Death of An Author

When I published my first book, I had no expectations. And no one really had expectations of me. My success as an author bloomed and for about a year I was convinced that I was somehow special. Readers were enjoying my books and they were actually reading them. I hit a major milestone for a first time author. I hit the USA Today’s Bestsellers List.

I was selling hundreds of copies of my book a day. Even on a slow day. I was making good enough money that I quit my FT job so that I could become a FT writer. I was living the dream. It was everything I wanted. At least everything I thought I wanted.

And then the market changed. Blame it on Kindle Unlimited. Blame it on the influx of new authors. Blame it on ineffective marketing. Whatever it was, my whole world changed drastically. Sales dropped. And then a month later, my husband lost his job. Suddenly, I was looking at two options. Admit defeat and slowly disappear into the background never to be heard from again, OR continue to publish and publish often. It was obvious that Amazon’s ranking showed favoritism to authors who published often. Even more so now with Kindle Unlimited.

So I made up my mind. I decided that I was going to be like those other authors who published monthly or every few months. I wasn’t going to take six months to a year to write a book. I felt and still feel that I needed to keep up with the demand for new books that readers were requesting. Sadly, financially, I had to. Except I forgot two little things when I decided this. The first being I’m not a particularly fast writer and the second what about marketing? In my previous research, I’d come to the realization that I needed at least three months of heavy marketing to sell well. Otherwise no one would know about my book. And I basically threw that to the wind.

And it was one of my biggest mistakes with Drawn to You. The second book in my Millionaire’s Row Series. While it was a story I was passionate about…A story I thought would blow away Bound to You. Financially it didn’t. I say this knowing that I have many readers that love Tristan and Emily’s story. But for me, it was a story I felt rushed to write. Readers were hungry for it and I had made promises I wanted to keep.

So I wrote it and published it. It was completely different from Bound to You. In every way, including how I marketed it. Because I really didn’t and it really showed. Sure, it sold. In comparison to other books, it sold spectacularly well. But in my eyes, it was a failure. It wasn’t the story that I wanted it to be. Even worse because it was a lot larger than I expected story wise. It wasn’t something I could wrap up in 70k words. So I left readers with an unsatisfying ending. Promising more soon.

But soon came and passed. I couldn’t touch the story. Months passed. I wrote some and then deleted it. How could I add onto a foundation I didn’t believe was properly built? No way. I’ve tried. So I’ve resolved myself to going back to the first three volumes and fixing it before publishing the final volume. A year has passed and nothing has changed. Although I still haven’t given up on it.

In the meantime, I thought why not try something new? Why not try to continue with the idea of publishing often. So I started writing Hollywood Beauty and Addicted to You and got stuck on both in the editing phase. Deadlines passed. Promises unkept. I was starting to pick up really bad habits. I was starting to lose readers and I couldn’t stop. I was also losing money and I wasn’t making very much back, so I made promises to force my hand to publish.

I couldn’t stop myself from making promises because the stories were right there. Sitting on my computer. So close. Yet so far. And yet in the end I couldn’t let them go because in my eyes they weren’t perfect and still aren’t. But I put myself in a corner by telling readers I would publish them. Promoting them before I felt ready to let them go.

I cancelled preorders last minute because money was starting to become a big issue. I couldn’t afford an editor. I couldn’t afford to pay to market my books correctly. Readers were upset and rightly so. Not because I owed them something, but because I didn’t keep my promise. My promises should’ve meant something, but they were starting to mean nothing. I broke them over and over. Many of my readers were forgiving. They knew the pitfall of despair our family was financially in and the stress that came with it. But many were angry and were quick to tell me so. They were quick to tell me that they were disappointed that I wasn’t publishing fast enough. That I couldn’t keep my promises.

So for six months, I put a hold on publishing. And I just wrote. I started working on multiple projects. One that included a series of standalone novellas. Three that would include fairy tale retellings because well, I love fairy tales. I was excited and I was planning on releasing them one after another.

The first one was Filthy Beast.

I was scared about releasing this one. I wasn’t sure if people would like it. If people would get what I was trying to do and how I was tying it to a the struggles of being an author. How lonely it really is. How the anxiety you feel and the expectations of others can permanently scar you. Block you. Break you.

I felt broken.

