A NEW Dirty Book And A Very Dirty Chapter!

Hello, my pervy loves!

I have such a hard time saying no to my readers. And in this case, I’m so glad I didn’t. I was asked if I could write a hot billionaire and my first reaction was something like this:


      That’s been done to death.

      But then I thought about what MY billionaire boyfriend would look like…


And what if he fell for a sweet gentle man who looked like this?


And what if the billionaire boyfriend wasn’t some creepy abusive robot? What if he was adorable and vulnerable and loved to cuddle? But was also a motherfucking boss. In bed and just in general. Give me two men and they’re automatically touching each other’s butts and moaning in my head.

I’m delighted with how it came together. Here’s a chapter from The Crush, available on Amazon:   http://amzn.to/2r00pau

***WARNING!!! Very Adult Content And Language! Be 18 Or Older And A Fan Of Hot, Dirty Men.***



“I’m home,” Fletcher said as he pushed open the door and there was a series of soft beeps as he waited for Rhys to step in. He shut the door and set the alarm for the night as Rhys leaned and scanned.

“Wow,” he whispered then looked up as Louis Armstrong’s trumpet filled the air.

“Music off,” Fletcher said as he dropped his keys in the bowl and Rhys gasped as he shook his head.

“No! Music on!” He protested and Fletcher rolled his eyes as he shrugged out of his coat.

“Play music,” he said. The trumpet began The West End Blues and the muscles in Fletcher’s shoulders and neck immediately loosened and he whistled softly. “Hello, Matilda,” he said as the love of his life strolled down the hall lazily.

“You have a cat?” Rhys asked excitedly as he squatted and clicked his fingers at Matilda. She was unimpressed as she passed him then wound herself around Fletcher’s legs as he flipped through his mail. It was all junk so he leaned and tossed the pile into the trash.

“I have a cat,” Fletcher confirmed as he bent and picked her up. “Or, more accurately, a waddling, longhaired throw pillow,” he said as he scratched behind her ears and made his way to the freezer. He grabbed a bag of frozen shrimp then headed for the fish tank. He kissed Matilda’s ear then set her on the armchair next to the tank.

“This is beautiful!” Rhys said. His head tilted to the side as he watched the lion fish and eel become alert. The other fish made their way to the far end of the tank and settled to the bottom as Fletcher lifted the lid. He dropped in just enough frozen shrimp and watched as the lion fish captured a piece then backed away as the eel swirled and collected the rest. “This is huge. You could fit half of the Great Barrier Reef in here!” Rhys stated as he went to the end and bent at the waist as he looked into the side of the tank. “It looks like I’m in the ocean!” He exclaimed and Fletcher chuckled as he went back to the kitchen. He threw the shrimp in the freezer then hummed along with Louis as he washed his hands. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge then tossed it at Rhys as he made his way to the bar in the living room.

“There’s the couch and there’s a bathroom in the hall,” he said as he waved at the large leather sectional. It was as wide and deep as his bed and Rhys shook his head as he set his hands on his hips.

“That has to be the biggest couch I’ve ever seen,” he said and Fletcher shrugged.

“I’m tall and I like having room to spread out if I’m working while I’m watching something,” he explained as he poured a scotch. “I’ll be back with some pillows and blankets,” he said then turned and headed for his study. He started his computer and printer then opened the file he sent himself. Once it was printing, he loosened his tie as he crossed the hall on his way to the linen cabinet. He was able to fit two pillows, a set of sheets and a blanket under one arm and sipped from his glass as he headed back to the living room. “Here. Help yourself to anything you need,” he said and Rhys grinned wickedly as he turned away from the fish tank.

“Anything?” He asked suggestively and Fletcher blinked back at him. It was really fucking tempting. But messy rebound situation aside, it was just a terrible idea in general. He shook his head as he dropped the linens on the end of the sectional.

“You need to sleep this off,” he said and Rhys chewed his lip as he pushed his hands into his back pockets.

“I’m not that drunk. You caught me just as I was hitting my sweet spot,” he said and Fletcher shook his head again.

“It’s not a good idea and you’d be doing it for the wrong reasons,” he replied and Rhys pouted playfully as he reached for Fletcher’s tie.

“I like seeing you like this. It’s kind of fascinating,” he said as he twirled it around his finger and the room was suddenly too warm.

“Why is it fascinating?” Fletcher asked as his eyes dropped to Rhys’ lips. He licked them and Fletcher practically felt it on his lips.

