Lesbian + Romantic Stories

A story in the Lesbian Romances Universe
Whispers in the Mist is a gripping tale set in foggy Silverridge, where Amy Harper, a 32-year-old bookstore owner scarred by past traumas, navigates a passionate love triangle with Suzanne, a 35-year-old enigma from the liminal Veil, and Alice, a vibrant African American painter rooted in hoodoo heritage. As they battle Veil hunters and unravel thin-place mysteries, intense romance and cultural depth intertwine, culminating in a choice that binds love and supernatural stakes in an eternal flame.

A story in the Lesbian Romances Universe
In a dim record shop, a dropout clerk and a brilliant pre-med junior orbit each other through jazz and snow for one winter, trading mixtapes and almosts until her hand finally slides into his (cool at the tips, then burning). Their first kiss tastes like cherry balm and tomorrow. But tomorrow ends in May, when her dream pulls her to Baltimore and his stays behind with a pair of green gloves and a mixtape titled “Almost, but not quite.” A tender, aching love letter to the ones that almost were.

A story in the Lesbian Romances Universe
Clarita owes the mountain her seventh daughter’s seventh daughter. Michelle breaks every salt line she finds. Hate becomes hunger, hunger becomes rope and brand and fist. To keep the witch in the walls fed, they pay with blood, welts, hot wax, and shattering squirt under the Mothman’s red eyes. Love here is a debt paid in screams and perfect surrender. The ridge claimed them. They claimed each other harder.

From the Crazy in Carson saga
Be warned, this one is very sad. It's the story of my relationship with my fiance, Lisa Brambles. Every moment I got with her is a precious memory of mine that I wouldn't trade for anything.

The rain wasn’t the first thing to touch her skin that night. And the storm wasn’t the only thing breaking in. Meera opened the door wearing more heat than clothes. Two strangers stood there—soaked, silent, and staring like they knew things she hadn’t confessed even to herself. One watched. The other wanted. And both stepped in like they belonged. What followed wasn’t loud. It was quiet. Intentional. Drenched in something darker than lust. A strap slipped. A gaze lingered. A breath caught. A