Chapter One: In Which A Demon Needs Help And A Hug

CW: Explicit language, dark roleplay,

Jasper

Boxes gnashed their teeth, daring to bite her fucking head off. With even more in the moving pod, Jasper was in over her horns and didn’t know where to start. Moving alone was hell, and she’d been there. No, like she’d lived in hell for most of her life. As a succubus and adviser to Duke of the Fourth Seal, she knew a little something about hell.
This was it.

Handling another taped and lopsided box, Jasper climbed the stairs. She stepped with caution, avoiding holes. Her new house was two hundred years old and a steal. Jasper wanted a home she could grow with and thanks to the success of her creative streak, life was better. Not great, but good.

“Could be worse,” she mumbled, entering the master. Or something like it. Unnamable substances stained tattered strips of wallpaper and the ceiling. “Well, fuck.” She dropped the box of Petite Pop figures and huffed. This was an impulse buy. She’d come up on a few dollars and lost her goddamn mind. With only ten years worth of top-side living under her belt, she still had much to learn. With no help from her father or mother, Jasper was on her own. She didn’t want to hump her way to the money like most of her siblings. Nah. She had her own plans and way of hoarding coins.

“And I’ve done well,” she admitted to a stuffy, dust-filled quiet. The master was nothing more than squealing floorboards, a queen-sized bed, and her ancient laptop. Windows with no drapes was ghetto, but they were boarded anyway.
“This was sooooo, stupid.” Taking it all in Jasper stomped her foot and yelped as her boot fractured what was left of creaking, rickety planks.
Splintered wood snagged and scratched her ankle. “This is fu-ow!” She yanked her poor foot loose and flailed, dropping on her ass. Jasper massaged torn skin and grunted.
“What the hell am I going to do?”

With a telling moisture on her butt, she sighed. This house was a shit hole. Falling apart at the literal seams. She gestured at a giant crack behind her headboard.
Spiderwebs and must. Mildew and broken pipes. She was about to breathe fire and raze the joint to the ground until a knock at the front door interrupted her bad decision.
Jasper sat, waiting for a second rap. She’d moved to Indigo Plains three days ago and didn’t know a soul in the rural town. Miles from the big, stank city, she had no friends.
A third knock got her up and limping downstairs. She’d heal quicker with a bite of raw sinewy flesh or a sip of male passion, buuuut she had neither at the moment.
From the vestibule, Jasper noted a smiling old, self-tanned lady.
Opening the door, Jasper grinned. “Hello.”

“Why look at you!” The elder beamed, holding a fine-looking roast. “It’s been a while since we done had demons ’round these parts. You are mighty tall, ma’am.”
“I get that a lot. What you got there?”
“Oh, this? It’s my famous rump roast. Jerry, my husband of forty years loves it and so do most folks in the neighborhood. Ask Maryanne and Bob Warring, down the way. They’ll tell ya.”
“I can smell the garlic, Ma’am.”
“No, noooo…call me Sissy. I ain’t been a Ma’am in many moons.”

Jasper laughed, casting her gaze about. It was a hot August afternoon with the heat making cicadas scream. Jasper didn’t have air conditioning and was certain the human woman might faint, Warm for Jasper meant unbearable for a human. Ominous odors and humidity were a bad sign as well.

“I’d invite you inside,” Jasper said, “but this place isn’t so welcoming at the moment.”
Sissy waved a jewelry-adorned hand, her bracelets clanging and glinting in the midday sun. “It’s alright. I can smell the mold. I’d rather not anyhow. I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood with a hot meal.”
“You are so kind,” Jasper accepted the heavy ceramic dish and said,“I’ll be sure to give this back.”
The woman wagged a papery finger. “I’ll come uh looking for it. Don’t you worry.”
“Thank you again.”

Sissy giggled and left with the twirl of her tie-dye skirt. She was an adorable elder with pink hair and pure intentions. Her emotions tasted sweet, akin to butterscotch. Jasper snickered, remembering she was probably a hundred years older. With the hot offering in hand, she kicked the door closed and dined in what was considered a kitchen. It was missing a stove and cabinet doors, but it might be nice one day. Jasper stood where the breakfast nook would be and impaled bits with a plastic fork. She attacked steaming beef, carrots, baby reds, and caramelized onions. After a decent burp, she popped open a hot beer and guzzled every ounce.