“It’s kind of my job to know all about you and I thought I did. But I was wrong,” he said and Fletcher couldn’t remember the last time he felt his heartbeat or the last time he took a breath. Need swirled in his groin as his skin prickled. He reached for Rhys’ jaw then froze.

“This isn’t right,” he whispered as he shut his eyes and took a step back. “Goodnight, Rhys,” he said then turned and fled.

He attacked the rest of the buttons on his shirt and ripped off his tie as soon as he turned into his bedroom. He considered shutting the door but he wanted to keep an ear on Rhys so he changed into a pair of silk pajama pants in his closet. Fletcher dropped his watch on the nightstand then drained his glass. His lips twisted as he looked toward the living room. If he was quiet, he could probably sneak past Rhys without calling too much attention to himself. And he needed the reports from the office.

Rhys was sitting on the floor in front of the fish tank with his legs pulled up to his chest and his arms resting on his knees. Fletcher might have made it if it hadn’t been for his reflection in the glass. Rhys swung around and his brow rose as his eyes met Fletcher’s.

“Why are you sneaking around in your own home?” He asked and Fletcher shrugged then pushed his hand through his hair.

“I’m not really dressed and I didn’t want to make it more awkward…” He mumbled and Rhys laughed.

“You’re not interested, I get it,” he said then winked and Fletcher snorted as he reached for the scotch.

“That’s definitely not it,” he said as he poured a very generous double. Then a little more. “I should be good,” he stated as he held up the glass then took a large drink. “I’ll see you later.” He didn’t wait for Rhys to respond as he quickly escaped to his study. He grabbed the stack of reports from the printer then darted across the hall into his bedroom. Fletcher used his elbow to press the light switch as he sipped and hummed with the music as he strolled to his bed. He dropped the papers on the duvet as he set his drink on the bedside table then swiped his phone off the dresser.

It was still Friday night and there were still three days between him and Tuesday. Fletcher sighed in relief as he dropped onto the bed and crossed his ankles as he leaned back against the upholstered headboard. Utter confusion and temptation incarnate might reside in his living room but he could still shut the world out and lose himself in a perfectly aged double malt and Billie Holiday. Oaky, honeyed silk spilled down his throat and made his fingertips tingle and Fletcher thought it was all going smoothly until Rhys tapped at the door and leaned against the doorframe.

“I’m going to die,” Fletcher groaned as squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to un-see Rhys in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs. Rhys laughed softly and Fletcher dropped the papers onto his lap to hide the situation unfolding in the front of his pants.

“I had a feeling it was this bad,” Rhys said and Fletcher cracked an eye open.

“What?” He asked and Rhys waved at the bed.

“It’s Friday night and you’re in bed, working,” he said and Fletcher nodded.

“I didn’t get to the forty-second floor because of my personality. I have no life,” he admitted and Rhys clicked his teeth as he strolled into the room and Fletcher’s eyes followed as he went to the window.

“Look at that. It’s like there’s nothing between us and the Empire State building,” he said then held out his arms and twisted. “This would be a beautiful spot for naked yoga in the morning,” he murmured and Fletcher nodded absently as his eyes absorbed the various tattoos across Rhys’ chest, stomach, back and around his upper arms. They were making him sweat. And Rhys’ ass. His body was tall, lean and perfectly sculpted but his ass was what was going to kill Fletcher. It was round and tight and Fletcher’s dick hurt, it was so hard.

“Naked yoga?” He rasped and Rhys hummed as he turned and rested his back against the glass. He hooked his thumbs in the waist of his briefs as his eyes became drowsy.

“Want a demonstration?” He asked and Fletcher nodded drunkenly.

“Wait!” He shook his head. “That would be bad,” he said then winced. “It would be good, I’m sure,” he corrected. “But you shouldn’t because it’s not a good idea.” The breath caught in his throat as Rhys licked his lips and slowly traced his erection. It was so large and thick and a shiny wet circle spread over the head and gleamed in the soft light. “Why are you doing this?” Fletcher asked hoarsely and Rhys pushed away from the window and prowled toward the bed.

“Because I can now,” he said as he stopped at the foot of the bed. His boxer briefs slid down his legs and Fletcher swayed as a wave of desire crashed into him and his control quaked. “Sometimes, it’s really good when it isn’t right. Sometimes, it’s better when it’s bad,” Rhys whispered as he set his knee on the bed and crawled toward Fletcher.

