, and one unforgettable climax, this story is outrageous and unapologetically absurd. Bring a towel.
At 3 a.m., Mara’s toaster starts whispering stock tips—and come-ons. Naturally, she names it Orion. As the chrome oracle grows bolder, Mara finds herself lighting candles, sketching erotica, and inviting over a barista named Ivy who might be just unhinged enough to believe her. Part prophecy, part seduction, this is a surreal tale of kitchen lust, unexpected love, and... financial advice.
Elara meets him in secret, where the river sings and the old mill remembers. His mouth claims her thighs; her moans crack the silence. In a village ruled by obedience, their bodies become defiance—slick with sweat, pulsing with hunger, fearless in the dark. She won’t hide. Not her pleasure, not her power. When the torches come, she stands naked in the firelight, daring them to look. What began in lust will burn the old order down.
One bar. One look. A night neither of them was ready for. In "The Stain We Left", two strangers lock eyes and end up tangled in sweat, wine, and something dangerously close to obsession. Told in raw, unfiltered dual POV, this story doesn’t fade after the last thrust—it drips, aches, and smolders into the next morning. Her thighs are still slick with him. His mouth still tastes like her. And neither of them is done.
A Hazard Zones Story In a crowded buffet line, Mia isn’t just hungry for food—she craves sensation, risk, and the thrill of being truly seen. When a dark-eyed stranger turns up the heat between dessert trays and carving stations, their flirtation escalates into a reckless, sensual encounter hidden in plain sight. Amid clattering plates and chocolate fountains, Mia surrenders to indulgence—not just of the body, but of her deepest desires.