I hope you've reached the right place, and I hope that you're over eighteen. This website is for adults only. No, I don't sell adult toys or videos or anything like that, this isn't a porn site. But it is the site of an erotic romance writer.
If you're looking for a steamy read, long, short or in between, where the characters are all over each other, get down and dirty, than I can guarantee that you will find something here. I'm going to level with you, my erotic romances are explicit and graphic in nature, but they all have happily forever or happily for now endings.
Enter at your own risk!
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Balancing Life and Writing
Is there such a thing? Or is there such a thing as doing it well? I have to admit if there is, I’ve yet to find it. But what I do know is that it somehow works out (and if I’m fooling myself… Well, ignorance is bliss). The lure of writing pulls at me so strongly I find myself wanting to indulge my passion every chance I get. This is problematic for two reasons. First, I work full-time in a profession where no one knows I’m an author. And no one can know I’m an author. So the deep-stealth mode does not allow me to squeeze in writing time while on the job. Second, I have a family with young children. My husband is very supportive of what I do, but there will always be that “mom guilt” when I take time for myself. And let’s face it, to get published you have to take time for yourself. Lots and lots of time.
What is really comes down to, I believe, is that if writing enriches you personally, it will also positively affect the other areas of your life. I know I am a better wife, mother and employee because I have something I’m so passionate about that makes me so happy. Knowing that I am a writer makes the good things in my life that much better, and the bad things more tolerable. I also like to believe I’m setting a good example for my children, especially my daughter. See? I can do everything. And in heels, no less.
My sister became dependent on painkillers after a skiing accident left her leg broken in three places. I didn’t understand and, yes, I judged her. After all, we were talking about her will. No one was forcing those pills down her throat. It seemed very cut-and-dried to me back then. But I know differently now.
The first time Chase touched her, Jane finally understood addiction…understood the aching need, the keen want for more…more of his hands…his mouth…his tongue. His complete mastery over her body. She knew the suffocation of crushing anxiety as she waited for her next hit, the flash of terrific pain when it didn’t come.
Chase seems unwilling to give Jane what she needs; what she ultimately craves above all else. But addicts can’t think beyond the fix. They’ll resort to desperate measures to feed their need…even if they lose themselves in the process. Even if they come undone…
“So,” Chase said. “You’re an artist.”
I nodded and walked to the porch railing, leaning my palms against it. “On my good days.”
He joined me at the rail. “And on your bad?”
I turned to face him, crossing my arms over my chest. “I was an accountant.”
The corners of his lips curled up. “On your bad days you were an accountant?”
“Yes. I mean, no.” I shook my head. “I used to be an accountant. I quit my job right before Sara and I came down here for the summer.” Picking at some paint on my cuticle, I faced the ocean again. “Art is my passion. I’m here for the summer to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.”
Chase trailed the tip of his finger lazily across the line of my jaw. “You look all grown up to me.”
“Appearances can be deceiving,” I replied with a calm I didn’t feel.
He pulled the paintbrush from my bun, running his fingers through to separate the curls. “That’s true,” he said against my ear, “because right now you appear to be nervous around me. I find that hard to believe, seeing as my head has been between your legs.”
I sucked in a breath and stepped back. Smug. That was the look I found on his face. Straightening my spine, I met his gaze. “I’m not nervous,” I lied.
This only seemed to fuel him further. He smiled. Smiled like the cat that got the cream, damn him, and closed the distance between us. His lips barely touched mine, a feathering caress, but it was enough. Enough to make me forget I should be angry with this man.