Eric Ross: Stories

Libertyville’s Fourth of July picnic is a blur of hot dogs, off-key anthems, and Betsy Reynolds stuffed into a colonial corset she didn’t ask for. But when Johnny “Rocket” Malone—resident firework god and denim-clad flirt—offers her a taste of his potato salad and a whole lot more, things get explosive fast. With sparks flying overhead and limbs tangled in the grass, Betsy discovers that the real fireworks start after dark.

In a shop thick with oil and silence, a clockmaker discovers a key that rewinds time in precise increments. His apprentice, Lira, turns it with him. Loops stretch. Desire deepens. But the clocks begin to falter—and so do they. Ticks blur. Scars remain. Moments once shared begin to slip. Each turn takes something: breath, memory, steadiness. What remains when time breaks around you, and you can’t remember who you were before?

Under the coop’s rain-soaked tin, Tessa and Cade find each other—filthy, sweat-drenched, their lust as rough as the straw underfoot. In this raw tangle of grime and want, nothing matters but the fierce press of hips and the rasp of breath. Dirt and Desire strips away pretense, leaving only the fierce truth of flesh and grit.

She’s the moon. He’s a library assistant. The books moan, the lights flicker, and someone’s overdue for a cosmic orgasm. When Mona crashes into Earth in virginal human form and lands a job shelving steamy romances, she expects peace and quiet, not toe-curling sex in the stacks. But Theo’s got a barcoded smirk and hands that know how to file her under “needs it now.” It’s celestial chaos and steamy chemistry.

When riot police storm a protest, Lena and Kai don’t just run—they ignite. Cornered in a reeking alley, the heat between them becomes its own kind of resistance: fast, filthy, and defiant. A Riot of Lust is a story of tear gas and sweat, of fucking like it’s the last freedom left. In a world cracking under tyranny, sometimes the most radical act is to burn for someone in the dark.

When Ethan refuses the body scanner at JFK, he expects a routine pat-down—not to be pulled behind a closed door by a commanding TSA agent with eyes like sharpened glass. In the hush beyond the terminal’s noise, she inspects him with clinical precision, blurring the line between authority and desire.

In the smoky nights of 1966 Istanbul, a grieving man finds solace in the music of a mysterious sitarist. Their passion is a waltz of desire and guilt, her song a requiem that binds him to the past. When her secrets unfold, the night darkens, and the sitar’s wail becomes the final echo of love, betrayal, and a longing that will not die.

Stuck in Terminal C with a delayed flight and a restless pulse, Mia sets her sights on a stranger too calm for airport chaos. A locked nursing pod offers a brief, breathless escape—hot, quiet, and wholly unprofessional. But some encounters don’t end when the door opens. Welcome to Denver is a tightly wound story about risk, control, and the secrets we carry into new beginnings.

She should get up, wash the slick evidence from between her thighs, but her body still hums with the heat he left behind. The scent of sex clings to the air, the sheets, her skin. In the quiet that follows, need lingers. With His Name on My Lips is a story of aftermath, intimacy, and the aching pull between what was and what still burns.

A Filthy Tales for Wicked Grown-Ups Story
In Starwick, Cinderella doesn’t dream of rescue—she dreams of power. When a mysterious seamstress gifts her a scandalous gown and a spell with a warning, she crashes the royal ball like a dare in heels. But this isn’t a tale of glass slippers and true love. It’s a smutty little tale of lust, rebellion, and choosing what burns. Midnight won’t break the spell—she will. And the prince? He’s just the first thing she makes hers.