“Christ, Rhys!” He growled as he reached for him. He pulled him against his chest and Rhys’ knees hugged Fletcher’s hips as their lips crashed and tangled. Rhys’ fingers speared into his hair and his tongue was demanding as it swirled and thrust against Fletcher’s.

He felt so perfect in Fletcher’s arms. His hands caressed and gripped as they roamed over Rhys’ back, ass, thighs, shoulders… Everything was hard, smooth, hot, sleek. Rhys rolled his hips, smoothly rocking as their cocks slid against each other. There was a whisper of silk between them and the decadent smoothness made the head of Fletcher’s cock throb and leak. His hand shot toward the bedside table and threw it open. It took him a moment to find the lube and condoms before he dropped them on the bed then fell forward and pinned Rhys to the mattress. Fletcher supported himself with one arm and pushed his pants over his hips then twisted and kicked until his legs were free.

“Well done,” Rhys purred as his hands slid down Fletcher’s chest.

“Hold your applause until the end of the presentation, please,” he murmured as he slid down Rhys’ body. Rhys laughed then hissed as Fletcher pressed his tongue against the base of his cock. He licked slowly, filling his nose and lungs with Rhys’ scent as he savored the taste of his skin. He sucked at the tender spot just beneath the head and Rhys shivered then gasped as Fletcher’s tongue dipped into the slit in the head. His pre-cum was sweet and had a delicate tartness that made Fletcher ravenous. He sucked hard as his hand pumped the shaft and Rhys swore loudly as his shoulders came off the bed.

“Oh, God! It’s been so long!” He cried as his fingers twisted in Fletcher’s hair and his head snapped up and he frowned.

“How is that possible?” He asked. Rhys tasted like pure heaven. He was crisp, soapy and slightly peppery. And Fletcher couldn’t get enough of the way he smelled.

“Zane isn’t really into doing a lot of that. He’s more into receiving,” Rhys panted as he bucked restlessly. “Fletch, please!” He moaned and Fletcher shook his head as he pushed his nose into Rhys’ sack.

“He’s so fucking lousy and he’ll never be good enough for you,” he swore then tilted Rhys’ hips as his thumbs held him open. He groaned in delight as his tongue washed over Rhys’ tight, puckered flesh. He was bright and spicy and Fletcher pushed his face deep into his ass as he lapped and sucked wildly. Rhys whimpered and undulated on the bed and he chanted Fletcher’s name breathlessly. He was beautiful and Fletcher had never been more aroused in his life. “I could live here,” he breathed against Rhys’ flesh as his nails dug into his thighs. “I could live off the smell and the taste of your body. And I could listen to you beg and cry and never get tired of hearing you whisper my name,” he said as he kissed his way up Rhys’ erection. Rhys’ mouth hung open as he stared at the ceiling and Fletcher cringed. That might have been a bit too intense. “Can I finger your ass?” He asked then sucked at the head and a bark of laughter burst from Rhys.

“I can’t believe you just asked me that!” He giggled and Fletcher sucked harder as his thumb brushed over his hole and Rhys nodded quickly. “Yes. Yes, you can do that,” he said and Fletcher hummed in approval as he flicked open the lube. He coated his fingers and rose so he could watch as his fingers traced Rhys’ hole before he slid two into his gripping heat. He was so tight and hot and Fletcher bit back a groan as he waited for the muscles pinching his fingers to relax. Fletcher wrapped his hand around Rhys’ shaft and stroked firmly and Rhys melted on the bed as his body relaxed. Fletcher’s fingers twisted and pressed as he massaged the tight ring and made a soothing, encouraging sound as Rhys became even more relaxed. “That’s so good. More,” Rhys babbled as his head rolled from side to side. Fletcher nodded as he pressed deep and Rhys’ feet slid higher as his hips twitched. “More!” He pleaded as he rode Fletcher’s fingers and he wanted to give Rhys everything. He couldn’t tell him so he used his hands to overwhelm him with pleasure. Fletcher fingered him slowly, massaging his prostate until come poured from Rhys in a thick, lazy stream. He fell forward and licked greedily until Rhys was clean then attacked his lips. I love you.

“Can I fuck you?” Fletcher asked because it was much less terrifying. For both of them. Rhys nodded as his lips clung to Fletcher’s.

“You can do anything you want to me,” he said shakily and Fletcher kissed him thoroughly before he pushed off the bed and sat on his heels. He stretched the condom over the head of his erection then coated it with lube. Fletcher pulled Rhys’ ass against his groin then set the head of his cock at his entrance.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Fletcher admitted as he slowly filled Rhys. He watched as his jaw fell and his head tilted back. His neck was long and graceful and Fletcher was mesmerized as his eyes slid down Rhys’ body. His abs quivered and flexed as his chest heaved and his skin glowed.