“That was amazing.” Belly full to bursting she was ready to take on the task at hand. “I have no fucking idea what to do.” She kicked a box of Tupperware and groaned. “Guess I’ll buy some tools and watch DIY videos.”


Nieema

Nieema hated working at the hardware store. It wasn’t fun and it smelled like sawdust. Granted, they cut and sanded wood in-store…for free. Stocking shelves with nails, bits, and such wasn’t her idea of a good time, but it was only fair. Keeping to it, she stacked tubes of caulk into a caddy and bobbed her head to an oldie. She set the playlist and be damned if anybody changed it. For the hundredth time, she’d told them not to touch her music. god forbid she say it again.

“Can I get some help around here?!”
Nieema winced and rounded the stack with her hands full. “Do you need help, sir?”

“You god damn right I do. I come looking for a new chainsaw. What row are they in?”
The man flicked his filthy cowboy hat and spat. He flashed gold fangs and snapped his gum. He was a cruel-looking fella, and Nieema cleared her throat.
“They’re uhm—“
“Speak up, shit.”
“Isle three.”
“You one of them Porter gals? I heard about y’all.”
“No, no. I’m not.“

The burly man made off down the row and Nieema hustled behind the counter. Their store wasn’t too big, with only ten aisles, but some folks got lost.

“The—“
“Where the fuck is it?“
“On the back wall.“
He cursed, finding the high-power chainsaws. Nieema didn’t want to know what a man like him would do with the tool. He was a fae of some make, but she was unsure which. His dark eyes and claws didn’t say much

As he stalked toward her, Nieema swallowed and tried not to stutter, it was tough.
He slammed the chainsaw on pockmarked pine that was older than her and spat again.

“How much I owe ya?”
Nieema brushed sweat from her upper lip and glanced at the tag. “Two hundred and—“
“Two what?! Two hundred dollars? Ohhh, what game are you running in here? Are you tryna scam me, darlin’?”
“No! No, I would never.“
With a death glare pinned on her, he squinted. “I got fifty-seven dollars in my pocket. You can take that, or…I can pay in other ways.”
Nieema gasped, her heart daring to claw its way through her chest. She searched for an escape as he rounded the long counter. “Wai—“
“I don’t like no women trying to steal from me. Just cause I’m an honest hardworking man don’t mean I’m dumb.”
“I did—‘
“Shut your mouth!”

Nieema planted both hands on the wall and prayed to the gods. His obsidian gaze flickered with fire and life, he was of the dark fae for certain.

“You’ll take the fifty and I’ll take something from you—“
A single, sharp talon grazed her cheek. He loomed, smelling of sweat, mint, and a cherry-scented smoke. Her throat closed and body quaked.
The bell sounded and Nieema pinched his nipple. Mister Fussy hissed and laughed.

“Ain’t shit funny,” Nieema whispered. “Clean that spit up off my floor or so help me, Buck, I’ll break your behind.”
“You had your chance, darlin’. And I made it easy.” Buck popped his gum, cracked his back, and lept over the counter.
“You hush, I wasn’t giving in so easily.”
“You were sweatin’, I got you on camera.” He pointed at the ball on the ceiling and tried on a wolfish grin. “We’ll play it back during them wee hours and see just how fast you fold.”
Nieema cackled and tended to their customer. Well wasn’t this a sight. A demon, of the red sort. It was safe to say, they were a succubus. Horns and all. She had to be about six-foot and hard bodied.
“Suck my toes, mama. She is rather fine.”
“Would you cut it,” Nieema snipped. “She looks lost.”
“We can help her find any and everything..“
“Did you clean your mess, Buck?”
“Not yet bu—“
“Get to it, old man. I am not playing with you.”
“Don’t pester me, vampire. I’ll give it to you good.”
Nieema winked and patted Buck’s arm. “I can only hope.”

With her freaky deaky husband occupied, Nieema sidled up to the succubus and smiled.
“You need help finding something, suga?”
“Hell yeah..” The tall woman slouched and shrugged. Her voice was rough and sultry. As if she had dragon fire caught in her throat. “I watched videos about paint, floors, mold, pests, and corroded pipes. I don’t even know how to hang a frame. Installing a stove is beyond me. I just bought the house on Weaver Avenue and I’m outta my element. I thought a fixer might be a cute learning experience. I was wrong. The house is shit.“
“Whoa, haaay.” Nieema went to soothe her through touch and stopped herself. Not everyone was tactile, and succubi had a specific way of feeding. “It’s alright. You’re okay. Listen, I come from a long line of contractors. My mama and daddy damn near built this town. If you’d like, I can help.”
“Me too!” Buck said, tossing the broom. “Hello, there, I am Buck Sunside, and this is my lovely daisy of a bride, Nieema. It just so happens we own a contracting firm, the only one in all of Indigo Plains.”