I released the book without much promotion. I was scared. I loved the story, but I didn’t have faith in it. Because after not writing for so long and after losing so many readers, I thought well they’ll probably hate it. I got the opposite reaction. People told me how much they loved it. How it was one of the best things I’ve written. Although my sales numbers showed otherwise.

But again, the market is a very different monster than it was in 2014 (when Bound to You was published) and I didn’t exactly promote Filthy Beast the way I should’ve. Still I went on to promoting my next project, the next book in the Filthy Fairy Tales Series. That was Filthy Prince. I underestimated my readiness to let this book go. I wasn’t ready.

I had plans of publishing it in August, but August came and went and I pushed the release date to September. September came and I started tweaking the book again, which led to a complete overhaul. I wasn’t satisfied. Then I decided to give readers the option to preorder the title, which was great except that I couldn’t afford my current editor. So, I decided to try a new one. Another mistake. Another push back.

Fast forward to today…I lost a good number of edits for Filthy Prince this weekend. I’m currently having to go back and implement several of them now. Unfortunately, I had to cancel preorders because I wasn’t about to upload an unpolished file. Is this starting to seem familiar? Because this is starting to feel like the same vicious circle that I was in before. My public image is starting feel unsalvageable. I’m untrustworthy for releases. And I hate that. I don’t want readers wondering if this will be the final push back or if I’m pulling the book all together.

And yet, this is the grave I’ve dug myself.

So how do I get out? How do I fix this? Do I start over? A part of me wants to step back and revaluate everything. Maybe in a year I’ll have a different outlook on being an author. Maybe in a year, I’ll stop trying to push myself to be like other authors. Maybe I’ll finally learn to be me. Learn that I don’t need to make promises in order to keep readers interested. Learn that my stories can stand on their own.

Can I resurrect myself? Or is this the end? I really don’t know.

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Filthy Beast Prologue


The blonde at my feet looks up at me through false lashes as she licks her lips like she’s ready to swallow me whole. Luckily for her, I have just the thing to satisfy her appetite.

I groan in pleasure as she slides my cock into her mouth with the eagerness of a porn star. It isn’t unusual for a fan to track me down after a signing, but it is unique to find one waiting half-naked for me in my hotel room. Not that I’m complaining. Not at all. My agent, Marcy, isn’t happy about the number of women I sleep with, but I think it’s mostly because it creates more paperwork for her. More nameless women to track down, more non-disclosures to get signed, and even more messes to clean up. If I didn’t pay her as well as I do, I’m pretty sure she would drop me as a client.

After several delicious minutes in the blonde’s hot, wet mouth, she pushes me back against the king-size bed and crawls on top of me. It doesn’t take long for her to slip off the rest of her clothing to straddle me. A satisfied smile sits plastered to her face as she reaches down and palms my cock. I smirk at the way her eyes grow wide at my girth. It’s all real sweetheart.

The best part about fans is their eagerness to please. I’m never short on women in my bed. And they cream themselves just at thought of meeting Declan Hart, author of the world’s filthiest erotica. Yup, you guessed it baby, that’s me. I take pleasure in feeding into their fantasies. The man they see is just a facade. A carefully constructed persona with an air of mystery.

“I’ve been fantasizing about this for months.”

The blonde pulls a condom from the pocket of her discarded jeans, tearing the package with her teeth before slipping it on me. She moans, lost in pleasure as she takes every inch of me inside her.

“Ride me, baby,” I say with a cocky smile.

Her pussy clenches tight around me as she rocks back and forth, her plastic tits swaying in my face. I smother a flicker of annoyance as her hands tangle themselves in my black mane. I’ve never been fond of being touched, as ironic as that sounds. But that doesn’t stop me from getting lost in the feeling of my high. It isn’t long before she’s screaming my name. A rush of endorphins hit me at the sound of it. It’s the same rush I get from a great run, from a ride on my motorcycle, or from jumping out of an airplane at 30,000 feet. I crave that high, chase it like a junkie.

The blonde’s nails claw my chest as I jut my hips up to meet her. My grunting only seems to push her over the edge as her ass bounces on top of me.

“Are you going to come for me? I ask, pulling her hair. “You filthy little slut.”

“Fuck…oh, God,” she moans.

She convulses around me, and a second later I feel hot cum pumping into my rubber. A sense of regret fills me as I detach myself from the woman in my bed. After several awkward seconds of the blonde trying to cuddle me, I roll her off me and walk over to the bathroom.