“I swear, I didn’t know,” Rhys breathed and his legs locked around Fletcher’s waist as he ground against his ass and they both moaned. He stayed deep, bucking hard as he locked Rhys’ ass against his groin and the pleasure that rushed through Fletcher’s veins was intoxicating.

“I had to fight against it every damn day,” he complained as he kept to a slow, grinding pace. “You can’t know the things I’ve imagined doing to you,” he said and Rhys whimpered as he gripped his cock and tugged.

“Fuck, that’s so hot!” He cried as his heels dug into Fletcher’s ass. “I’ve never felt anything this good,” he said as his head thrashed. Fletcher nodded as he grabbed Rhys’ wrists then fell forward and locked them above his head.

“I don’t want to rush, I’ve waited so long for this,” he murmured against his lips then sucked on his tongue as he wrapped his hand around Rhys’ ass and squeezed.

Fletcher sank into the tight bliss of Rhys’ passage as he gorged himself on the taste of his lips and his skin. He clawed and pulled at his body as he tried to drown in him. He didn’t let himself think as he sucked, lapped and bit at Rhys’ face, neck, ears, shoulders… Anything he could get his mouth on, he claimed.

“Holy shit,” Rhys slurred as his body arched beneath Fletcher. “I’m coming again.” He jerked and jumped as he writhed and Fletcher was helpless. He gasped as he was pulled into Rhys’ climax. His eyes rolled as he bit into his shoulder. Pleasure and pressure swelled in his groin and surged up the length of his shaft as his sack pulled tight. Heat exploded and he screamed Rhys’ name against his skin as come pumped from the head of his cock, flooding the condom.

“Oh, my God!” Fletcher cried as he bucked and shivered and Rhys hissed as his thumb brushed over the head of his cock. Fletcher took it and sucked it clean before he fell onto his side. He propped his head up with his hand then growled softly as his fingers collected the drops of come on Rhys’ stomach. He sucked them clean then flopped onto his back. “We really shouldn’t have done that but sweet Jesus,” he said as he threw an arm over his eyes. He laughed softly then grimaced as he peeled off the condom and let his hand dangle off the side of the bed. He’d take it to the bathroom as soon as the room stopped spinning.

“I guess it really is the quiet ones,” Rhys mused and Fletcher made a deeply satisfied sound as he rolled toward him. He pressed a kiss to his lips then sat up.

“I thought I was pretty loud,” he murmured as he stood and headed for the bathroom. He tossed the condom in the trash and bit his lip to keep from whistling as he washed his hands. This was going to be a disaster but he wasn’t going to let it stop him from enjoying every moment. He went to the bed then pointed. “Get under the covers,” he ordered and Rhys turned and began gathering the scattered and wrinkled pages on the bed. “Just leave those. I’m tired,” Fletcher insisted and Rhys shrugged then flipped the duvet back. He scooted back and Fletcher sat and immediately reached for him. He wrapped his body around Rhys and breathed him in as he shut his eyes. “Stay,” he whispered then drifted off as Rhys’ fingers sifted through his hair.


The Crush is available on Amazon!: 


A NEW Dirty Book And A Very Dirty Chapter!

The Most Vulnerable Child


My son is 16 today. We’re going to make vanilla cupcakes and sugar cookies and go shopping for Nerf guns and Disney Cars toys.


There’s a man in town who breaks my heart every time I see him. He walks everywhere. You see him calamity-ing down the sidewalk, his backpack sliding down his arm as he juggles all the items he’s carrying. His hair is feather fine and greasy. His face is always dirty and his clothes are beyond saving. People avoid eye contact and give him a wide berth because he’s loud and he smells terrible. I can’t help but follow him and talk to him when I cross paths with him at the grocery store because I see my own son every time I look at him.


When Alex was younger, let’s say 6 or 7, I thought I had to use every day in April to make every person I knew aware that it was Autism Awareness month. I shared a different statistic or a link to an article or the ASA so they might make a donation. I wrote clever and gently emotional blog posts about the misadventures of parenting an autistic child. My tone was always upbeat and maybe cheekily stoic. If that’s possible. I’ve stopped as Alex has gotten older.


