Eric Ross: Stories

In a deconsecrated church, Juniper, a guilt-ridden painter, seeks absolution through a primal rite. Flanked by Sage and Rowan, her apostles of flesh, she surrenders on a silk-draped altar bed. Amid stained glass and incense, their bodies clash—tongues, hands, and howls weaving a sacred ecstasy. Her past shatters in a flood of release, leaving her sanctified. Dare to witness her unholy redemption?

They met in an alley: wild, reckless, unforgettable. Ginger never meant to fall for Coco’s chaos. Coco never meant to fall for anyone at all. But between stolen nights, whispered dares, and the kind of heat that burns through skin and bone, something unruly grew — something more dangerous than lust. This is not a story about taming a wild thing. It’s a story about becoming wild enough to stay.

A Mel Story
Poker, bourbon, and blues—Mel’s not just playing to win, she’s here to burn it down. When a crooked bet draws her into a smoky showdown, she schools the table, then drags a drifter out back for a heat-soaked alley brawl of bodies and bravado. Neon hums, the jukebox moans, and Mel rides every beat like a storm in heels. Dirty-talking, whiskey-drenched, and wild to the core—this is one red-hot mama you don’t try to tame.

A Mel Story
Mel doesn’t just flow—she floods. When a hot yoga instructor with a voice like sandalwood and sin puts hands on her hips, she decides to stretch more than her hamstrings. From cat-cow to climax, Hot Flow, Slow Burn is a breath-slick, dialogue-driven romp through sweat, sass, and sex that’s anything but passive. Who knew enlightenment could be this filthy?

When timid librarian Timothy Tiddleton is abducted by the fearsome (and insatiable) Captain Mad Molly Tugg, he’s plunged into a world of rigging, rum, and wildly inappropriate nautical education. Bound, teased, and trained by a crew of filthy misfits—including a peg-armed vixen and a parrot who shouts obscenities—Timothy discovers the sea’s true treasure might just be oral historiography.

In 1850s New Orleans, a free woman of color slips into a masked ball with a secret and a smile. Amara knows the rules—but tonight, she chooses to break them. When she draws the gaze of Julien Beaumont, heir to a sugar empire built on stolen lives, desire becomes defiance. In a moonlit courtyard, silk falls, truths burn, and power trembles. She carries Haiti in her bones. He carries chains he doesn’t see. But she does.

When Eleanor challenges Javier to walk the labyrinth he built—blindfolded, bound only by her voice—he enters a maze that’s no longer just hedges and turns, but sentient, seductive, and alive. Guided by her commands and tested by illusions, Javier must surrender more than sight to reach the heart of the maze—and of Eleanor. Mazeheart is a tale of ritual, desire, and the cost of truly being seen.

In "The Raw Edge of Desire," Tessa, fresh off a breakup, ignites a steamy clash with cocky Julian in his shadowy loft. Their night explodes from barroom banter to raw, sweaty fucking—her teasing dance of passion driving him wild before she rides him hard. With sharp tongues and sharper nails, they battle for dominance, flipping between filthy taunts and primal thrusts. It’s a visceral, no-holds-barred romp—think dripping heat, pulsing tension, and a quirky twist that’ll leave you grinning.

When Captain Horatio Hornswoggle bellows “Release the Kraken,” his crew doesn’t expect a codpiece-clanking orgy aboard the Saucy Siren. Between lust-laced bread, a glitter cannon, and a real sea monster crashing the party, it’s one slippery, scandalous night of bawdy shenanigans. Will pleasure prevail—or will the Kraken steal the show? A riotous romp of pirates, poetry, and unrepentant debauchery on the high seas.

Every Saturday, Julian visits the farmer’s market for peaches, but it’s Tessa’s ripe teasing and sticky fingers that keep him coming back. When she invites him behind the stall for a private tasting, the shy professor finds himself in a world of honeyed heat, dirty talk, and fruit-soaked pleasure. “Saturday’s Sweetest” is a filthy, sun-drenched romp where the produce isn’t the only thing dripping.