The woman slapped her wide chest and smiled. Her teeth dazzled. Needly as a pin and long. Nieema touched her neck and batted lashes. The towering succubus was a looker, and Buck knew it, too. He was staring hard enough.
They were on the same page. After one-hundred-plus years of marriage and seven kids, they were open to pretty much anything.

“I’m so sorry honey,” Nieema said. “What’d you say your name was?”
“Jasper.”
“How progressive.”
“I thought it was adorable. Everybody says I look like a Jasper.”
“They were right,” Buck added. “So, if you’d like, we can come on by. Take a look around and see what the damage is?”
“Uh, I don’t know.” Jasper grimaced, fiddling with a tangled mess of glittering gold chains. “I heard quotes are expensive.“
“On the house,” Nieema blurted. “Listen here, anyone who moves to Indigo Plains and lays roots is my kinda people. If you’re serious about making this your home, then we are here to help.”
Buck nodded in agreement. “Yup. We don’t need the money with the new mall opening and such. All hands on deck, as they say, we all you got for now.”
“I’m nobody to refuse help.” Jasper shook a box of nails and said, “When can you stop by?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Oh shit, that’d be great. I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“It’s a good thing you walked into our store, Jasper.”
The succubus smiled and placed the box casting nails back on the shelf. “Thanks. It was nice meeting you, Mr and Mrs Sunsde Have a good night.”

Combat boots and a sundress. It was a deadly combination and Nieema knew well what women like that had to offer. Her calves were large and striking. Buck sniffed and Nieema hummed.

“She’ll be in our bed by next Monday.”
Nieema tweaked a brow and craned her neck. Buck was a god amongst man and smiled like he knew. “She’ll be at my feet long before she sits on your crotchety lap, Mista.”
“Oh woman, you underestimate me!”
“She’s young,” Nieema said, shoving Buck aside. “I can smell it.”
“I’d say a century or two.”
“Hm. That’s why you lookin’ crazy, old fool.”
“My heart and soul belong to you, Mrs Sunside. My dick, however—“

Nieema pounced on her man, locking arms and legs around him. He rumbled with mirth as their lips met. Nieema used her mental will to lock the door. They’d be closed for the next fifteen to twenty minutes.

Sad Girl Summer is Almost Over!!!

Here’s to a beautiful new month and Bi romance month! I love y’all! I am coming into my season and feeling better! I have said it a few times already, but I’m gonna let y’all know, summer makes me sad. I get in my feelings and I feel like shit from May to July. I’m just noooot, at my best. I’m unhappy and sappy. My vibes are at their lowest during those insufferable summer months. Granted, we are still in the summer swing, but the hot hoe is reaching its end. I can feel it in the air!.

Most hate fall and winter, but not eyyyye. We prefer them colder months over here. The sun and I have a contentious connection. I do not like her, and she don’t like me. I love the nocturnal and gloomy with my entire heart. I thrive during frigid winter nights. Dreary and dark is where I draw inspiration and vitality. I prefer dusk over dawn and rain to sunshine. It is who i am, and with summer approaching its inevitable end, I can breathe with ease.

My goal for this month is to be. Just, be. Be gentle with myself. Be at peace. Be calm. Be the positivity I wish to attract. Also, I just wanna write. I want to write what I WANT AND NOT CARE! I do that already, but when you’re a SM junkie, all the advice and takes can dampen ones creativity and mood. There are A LOT of opinions out there about the art of writing, but I don’t give a shit. I just don’t care.

AUTHORS & WRITERS CAN’T CARE! AND WE SHOULDN’T.

iyI’ve been doing this too long, I know better! Yes, I am a reader as well i know how we can get about our opinions, but as an author and a writer, that spce is not for me to dwell. Reader opinions are just that, and I can’t take any of it to heart. It will only hinder my ability to create. I have decided to block those posts and tweets, because they can be harmful. This is not me saying they shouldn’t post them, I don’t care, post whatever you want. That’s what the mute button is for. Some of y’all need to learn about it too. Anyway. I’m rambling but, you get it. I’m a mess. It’s Inevitable. I’m gonna veer. I’m a habitual veer=er! With all of that, I say have a nice day, drink water, and don’t be KHHNT!