“Where are you going?”

The voice purrs, beckoning me to come back. I don’t answer her, hoping that she’ll get the hint that it’s time to leave. We’re just finished and I’m already bored with her. I flush the condom and wipe off with a hot towel, trying to rid myself of the smell of her. After taking several long, appreciative glances in the mirror, I return to the bedroom. To my surprise, I find the blonde spread out across my bed, still naked.

I frown. She’s still here? Her eyes widen with surprise at the blatant irritation on my face.

“How about another round?”

“You need to go, sweetheart.”

“What?” she asks, her overly made-up face scrunched in confusion.

“You don’t want me to spend the night?”

I smirk. “I enjoyed you sucking me off, and I definitely enjoyed the ride, but that’s where it ends. I don’t get involved with fans.”

Her cheeks flame with anger as I turn back to my hotel closet to change. It isn’t until I’m halfway there that I hear something whizzing through the air at me. I duck out of the way just in time to avoid a bottle of Dom Pérignon whirling toward me. I was saving that to celebrate my latest release. The bottle crashes against the wall, sending shards of glass flying across the room as the bubbly liquid poor down the wall. Damn it. Marcy will be on my ass if there are any damages to the hotel room.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” she seethes. “No wonder your wife left you.”

I roll my eyes, despite the ache I feel in my chest. All of the women I sleep with have this same reaction, but thankfully the number of bottles flying at my head is low. Their expectations are just so far removed from the reality of what I’m willing to provide. The only relationships that last are the ones in books. I may spend almost every waking moment writing about love and romance, but the truth is that I don’t believe in either.

“Do you want an autograph before you go?” I ask.

“Fuck you and your tiny dick,” she spits back at me.

“We both know that ‘tiny’ isn’t the right word to describe it. Do you need a reminder before you go?” I challenge.

She scoffs as she hurriedly dresses. She pushes past me and grabs her clothes and heels off the floor before quickly dressing.

“I hope your dick falls off,” she says.

“Now, that isn’t very nice, sweetheart.”

She turns to face me, her face as hard as stone. “You’ll get what’s coming to you, asshole. You think the world revolves around you, that all you have to do is flash those baby blues and women will fall for your charms. But one day you won’t have your good looks to rely on. Karma catches up with everyone, even the great Declan Hart.”

“Careful, sweetheart, frigid bitch doesn’t look so good on you.”

She makes no answer as she storms out, leaving me with a full mini-bar and a sour mood.


Two hours and three obnoxiously tiny bottles of whiskey later, I’m still stewing. She has no idea what she’s talking about. No idea who I really am, underneath all the money, the fame, the sex appeal. Is it my fault that I was blessed with a strong, square jaw, thick, wavy brown hair, and blue eyes that more than one woman has said she wanted to get lost in? I worked hard for all that I have. I do all I can to maintain my body well. I eat right, I exercise, I don’t smoke. I don’t make excuses.

But I also know women don’t fall at my feet simply because I look good. No, most of them want the trappings of fame. They want the money, the notoriety, the status. They want the cars and the clothes and the jewelry, all the material excess I can provide. They want the glamor of being with a famous author. I could look like a monster, and I’d still be drowning in pussy. Because at the end of the day, money trumps all. Money trumps love.


The word turns to ash in my mouth. All women want is a cookie cutter relationship. They don’t want the real you. They don’t want the problems, and they sure as hell can’t accept failure. My ex-wife is the perfect example. She left as soon as she could take half of my money. Besides how can anyone hold any semblance of any kind of relationship when my whole life’s on display like a fucking circus? The women I do seem to attract are shallow gold-diggers. Women who look at me and see dollar signs.

I grab another bottle from the mini-bar without looking, not caring what it is. It tastes like fruity shit and burns as it makes its way down my throat. I quickly down the whole thing before I can taste any more of it. Maybe I should go out tonight, try to find someone new. Someone who won’t see me as a meal ticket. Someone who doesn’t know me as Declan Hart, international bestseller and notorious playboy. Someone who’ll make me forget all the empty, meaningless sex I’ve had, all the nameless, faceless women before her.

Yeah, right. As if such a woman even exists. As if I’d even deserve her.

