New Release: The Dreams and Nightmares Anthology

Eight erotic stories. From paranormal to contemporary.
Purchase: Amazon

Dreams and nightmares are like twilight; that misty place between fantasy and reality.

When your mind takes you on an adventure you didn’t sign up for and you become someone or something else, it can be delectable, terrifying, or both.

Dreaming of that sexy bad boy who seems out of reach? Be careful what you wish for, sometimes dreams really do come true. If you have the time, we have the past life to seduce you. Whether your fantasy is a lustful mermaid, an irresistible incubus, a vampiric predator, or an insatiable ghost hold on tight. You are on the most erotic ride of your life.

When your desires blend so thoroughly with the truth that you don’t know the difference, that’s when romance is but a dream.

Excerpt from my story, Plaisir

Griffyn raised his hands, ready to wrap his fingers around the back of the guy’s neck and yank him forward until their lips came together. Tate cocked his head to the side; he raised an eyebrow and gave a pointed glance at Griffyn’s open hands.

He released a sigh and dropped his arms to his sides. What would he say? “Hey, man, I’m bisexual and really want to fuck you right now.” The result of that confession would end in a brawl. One hell of a way to start the semi-vacation.

“What’s going on, Griffyn? Gotta admit, you’re freaking me out a little.”

Tate licked his lower lip, his tongue circled the ring in the corner—one half of his snake bite piercing. Griffyn’s cock thickened, hardened against his zipper. Shit. Why does Tate have to be so damn sexy?

He ran his hand down his face. “I’m bisexual.” Well, that wasn’t exactly what he’d meant to say, and judging by the wide-eyed look Tate wore, the other man hadn’t expected it either.


“And…fuck. I want you, Tate.”

Might as well go all in now. If he rejects me, then I’ll head to the club on my own. “Wanted you for a while, but didn’t know how to tell you.”

“That’s why you asked me to come out here. You had this planned.” Tate left him at the bar and found his way to one of the double beds where he sat down on the edge of the mattress.

“No.” Yes. “I mean, kind of. Some of it was planned. The club at least.” And more. But Griffyn was afraid he was digging a hole to deep to climb out of. Now that he’d spilled the beans, so to speak, he tried to back off some.

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Write what scares you to scare others

I think, to be a successful Paranormal writer, you have to still believe in the unbelievable. Unfortunately that doesn’t just mean Santa Claus and fairies in the garden. If you’re going to believe in the light, the dark has to be just as real because one cannot exist without the other.

I believe in many things most people start to give up as they get older. Even now as I approach an age I care not to give voice to, I sometimes worry about standing too close to the edge of my bed for fear of the monsters living under there. I feel the cool breath of air as they crawl to the surface, the scratch of claws as they reach their gnarled fingers, coming ever closer to my ankle, ready to pull me into the abyss.

An ax wielding maniac does little to raise the hairs on my arms but an unseen specter, ruffling the curtains, brushing their icy fingers along my neck, now that will send me screaming for the protection of my covers.

I have always said that I am not afraid of the dark, but rather what is in the dark that I cannot see. So when I set out to scare my readers, I do not throw a bunch of blood and guts on the wall and expect them to stay up at night, afraid to go to sleep. After all, slasher movies don’t scare me, they just gross me out. Maybe it’s different for you, but for many, when we turn our eyes away from the sight of a machete cutting through flesh, it has nothing to do with fear of that happening to us; it is just shock factor of things that were never meant to see the light of day.

Ask me to walk down a long, dark hall with the narrator warning us of the unseen bend up ahead. Tell me about the possibility of something creeping up behind me, fingers just grazing the back of my shirt and no matter how fast I walk, it’ll never be fast enough. Put that invisible hand on the small of my back and push me into a run. That is what scares me.

That is what I try to tap into when I want to scare my readers. I want to send them to bed, clutching the covers over their heads, knowing if they give up the magical protection of their covers, there just might be something waiting in the dark.