“My alma mater was books, a good library…. I could spend the rest of my life reading, just satisfying my curiosity.” – Malcolm X

Daily writing prompt
List 30 things that make you happy.

I love many mannnnny things. This is so easy. It might seem kinda plain, but, this is true happiness in my book.

  1. My Sons
  2. Movies
  3. Books
  4. Writing
  5. Videogames
  6. Nachos
  7. Headphones
  8. Stickers
  9. Funko Pops
  10. Novelty Items
  11. Dogs
  12. Birds
  13. Music
  14. Star Wars
  15. Tiny Houses
  16. Forestry
  17. Minerals/Crystals/Gems/Rocks
  18. Bread
  19. Tea/Coffee
  20. A Clean House
  21. Graphic Tees
  22. Venom/Deadpool/Vampires
  23. Rugby
  24. Peanut Butter
  25. Traveling By Train
  26. Adult Coloring Books
  27. Handmade Items
  28. Socked Feet
  29. Amusement Parks
  30. A New Pen

You Can & You Will

Five months ago, I set out to write a shorter novel and have done it! Brevity, as I’ve stated before, is my weakness. I am a long writer who enjoys 100k+ word counts. I am not apologizing for that. I still prefer them, but I wanted to challenge myself. I wanted to put my ass through it. I needed this exercise. It was a great lesson. Now, my shortest book is 43k not, 91k. I went in with a 15k goal. Clearly, I was off by a couple thousand. Lol. But, I still set out to accomplish this thing. This goal I made for reasons other than to prove to myself I could do it. For those like me, writing short stories is unfamiliar and hard. Cutting details and world-building down to a chapter or two is not fun.

My typical genre is paranormal romance and urban fantasy. Those books are known to be longer but in the world of indie, standards such as word counts do not exist. We can write a 30k hard fantasy if we want. We can write a 20k hard sci-fi epic if we so please. My point is, the industry standard is no longer my goal post, however, I will STILL prefer longer novels for paranormal romance but that doesn’t mean I won’t write shorter ones. It’s difficult, not impossible,

If you’ve set a personal goal, and it seems unreachable, REACH FOR IT! You can do this thing! I doubted myself for a long time. Said I could never write a shorter novel, it was too hard. Well, I did it and I pushed through until typing ‘The End’. Believe in yourself and whatever it is you want to achieve, I promise it’s worth the work.

“From my point of view, your life is already a miracle of chance waiting for you to shape its destiny.” ~ Toni Morrison

Killing the Art of Sexual Intimacy

Puritan culture is going to kill the arts. Sterility is what they seek and I loathe it. To say this generation is more sexual than the last is not only ignorant but false. To speak on sex in novels without having any knowledge of old works of fiction is absurd. I can understand if you’ve read every book on planet earth and have facts to back your claims. Then I’d say good day, sir, ma’am, ENBY you have stunned and stumped me.

But nah! Hell nah.
Most who recite these points on intimacy in literature and film haven’t read enough. They haven’t researched enough or cared to. They have a ‘me’ mentality about it. ‘I don’t like this so I don’t think it’s called for’. SAD! Please, go sit down and open a book which has what you crave within those pages.
There are too many novels and movies out there w/out sex for them to complain and gripe. If you wanna nitpick about the resurgence of sexuality, genitalia and nudity then fine! Has if ever occurred to them, some may be squeezing in these sex scenes out of spite?!
I have written my fair share of sex scenes because of this. I have made certain in my recent works to make those characters fuck! I can’t take a world filled with this evangelical approach to all things linked to passion and carnality.
Sex will sell! Nothing you can do will stop it. Even if these bible thumping Neanderthals ban erotica and ‘displays of intercourse’ it won’t put an end to this.
Sex and art have ALWAYS been and will always BE one!

Courage Over Comfort

Here I go, jumping into the unknown. Leaving fear of failure, and criticism behind, I’ve started my journey as an author. I have twenty-five completed novels that no one has read. Since I was nine years old, writing has been my solace. It’s where I find peace during times of grief, and sorrow. I write when I’m stressed, I write when I need an escape and solitude.