After the sixth bottle, my head is blurry, my thinking is fuzzy, and it seems like an excellent idea to head down to the hotel’s parking garage and find my rental car. The first few miles take me out of whatever-the-fuck city I’m in this week. The full moon limns the tall pine trees surrounding me, and I catch a glimpse of snow-capped mountains in the distance. Seattle, then? Maybe Portland? Fuck if I know. All I know is that it’s not an endless sea of brown like Vegas, where I live.

A sign tells me there’s a sharp curve in the road ahead. If I were in a better mood, the writer in me would probably have something clever to say, some insight about foreshadowing or my life’s journey. But mostly I just feel tired. Achingly, bone-deep tired.

My eyes flutter closed for a moment. Maybe if I rest my eyes for a moment I’ll feel better. Just a brief moment, that’s all I need.

By the time I realize it’s more than a moment, that maybe I’m too drunk to be behind the wheel, I’m already  careening off the road and straight into another black blur.

The last thing I remember before everything goes black is the awful smell of something burning. It seems what’s-her-name was right. Karma does catch up to everyone.

Even me. Declan Hart.


Nicholas & Rebecca After Ever After *Scene*

Once in a while, I still feel like writing about Nicholas & Rebecca. So when I do, I’ll be sure to post those snippets here.🙂 This is just for me. Just for fun. Just for you.

Please note this is an unedited snippet.


Small hands yank on my apron as I finish placing a batch of chocolate chip cookies in the oven. I look down to find Alexa waiting for me with a familiar set of blue eyes and an endearing toothy grin. A crown of red curls adorn her head, giving her an almost angelic appearance.

I say almost because earlier I found her covered in chocolate from raiding the kitchen pantry. She has a sweet tooth just like me.

“Momma, when will daddy be home?” she says, tugging on me.

My heart warms at the excitement in her voice. She has zero patience today, but I don’t blame her. Nicholas has been gone for almost a week in California. In two weeks, Knight Publishing will be opening a second office in Los Angeles. My hometown.

“Soon, baby.”

The words are barely out of my mouth when the kitchen door swings open to reveal Nicholas standing there. Speak of the devil. My center instantly heats at the sight of his tousled blond mane, rugged facial hair, and his beautiful blue eyes that seem to rake me up and down like a sex-starved man. How long has he been home?


Alexa practically squeals as she runs over to Nick and throws herself at him. He drops his hands just in time to catch Alexa before swinging her up into his arms. My chest squeezes as he brushes kisses against her curls without ever taking his eyes off of me.

“Hey sweet pea, I missed you,” he says. “Both of you.”

His eyes dance with mischief as he openly stares at my tits. There’s something predatory about that look.

“Did you bring me a present?” Alexa asks with her toothy grin.

Nicholas briefly pulls his attention back to our daughter.

“I got you something right here,” Nicholas says, tapping on his briefcase. “But first, I think we should play a game of hide and seek.”

I bite back a laugh as Nicholas flashes me a sexy grin. He puts our daughter down and then drops his brief case on the kitchen counter. Alexa claps her hands as he whispers instructions to her. She’s all too excited to play. The thing she doesn’t know is that her daddy does this to bide him time. Time that he spends reminding me exactly how much he loves me.

“Okay sweet pea, go hide and then mommy will try to find you.”

“Okay,” she says clapping her hands, before running out the kitchen door.

My heart begins to beat chaotically as Nicholas steps forward counting down as he throws off his dress jacket.


The sounds of feet tapping against the marble echoes as Nicholas begins his count.


His belt comes off in one pull.


His hands grab me, unzipping the back of my dress.


Nicholas doesn’t get past three before he’s shoving me in the kitchen pantry and pulling off my panties.

“Leave the apron,” he chuckles as I begin to untie it. “I love the housewife look.”

“Don’t get used to it,” I tease. “Grad school starts next week.”

Nicholas leans in to kiss me as he rubs circular motions at the nape of my neck.

“Think I can make you come in seven…six seconds?”

“It wouldn’t be fun if we didn’t try,” I tease.

“God, I missed you.”

The words come out in a husky groan before he buries his tongue inside my mouth. Nicholas doesn’t waste any time. In a heartbeat, he shoves his dress pants down and presses inside of me, lifting my body so my legs are wrapped around his hips. I struggle to hold onto the shelving behind me as he rocks into me.

I laugh between kisses as the whole damn shelf rattles with each delicious thrust. Nicholas grins as a macaroni elbow comes flying down and lands perfectly on my naked tits.

