The Seduction Of The Forbidden

I write the kind of stories we’re told not to talk about.

Stories whispered behind closed doors, hidden in the corners of our imagination, spoken only when we’re sure no one else is listening. The kinds of stories that make your pulse race, not just because of desire, but because of the danger of wanting.

For me, writing erotica isn’t about safe fantasies or polite romance. It’s about peeling back the layers of shame and stepping directly into the shadows where our darkest longings live. It’s about asking the question: What happens when we give in to the things we’ve been told to resist?

Why the Forbidden Pulls Us In

Think about it.

The stepbrother you’re not supposed to want, but do.

The older man who should be off-limits, but whose gaze lingers too long.

The friend who becomes something more in a single reckless moment.

These desires are magnetic not because they’re safe, but because they’re dangerous. They break rules. They threaten to unravel lives. They remind us that we are not made of neat boxes and clean boundaries.

We are messy. We are hungry. We want.

And sometimes we want what we shouldn’t.

That’s where my writing lives, in that dangerous tension between what society allows and what the body craves.

Shame, Obsession, and Truth

Taboo erotica isn’t just about bodies colliding. It’s about psychology. It’s about the ache of hiding, the weight of secrets, the way shame and desire twist together until they’re impossible to separate.

A stolen touch isn’t just arousing because of skin on skin; it’s arousing because it could be discovered. A kiss isn’t just a kiss, it’s a risk, a betrayal, a confession that can never be taken back.

When two men give in to that, what’s really happening? Yes, there’s lust. Yes, there’s heat. But underneath it all, there’s something more dangerous: truth.

Desire is the most honest thing we have. You can fake affection. You can pretend you don’t care. But you can’t fake hunger. You can’t hide obsession.

That’s why I write taboo erotica. Not to shock. Not just to arouse. But to show the truth of longing, the kind that keeps you awake at night, the kind that makes you lie, cheat, risk everything just for one more taste.

A Glimpse Into the Stories I Tell

Let me give you a glimpse of the kinds of moments that haunt me, the ones I turn into stories:

Two stepbrothers, raised as strangers, colliding in a drunken argument that turns into a kiss neither of them planned. They hate themselves for it, swear it will never happen again, until it does, harder, rougher, more desperate.

A young man sitting across from his professor, pretending to talk about literature, while both of them know the real subject is the tension vibrating between them. A hand brushing against another on the desk. A pause too long. The question unspoken: What if we cross this line?

A husband sneaking into his brother-in-law’s room in the middle of the night, just to watch him sleep. Just to feel close. Knowing it’s wrong. Knowing he should leave. But not leaving.

These are the kinds of stories I write. Stories that ache, that burn, that whisper this is wrong even as they pull you closer.

Why I Refuse to Play Safe

People sometimes ask: Why taboo? Why not just write romance?

The answer is simple: because life isn’t neat. Because desire doesn’t follow rules. Because love doesn’t ask for permission.

I refuse to write stories that are safe, tidy, or easy. I write stories that make your stomach knot, your pulse race, your conscience twist. Stories that make you ask yourself: Why does this turn me on? Why do I want more? What does that say about me?

That’s what good erotica should do. It should entertain, yes, but it should also disturb, challenge, awaken something buried. It should take you somewhere you didn’t expect to go, somewhere you might not even want to admit you went.

That’s the kind of writing I offer you. That’s who I am as an author.

Who I Write For

I don’t write for everyone.

I write for the reader who has searched for something darker, something rawer, something that doesn’t play by the rules.

I write for the reader who wants to feel both shame and thrill, who wants to get lost in stories that are dangerous, messy, consuming.

I write for the reader who knows what it’s like to want what they shouldn’t, and who isn’t afraid to follow that desire to the end of the page.

If that’s you, then you’ve found the right place.

A Teaser — Just Enough to Taste — Broken By The Hot Prison Guard

The look on Cole’s face made my pulse slam against my throat.

He didn’t speak at first. He just stood there, filling the room with his rage.

Then he moved.

One step. Two. Until he was right in front of me.

“You think this is a game?” His voice was low, deadly.

I smirked, even though my heart was beating out of my chest. “Isn’t it?”

That was the last straw.

Cole grabbed me, spun me around, and slammed me face-first against the wall. My palms hit the cold concrete as he kicked my legs apart.

The click of metal made my stomach drop.

He cuffed one of my wrists to the pipe running along the wall, yanking my arm high above my head.

“Cole…” I started, but he cut me off.

“Shut up.” His voice was so sharp it stole the air from my lungs.

I bit back a grin, even though my body was already reacting, hard, aching, desperate.

“You don’t get to play with me,” he hissed in my ear, his chest pressed to my back. “You don’t get to dangle yourself in front of some rookie like a cheap prize and then come crawling back here like nothing happened.”

I turned my head just enough to catch his eye. “You jealous, Officer?”

His hand wrapped around my throat from behind, pinning me still.

“Jealous?” he growled. “No. Furious? Yes.”

I swallowed hard, but the heat between my legs was unbearable now.

“You like making me lose control, don’t you?” he said, his breath hot against my ear.

“Yes,” I whispered, because lying would’ve been pointless.

His other hand yanked at my waistband, shoving my pants down to my knees.

The cold air hit me, and I sucked in a sharp breath.

“Cole…”

“Quiet,” he snapped.

I heard the sound of his belt, the metal buckle, the zip of his pants.

Then he was pressing against me, his hips grinding into my ass.

I groaned, unable to help it.

“You want this?” His voice was rough, dangerous.

“Yes,” I said again, breathless.

“You’re going to take it, Nico. All of it. And you’re going to remember exactly who you belong to.”

I shivered hard, cuffed arm straining against the pipe.

Then he pushed into me, hard, deep, unrelenting.

I gasped, my cheek pressed against the wall, but he didn’t slow down.

He set a brutal pace, each thrust punctuated with a growl, his grip on my throat firm enough to make me lightheaded.

“Say it,” he ordered.

“Say what?” I managed to choke out, my voice breaking.

The Hot Prsion Guard Series, click on the Amazon link below https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FST14MWS?binding=kindle_edition&ref=dbs_dp_rwt_sb_pc_tkin