If you have a 6 or a 7 year old with Autism, the world has your back and you’re brave. When your child is 16 people get annoyed because he wanders in their path when they’re just trying to grab a few groceries and get out of the store before they see someone they know. People give him looks because he’s carrying a Build-A-Bear or a pillow pet and he does weird things with his hands. If you’re an adult with autism, maybe in your mid thirties, people give you a wide berth because you’re loud, dirty and smell like you walk the length and width of town twice a day.


When I talk to people about my writing, I’m often asked how I find the time to write a book almost every month. Don’t get it twisted. It doesn’t happen that often and the other question I hear a lot is “Why?”. But people are mostly (mildly) impressed because I have time for 50,000 or so words a month. It’s not that hard to believe if you take sleep out of the equation. When you have a child with severe autism, sleep stops being your friend and the nights are awful. Writing books in my head about wars and the politics of Pre WWI Europe and Russia was how I kept my brain from spiraling during the quiet hours of the night. I just repurposed that time into physical writing and that’s how we got here.


If you have a child with autism you go to assheaded lengths to avoid the quiet moments in your head and you save yourself by laughing as much and as often as you can. If you’re smart. When it’s quiet and there’s nothing to laugh at you ask yourself the hard questions and you worry about things that can only hurt your heart. I worry about what’s going to happen to Alex when I’m not here anymore and how much of a burden he’s going to be on his sisters’ futures. I worry about him being the man no one wants to look at or stand next to in line at the grocery store. I know the life expectancy for a woman who can’t fall asleep without a sleeping pill, a tranquilizer and smoking a few bowls isn’t that generous. I’m going out like Michael Jackson or it’s going to be cancer.



If I see 60 I’m going to be quite nonplussed. I write like my ass is on fire because my books will exist as long as there’s an internet and my girls and their children might be able to find more clever ways to market them than I can. I write because it might save Alex later. The services for people with autism wanes as they become adults, as does the compassion of those around them.


Autism Awareness month isn’t the megaphone for advocating and support that it used to be, for me. Now, it’s a month of reflecting on how much we’ve lost or what we’re never going to get. It’s also prom season and I see all the things Alex isn’t going to do with his peers. He isn’t even in high school. I’ve homeschooled him for the last five years because there aren’t enough resources in the school system and we couldn’t get to the root of what was scaring him bad enough to wet his pants every time I dropped him off. But he’s never going to ask a girl (or boy) to prom, drive a car or graduate from college. Autism Awareness month has become a month of disappointment as I’ve grown to realize that all the awareness, sympathy and empathy is reserved for toddlers and younger children. The awareness and support slows to a trickle and then becomes a negligent drip as autistic children become teenagers and adults. People stop making eye contact and the gentle, patient smiles and nods dry up by the time there’s acne and a few intrepid chin hairs.


It’s getting harder to write about Alex because I feel myself becoming more bitter as he gets older. I used to push for some intellectual or emotional growth every day. I wanted him to be better at telling time or tying his shoes because in my head, those were one less thing my girls would have to struggle with, when I’m not there. But the list of things I have to teach him keeps getting bigger and the hours get shorter. How do I teach someone with the intellectual maturity of a 4 year old to shave? How do I make the world easier for a man who will never be older than 6?


My little boy is 16 today. Instead of looking forward and wondering where he’ll go to college or when he’ll start his own family, I worry about how much less there is for him in the world as he gets older. I worry about how much taller he is than me and what we’ll do when he realizes he’s already stronger. I pray he’ll get to live with me until I die and he doesn’t have to go to a home or spend his days medicated into passivity.


I stopped writing about parenting an autistic child because parents like me don’t need another brave face or to hear an exhausted mom say “Fuck Autism.” in every way she can articulate.  Mostly, I realized I don’t like a lot of the people who blog about parenting. Especially those with disabled children. I can always see their forced smiles and I catch the panic in their eyes, I can hear their internal screaming as they laugh about scrubbing poop off walls and tantrums in Walmart. Stop trying to make it look fun and easy. Stop telling the rest of us that we have to act like this is just fine. Quit lying.


As the mother of a 16 year old with autism, I just ask that you be kind. When you see a that man in the store, don’t look away and let him struggle on his own. Know that he’s probably lost his mother and she tried her best to make him as strong as she could but there just wasn’t enough time. Remember that the world got harder and less patient as he got older. People cared less because he wasn’t small and cute and the people he spent his whole life depending on have died or have lives of their own. Autism doesn’t go away as people get older, we just become less aware of them.



The Most Vulnerable Child