“Thanks babe. Dinner & dessert,” he chuckles.

handsome muscular young bodybuilder showing his muscles and abs while posing shirtless

#AmWriting – Protecting Her Curves (SNIPPET)

This story came to me one day and I’ve been having a lot of fun writing it. It’s not one I planned, but sometimes those are the best kind. Protecting Her Curves is a Romantic Suspense with lots of humor, and it features a M/F/M relationship.😉

As I previously mentioned, I probably won’t be publishing for the new several months but I am definitely still writing. And I’m still very happy to share with you all what I’m working on.

Below is an unedited snippet. I hope you enjoy it.


Standing in my Care Bear underwear and Scooby Doo t-shirt is not what I had in mind when I was hoping to find myself half naked in front of my hot as sin next-door-neighbor, Erik Matthews. Not one bit. Six feet of muscle answers the door wearing nothing but a pair of low cut boxer briefs with the brand Calvin Klein stitched at the top. My gaze fixes on his V cut and the light trail of hair that leads to the tip of his underwear. Damn. Any lower, and I’m pretty sure I’m about to get a Magic Mike preview of Erik’s dick. I’d be lying if I said it was the only thing distracting about my neighbor. But probably the biggest.

“Well damn,” Erik whistles. “I was wondering what was under all those baggy shirts and jeans, but I certainly wasn’t expecting this.”

My cheeks flame as Erik quirks his eyebrow at the sight of my underwear. He traces the dip of my shirt with his gaze, slowly taking in the sight of me. I swallow hard as my cheeks flame. Trying to distract myself is pointless, so I focus in on his inked arm. Three massive skulls sit intertwined with two crimson roses. The colorful tattoo covers one side of his arm in bright hues of orange and red. It’s a stark contrast to his dark skin and jet-black hair.

“Um, can I use your cell to call the apartment manager?” I ask, tearing my gaze from him and covering the front of myself.

By the sight of Erik’s amused smile, I know there’s no use hiding. He can see everything, especially the parts of me that jiggle a little too much. To my surprise, it doesn’t seem to bother him. I never pegged Erik to be the type of guy who likes curvy girls.

“Faster! Yes! Yes! Fuck me!”

The sound of a woman moaning fills the air between us. Oh shit. I’m not even sure what’s going on inside his appointment, but the pleasurable sound that echoes through the air fills me with envy. And something else too.

A loud thud vibrates against the wall followed by a deep throaty roar. I’m pretty sure someone else is over. A sheepish grin appears on Erik’s face as he checks over his shoulder. It doesn’t take long for the throes of passion to stop after one VERY loud orgasm. Almost seconds later, I hear heavy footsteps and the sound of a husky voice calling out over Erik’s shoulder.

“What’s going on man?”

My eyes are treated to the sight of a tall hunk in a white dress shirt that doesn’t hang nearly long enough. Don’t look. Don’t look. But I do.

I clench at the brief sighting of his cock. Fuck me. I’m. In. Trouble.

“Hi, can I help you,” the voice asks with irritation.

Bright baby blues stare at me as Erik leans back against the doorframe and makes room for his friend. The stranger’s eyes remind me of rain clouds hovering over the ocean. He’s gorgeous. And by the unimpressed expression on his face, he already knows it. Cocky. His body language screams over confidence. I force my eyes back to Erik, but it doesn’t help. His wicked grin only makes it harder to avoid the sight of his friend. The stranger’s white dress shirt stops just above his thigh, revealing just enough. My imagination is already spinning out of control. I almost choke at the brief sight of his glistening cock.

“Sorry, Rory, this is my roommate, Connor.”

Wait, he actually knows my name? Erik winks at me and it’s enough to send my panties into a heated mess.

“But you don’t have a roommate,” I blurt.

Perfect, Rory. Now Erik knows that you’re a peeper.

He looks up in surprise as the realization slowly hits him. The sexy dimple in his right cheek deepens. The damn thing is distracting, but so is the piercing on his lower lip. I’ve been imagining what it might feel like pressed up against my clit.

“Can we help you with something,” Connor interrupts.

The intensity of his gaze only seems to increase as the seconds fly by. He’s probably pissed that I interrupted his love fest.

“Uh, yeah. I was wondering if I could borrow your phone to call the apartment manager. I locked myself out.”

“Do you do that often?” Connor asks with a blank stare.

