Eric Ross: Blog

Some stories begin with a “what if.” For Unframed, it was this: What if a camera could show you the life you haven’t lived yet?

This isn’t a classic time-travel or do-over tale. There’s no return to the past, no chance to fix old mistakes. Instead, the Leica in Unframed is a mysterious observer that reveals fragments of a possible future, intimate moments with a woman Alex hasn’t yet met. A poet. A stranger. A life that could be.

At its core, the story is about choice. When we’re handed a vision of what might be, how do we respond? Do we chase the perfect image, or embrace the messy, uncertain present? For Alex, the question isn’t just about art or fate—it’s about love, identity, and the difference between capturing a moment and living it.

The writing process mirrored the story’s evolution. The first draft sprawled past 4,000 words, a moody exploration of character, mystery, and the pull of the unknown. The second ballooned to over 6,500 as I tried to chase every thread—Alex’s backstory, Maya’s secrets, the Leica’s eerie provenance. But ultimately, I realized the heart of the story wasn’t in its subplots. It was in the tension between the image and the moment. The prophecy and the present.

So I stripped it back. The final version is a lean 1,700 words, pared to its emotional and thematic core: a man, a camera, a woman, and a choice. No filler. Just the hush of a shutter and the whisper of life's choices, unframed.

I hope you enjoy.

Eric

A grief-numbed cowboy.
Two seductive outlaws.
One dangerous heist.

Five Days to Abilene is a slow-burn Western that takes place in a Texas bordello. It's about surrender, risk, and the thrill of being claimed.

Saddle up!

—Eric

First, a quick apology: if you happened to click on my latest upload earlier today, you may have seen a story that wasn’t quite… ready to be served. That file was another story posted prematurely and is still being edited (oops). The correct story—Feast of Desire—should now be live and ready for your devouring.

Let’s talk about Feast of Desire.

What happens when a repressed restaurant critic accepts an invitation to a secret, underground dining experience hosted by a man known only in whispers? Isobel arrives early—always does. Prefers to watch, to analyze. But what unfolds is far more than a tasting menu.

Six strangers. Six courses. No phones, no last names—just a long blackwood table glowing with candlelight and thick with tension. As each dish is served—oysters in pomegranate foam, figs with rose-petal honey, saffron lobster bisque—the rules of civility begin to melt. Desire simmers. Inhibitions slip. And when the host finally approaches her, Isobel is no longer sure if she’s there to critique the meal—or be devoured by it.

Feast of Desire is a slow-burning, emotionally charged erotic tale about appetite, surrender, and the undoing of restraint. Come hungry. Leave undone.

—Eric

Just when you thought fairy tales couldn’t get any more twisted—or more arousing—along comes Taste My Sweets, the latest tale in my new series, Filthy Fairy Tales for Wicked Grown-Ups.

This isn’t the bedtime story your grandmother told you. In this retelling, Gretel wears a corset engineered for sin (not support), Hansel swings more than an axe, and the witch’s house isn’t just made of candy—it oozes seduction.

What begins as a walk in the woods turns into a feast of forbidden pleasures. We’ve got enchantments and entanglements, bindings made of rope and lust, and a candy-coated cottage where the real treats are tied to the table. Gretel might be looking for thyme, but she finds something far more… carnal. And let’s just say, when she returns to the ruins under moonlight, it’s not for seconds—it’s for the whole damn dessert menu.

Taste My Sweets is a tale of appetite and agency, where sugar hides a bite and happily ever afters are soaked in sweat.

So if you’ve got a craving for fairy tales laced with sin, indulgence, and a little magical mischief, this is your invitation.

Go on. Take a nibble. You know you want to.

Eric Ross

I know. I said The Desert Yes was the penultimate chapter. Then I told you The Stillness After was the final pause. But this—this—is the real ending.

(Okay, technically there’s still a short coda tomorrow. But let’s let this one have its moment.)

Today, we reach the summit.

In Chapter 12 of Afterglow, Ginger and Coco lace up their boots and head into New Zealand’s wild. One year after that alley, they return to the trail—but this time, they arrive not with chaos, but with clarity. It’s the culmination of a year of trust-building, of learning when to push, when to wait, when to stay.

This isn’t just another sex scene. It’s about a different kind of surrender. A conscious one. A vulnerable one. Coco offers Ginger the last door she’s kept closed—not because she owes him, but because she wants to. And Ginger meets her there, not as a conqueror, but as a partner.

Now, while I’ve written steamy scenes before, Afterglow was the first time I tried to weave emotional exposure in so explicitly. Let's face it, it's not too difficult to write a raunchy orgy (like yesterday's A Mother's Day Ablaze), but I struggle with writing about the emotional connection.

That’s where you come in.

I’d love your feedback.

Did the ending land for you? Was it the right mix of heat and heart? Did it feel earned, or did I drift too close to sentimental? Be honest—I’m listening. And I’m learning.

Read Chapter 12 now: The Summit

Eric

P.S. And join me tomorrow for the final final final (really final) word.