Creating a new world is an exhilarating experience and I love it! From grade school short stories to middle school poetry, and high school screenplays, I am here, writing full-length novels! For the past five years I’ve been hard at work honing my craft, in whatever way I can. I tried to write my first novel at nineteen, but I later dropped it. At twenty-two adulting had begun its siege to try and destroy all I hold dear, like my imagination. I emerged as the victor, thank fk! After life failed to push my passion aside, I marched onward and kept writing, but never once had I thought about ever publishing.I was writing for me, a fat black girl who loved Paranormal Romance and NEVER saw her type represented. I wanted to read about women who looked like me get the strapping vampire, or be the head mistress leading a coven, or be the one mate that werewolf desired above all others. It’s rare to read about women like me who is both the love interest and a preternatural being. And I reallly wanted to read that! So, I started writing and haven’t stopped since. For quite a while, I was totally fine with never putting anything out into the world, because I am terrified of negative criticism.

Despite my fears, I am ready, prepared, and excited for this new adventure. I know it won’t be filled with rainbows and sunshine all the time; I don’t expect that. I just wanted to choose courage, and confidence for once. I’ve spent years doubting who I am, what I’m capable of and my art. I’m done with that, and over the whole idea that somehow what I write isn’t worth a read or two.

“My mission in life is not merely to survive, but to thrive; and to do so with some passion, some compassion, some humor, and some style.”

Maya Angelou

Fear, My Best Buddy!

For years and years annnnnd years, I’ve let fear run amok. It’s controlled many parts of my life, I threw away huuuuge opportunities because of such cowardice. My lack of spine, and lack of faith in self! I let doubts and impending criticism hold me back from sooo much.
But sis, bro, them!I am so over it. I have been a writer for seventeen long arse years. I have written scripts, poetry and scribbled ideas on napkins, journals and receipts. I have finished 16 MS! No one, has read so much as a word. Not one person, why? Cause I scarwed, or was. I was terrified of someone saying, “yo, this is garbage.” After I’ve just spent months pouring my whole soul into 120k words.
I was polarized and mortified by the mere thought of criticism. Not that I think I’m above it, absolutely not. No, it’s someone looking at my work and thinking I’m no good, cause I wanna be good, I wanna be a published author. And, I think I’m good, I do. I think I’ve got a knack for it, but what if someone disagrees?! That’s the scary part. Thing is, with age, I’ve grown less concerned with what others think of me, what I wear, or how I choose to live my life. For the life of me, I can’t find those same set of balls when it comes to writing.
Letting strangers read what I’ve written is exposing! I think that’s what it boils down to. People get to see what’s inside my dark, dank, attic which some would call a brain. It strips me bare for all to see, and perhaps that’s what I’m fearful of most. But by gods of Olympus, I’m sick of it y’all, I am done! Ya girl is fresh out of excuses. If I want people to read what I have, even ten sets of eyes, I will mush on! I want someone to see this world full of vampires and demons that reside in my head for weeks on end.
I feel it’s time you know, to throw caution to the wind and say, F it! Some will hate it, I am not delusional about this, there will be folks who will give it one star. But, that comes with the territory. Life as a storyteller isn’t easy, but if I can write it, I can publish it.

Fourth Book Blues!

I loooooove writing book series! I mean, I really enjoy it! I tend to have a lot going on for my MC’s. Once they start talking it takes a long while for them to shut up. Which I am not complaining about. Cause well, when they go dark it’s typically in their last book. Hearing them gets harder and they often don’t know what to do or where to go by then. I often refer to myself as a messenger cause I don’t seek out much. Everything comes along naturally. But during the fourth and typically final installment things get stagnant. Not in W*iters B*ock (I hate that word) sorta way, but more of a slow crawl to the finish line. Third acts and the last hundred pages are a pain in the arse to write. I don’t know what it is, but I’ve had this issue for two years. Eventually I type “The End” but it’s a hassle getting there. And being that I’m on a fourth novel as we speak, the turtle pace has begun. I am feeling the drag!

That One Girl In the Dark…

As far back as I can remember, I’ve had this love for inky gloomy things. I can’t recall a time where I wasn’t captivated by dark and creepy. Along with being a writer, I am also a cinephile (film fanatic). At about eleven years old I saw my first vampire film, Blade.

And from then on, it got worse, I saw Interview with a Vampire and so on. But before that, I was heavy into films which were on the darker side. Rated R, bloody and visceral. Imagine an eight year old telling you, their favorite movie is Goodfellas. At age ten, I made certain to let everyone know I saw Fight Club and would get a tattoo of Brad Pitt on my arm.