Something in his tone sets something off inside of me. Damn, I know I interrupted him but he really doesn’t need to be such a dick. Plus, if he was so busy why the hell did he stop to answer the door. It’s like he was looking for an excuse to get away from the one inside.

“Easy C, stop being an ass. She’s our neighbor.”

“It’s fine. I’ll just knock on Ms. Traeger’s door.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

I stop mid-turn to look up at Erik. His face splits into a grin. Ms. Traeger is gone for the month. Her grandson is babysitting her apartment while she’s on vacation.”

“Maybe he’s hot,” I say, giving Connor a poignant look.

“He’s not,” Connor says with a smirk.

A blaze of heat hits me sending a flush to my cheeks. What an arrogant prick. He probably thinks he’s the hottest shit ever made.

“Damn, you’ve got a temper don’t you,” Erik chuckles.

“Maybe I don’t like assholes.”

Before I have the opportunity to slip away, Connor pulls me toward him. The electricity that shoots through his fingertips and up my skin is enough to light up the whole goddamn city. He let’s me go just as quickly as he grabs me.

Fuck. What was that?

“You shouldn’t be in the hallway looking like that,” he mutters.

“Excuse me?”

“Come inside and I’ll get you my cell,” Erik says, breaking up the tension between us. “It’s in my room.”

I stare at both of them like they’ve grown horns. Go inside the apartment? For the past several months, I’ve been dreaming about this opportunity. Several nights I’ve rubbed one out just thinking about what it would be like to be one of the girls Erik brings home.

Is this my opening? Easy girl. He’s just offering you his cellphone. Not his dick.

Addicted To You 1

Something New.

Over Christmas, I started working on a new serial within the Millionaire’s Row Series. It’s called Addicted to You. I’m really excited about this story because I’m tackling alcoholism, sexual shaming, and forgiveness.

My main character, Carol, is someone that I’ve grown to love. When I first wrote her into existence I had no intention of giving her her own story. I just wanted her to be Rebecca’s ballsy best friend, but I eventually realized that was a mistake. An alpha female like Carol could only have one heck of a story and I needed to write it.

So that’s what I’m up to.

I’m not sure how long it’s going to take me to finish. Maybe a month. Maybe two. Maybe three. Time will tell. One thing is for certain, I’m writing this one for me.🙂 In the end, if you guys love it then FANTASTIC. If you hate it, well it was for me anyway.😉

When I wrote Bound to You, I wrote it for myself and you guys loved it. Trust me to write another compelling story.



P.S. If things work out this month, I plan on publishing the final PART of Bound to You.❤

Mexico, here I come.



In a few days, I will be leaving to Mexico for my sister’s wedding. The stress is on! I have SO many things to get done within the next few days. I do want you to know that I will be unavailable starting today through December 15th.

I’m hoping to release the final part of Bound to You before I leave for my trip (I leave in three days), so here’s hoping that everything works out. *Fingers crossed*. If for some reason it doesn’t happen, the final volume will not be released until I return on December 15th. I want to apologize in advance if this happens. I’m not sure how my wifi connection will be over in Mexico or if I’ll have much time to do business. It’s my first time being a Matron of Honor and I think I’ve definitely underestimated how stressful (although wonderful) this position is. LOL.

As a side note, I do want to thank those of you who have read the Bound to You series and who’ve stuck with me since the beginning. You guys are amazing! Thank you for being so patient. Really, thank you! I’m sure you’re tired of hearing me say this, but I’m still new at this being an author business. While I’ve learned SO much in the past year, I still going through my growing pains. While this process has been a bit of a learning curve for me, I can promise that 2016 is going to be a lot better. And a lot more structured.

I do hope that I can continue to write stories you guys enjoy.❤ Thank you for taking a chance on me.❤

P.S. I do want to repeat that this is Nicholas & Rebecca’s final volume. After PART 2, I will be moving on to new characters. As sad as that is, I’m also happy. They’re in a good place in their lives and that’s all I could ever really ask for. 

Deleted Scene From Drawn to You

Below is a deleted scene that didn’t quite make it into Drawn to You. I hope you enjoy it.🙂 *Please note, this deleted scene is unedited.

Close-up of young sexy couple in ecstasy


I kick the door behind me closed and pull her toward me. Her petite frame meshes between the bathroom wall and me. A streak of desire hits me as a low moan erupts from her candy colored lips. Emily’s long lashes flicker up toward me in surprise. She wasn’t expecting this.