That never happened.lol

Anyway, after a while I started searching for books along the same lines. At seventeen, I stumbled upon Katie MaCalister and that’s how I got acquainted with adult novels. Pretty much from there it all went down hill. My Paranormal Romance obsession burned out of control! Tons of titles from that genre followed and by various authors.

Then the day came where I said, “you know what, I can do this.I can write this…I wanna write this.” Books that are on the darker side I often pledge loyalty to. Novels that keep the nasty, reckless and crazy coming are *chefs kiss*

 I’m a wee bit of a messy writer too, cause drama, and sordid behaviors are deeply rooted into my stuff.The worlds and characters I scribble about aren’t for thinned skinned or faint of heart.

Moments may get uncomfy, and you’ll read things you don’t like. But, there is a theme at play…love conquers all! I don’t mean to sound so cliche, but it’s true. I make sure to showcase this over and over again.

CAUSE I’M A HOPLESS ROMANTIC!

But one who also writes about demons, dead bodies and excessive amounts of sex.

This is the part where I talk about me, right?

Okay so, this is my first post annnnd I can’t even lie, ya girl is nervous. I’m listening to Panic at the Disco just to get me going. lol Brendon Urie is a frikin gem. Any who, hiiii I am J.T. Frost! An aspiring author, not writer, cause I AM A WRITER.

That’s what this blog is all about, since I was nine years old, I had a jones in my bones to tell a story. And to my surprise, that desire hasn’t gone anywhere, in fact, it’s only grown more profound. There is nothing like creating a new world, breathing life into characters that would otherwise never exist. My imagination is a passport, it takes me any and everywhere I wish to go. There isn’t a border in sight and no boundaries, unlike the real world. Bleh!

For years -and I cannot stress this enough- years, my heads been in the clouds. Reading and writing were my strengths in grade school, and so on. Words and I have a strong healthy relationship! Can’t live without em’, and I’d be lost in an infinite abyss if I couldn’t read a book. Becoming an author was never my plan. Alas, here we are, I am taking a leap into the unknown. Throwing all caution…or anxiety to the wind! I’m rolling the dice and betting on seven, honey! Never been much of a gambler, but I figure why not. We only miss the chances we never take… or something like that.

On to the good stuff, like what it is I dabble in. And by dabble I mean spend every waking moment writing. Drrrruuum Rooooollll, PARANORMAL ROMANCE! Oooo sexy, scary, bloody and dark stuff. Okay I knowwww they’re full of tropey tid-bits half the time. But what are love stories, if not tropetastic…you get it.

Paranormal Romance is my ten and two. My comfort zone, my niche and my little corner of hell. Lets get real here for a second, okay, just a little. In the literary world there is a lack of representation for those of us who enjoy the creepy, the wild, and the sexy. Those of us who enjoy, Sci-fi, fantasy and historical romance, there’s not much out there for POC! I am a plus-sized, short, black woman who has committed her life to reading these genres. I’ve flipped through countless paperbacks on the NYTBS list. You wanna know something? Not a one looked like me, not a single supernatural love interest was a black, fat girl with glasses and curls. And you know what? I never found it, maybe I missed an author who knows, but I started writing what I wanted to read.

Black women in powerful positions, black women loved and adored recklessly by that one guy with fangs who may or may not be hot. But I digress, vampires, witches and demons have always caught my interest. And I wanted to see women like me, be the one who saves the day or gets the guy. And most of all, females (cause they aren’t human) vampires of collloorrr! Black vampires who are not the gosh darn villain! Okay, enough with that! Oh but hold up, hold on now, Imma let you know something.  My characters are flawed honey, their lives are twisted, tough and deep. But, these are MOST DEFINITELY love stories!

I enjoy nasty, angst riddled scenes heavy with emotion. Whether happy or sad… you gon’ feel it. Couples that can stay on top through the good, bad and dirty is the theme so to speak. (PATD line) However, these women (females) aren’t inherently bad, just products of their environment. Some are stricken with constant introspection. My books cover the beautiful and brutal parts of love for an old damned immortal soul. And oh yeah, a lot of sex… I mean tons. It’s absurd how much sex I’ve managed to shove into these novels. I’m almost ashamed… almost. lol With that said, this blog will be dedicated to my WIP and what’s to come! I will introduce main characters via candid interviews, and hopefully at least one of y’all will like it. If you made it this far honey, thank you for sparing a moment to read my ramblings! And, have a wonderful day!