“What are you doing, Tristan? What do you want?”

“I plan on kissing you.”

“What?” she says, trying to escape my hold.

I step closer, corning her in the bathroom.

“Stop me, if you want.”

A look of uncertainty crosses her face as she looks up at me. I’ve been telling myself that I shouldn’t feel this way, but to hell with it all. The only good thing in my life beside my art is her. A wave of relief washes over me after several seconds of silence.

“Tell me not to touch you and I’ll leave,” I say, lifting her chin with my thumb.

“I hate you.”

The words come tumbling forth from her mouth like knives. The anger in them penetrates my skin, but what cuts me deeper is the hurt behind them. I never wanted to hurt Emily. I would do anything for her forgiveness.

“That isn’t what I asked,” I say.

“You’re bipolar. I can’t figure out where you want to hate me or fuck me.”


Emily pulls away from me as she heads for the door. I quickly block her path, unsatisfied with her refusal to answer.

“Are you afraid, pet?”

“I’m afraid of how you make me feel,” she admits.

“You scare me too, sweetheart.”

My words seem to strike a chord inside her. I feel Emily’s delicate fingers frantically tugging at the bottom of my shirt. There’s a need that vibrates through her fingertips as she touches me. My cock hardens at the warm sensation of her fingers sliding down to the top of my pants. It isn’t long before I feel her palms sliding up my stomach and then around my neck.

Emily isn’t tall enough to kiss me, but it doesn’t deter her from trying. My hands find her hips before quickly lifting her onto the bathroom sink. I hear the sound of items tumbling to the ground, but I don’t care. Her lips collide with mine as her fingers unzip my jeans. A gasp escapes her as my cock springs out. The cool breeze that circulates the bathroom only ceases to make each graze of her skin more delicious.

Emily giggles as I kick my pants to the side and pull her forward. Despite the demure look on her face, she pulls up her skirt without any hesitation. Emily’s clothes come flying off within a matter of seconds. The sight of her naked skin enamors me. Her nipples pucker as they sit exposed to the cool air. I take one into my mouth, teasing it with the edge of my teeth. I could never get used to the way her body responds to mine. It’s an unexpected gift. I bite harder and it only increases the heat I feel growing between her legs.

“Tristan,” she moans.

“Are you ready for me?” I ask, rubbing my cock at her entrance. As her hips buck into me, I know I can only tease us both so long before I unravel in front of her.

“Please,” she begs.

“Tell me you’re mine.”

I slide my lips across her chest and up the side of her shoulder.

“I’m yours.”

Her body vibrates beneath my hold. The need to claim her as mine takes hold of me as my mind swims through the emotions gathering inside me.

“I need you from behind. I want you to watch me fuck you,” I tell her.

Emily takes my hand as she steps off of the counter. She turns toward the mirror and I catch her looking at herself with a critical gaze. I’ve always been amazed at how women can so easily tear themselves down when there’s so much beauty to behold.

“You don’t see you as I do,” I say, pushing her forward. “You’re a goddess.”

Her expression softens as she looks up at me with questioning eyes.

“You don’t have to say anything. Your body tells me everything,” I say, kissing her shoulder.

“Now, bend forward and spread your legs.”

She does as I ask, without further hesitation. The view of her wetness is enough to make me explode, but I have too many things I need to do to her before I finish. I run my hands down her back and down her ass. Her hips move into my touch as I work my way down her skin to get the blood flowing.

I grab her hairbrush off the floor and examine the material. It’s the perfect size. She looks up at me through the mirror and our eyes connect. A mixture of emotions passes through me as her curious gaze transfixes me. I’m willing to bet that no one but me has ever spanked her. I lift the brush and gently tap her bottom. A small sigh escapes her lips as I tap her harder the next time. The harder I tap, the heavier her breathing gets and the more I want to drive her back to my studio to play with.

Her eyes never leave me.

“Are you having fun, pet?”

Her lips never move, but I know she’s smiling.

“Answer me,” I command.



“Should I continue with the brush, or would you like my hand?”

“Your hand.”

I cup her pussy letting my fingers slip inside her. I’ve been dying to feel her beneath my fingers once again.

“Like this?” I taunt.


“That didn’t sound like any word I know,” I tease. “Now, put your hands behind you.”