****FREE EBOOK**** Sexy Spooky Season

  

Author Note: If you’re not interested in spicy reads, please skip this one. 

Sexy Spooky Season is FREE!!!!

I'll keep it free through the weekend, and then the eBook will return to $2.99, so snag it for free while you can and enjoy a sexy, spooky read on Halloween night. Feel free to share this news with other readers you know who may enjoy something sexy and spooky. And don't forget that reviews are super important for authors. Amazon is still the biggest seller of books, so reviews there are crucial, but don't forget sites like Goodreads and The Story Graph. 

Length: Novella 156 Pages

Genre: Halloween Erotic Romance

Amazon eBook / Amazon Print / Barnes & Noble / Kobo

Apple / Smashwords / Fable / EverAnd / Thalia / Vivlio 

All Horrors’ Eve is where the book girlies flock and masked men come out to play. 

Lark is one of them, lurking in the shadows. Working as a scare actor means he doesn’t have to talk, which is fortunate because he has vocal cord paralysis. That doesn’t stop him from stalking and teasing the guests in silence. He’s never wanted more than the occasional hook up until the night he spots a beautiful woman with a scar across her throat. Even when he gets a taste, he craves more. But will Sutton accept him—voiceless and all?

Sutton didn’t anticipate meeting a h0rny man in a pumpkin mask at a Halloween theme park. Nor did she think she’d do the deliciously naughty things she’s done with him. In public no less. But now she’s hooked. She feels safe revealing all of herself to him—from the chaotic joker she portrays at her adult haunted house to the stories behind her scars. The only problem is Lark continues to hide. Will he ever let her see the man behind the mask?

TROPES & OTHER GOODNESS:

Masked MMC

Halloween Theme Park 

Speaking Disability 

ASL

Service Dog

Chaotic Female Joker

Adult Haunted House

Scarred FMC

Self-Harm (past, mentioned)

Scare Actors

TEASER:

“You don’t think it’s hideous?”

More head shakes.

“Most people do.”

Most people are assholes. He continued to trace her scar.

“Well, I guess you wouldn’t think it’s hideous if you jerked off while thinking about it. Do you have a scar kink?”

He lifted a shoulder. Possibly. But so far, her scar was the only one that had turned him on.

A smile like the one she gave him before lifted her lips. “Do you speak or is this a part of the role you’re playing? You’re the silent stalker?”

He tilted his head. No, I don’t speak, angel, but that doesn’t have to get in our way. Does it? He would get on his knees to show her that he hoped it wouldn’t be a problem. He didn’t need a voice to show her how she made him feel. He certainly didn’t need a voice to make her feel good.

FOR MORE TEASERS VISIT MY LOVE FEY INSTAGRAM.

Hallmark Inspired Halloween Romance: Halloween Miracles NOW AVAILABLE

 

HALLMARK INSPIRED HALLOWEEN ROMANCE

Length: Novel (272 Pages)

Genre: Sweet Romance

Children’s author Kellen Collins and her family go all out for Halloween. Except, holiday gatherings aren’t the same without Shawn Callaghan, her unrequited crush. The last time Shawn joined their festivities, he'd nearly kissed Kellen. Back then, she’d just been his sister’s best friend. Now she’s a wish he doesn’t have the courage to speak aloud.

Becoming co-guardians to their niece and nephew and living under the same roof flips their lives upside down. Kellen will do anything for the twins, but Shawn is torn. His dream career working for a tech company on the other side of the world is at stake, and he doesn’t know how to tell them. 

What they need now is a Halloween miracle.

BOOK LINKS:

Bookshop / Books A Million / Nook / Kobo / Apple / Thalia / Amazon

REVIEW LINKS:

The Story Graph / BookBub / Goodreads

Tropes & Other Info:

🎃 Hallmark Movie Vibes

👻 Forced Proximity

🎃 Best Friends’s Older Brother/Lil Sister’s BFF

👻 Childhood Crushes Grown Up

🎃 Interracial Couple(s)

👻 Autumn Setting/Halloween Fun

🎃 Golden Retriever (an actual dog lol)

👻 Twin Shenanigans

🎃 Grief/Healing

Teaser #1: 

He had wanted Kellen for years. He allowed himself a moment to fantasize about living in Tokyo, working at Tokyo App, and coming home to Kellen, who’d be tapping away at her laptop, writing a book. They’d be doing what they love, and they’d be doing it together. If only that could become reality, but not all fantasies were meant to be real. That was why they were fantasies to begin with.

Shawn returned to his hotel. Upon entering, disappointment hit him. Picturing Kellen sitting cross-legged on the white couch had been easy. He studied the couch in question and imagined her there now with her laptop on a matching pillow, a scarf over her hair, and wearing pajamas. She’d be cute, comfortable, kissable. Yeah, he’d kiss her every morning before heading off to work and every evening when he returned home.

Teaser #2:

Kellen stared silently for a handful of seconds before the tension in the air pushed her to the kitchen. She kept him company while he ate. To make the moment less awkward, she nibbled on graham crackers and peanut butter and drank milk. “So, what made you come back?”

Shawn washed down a bite of lasagna with a swallow of soda. “I can’t say for sure.” He paused while pushing cheese and sauce-covered meat and noodles around on his plate. “All I know is, it made sense.”

For Kellen, it had also made sense. But how he could go from leaving so suddenly, being vehement he had to get back to his life in the city, to showing up on their doorstep and wanting a place in their family? Kellen shifted on the stool. Our family? The four of them were indeed family, but were they a family? 

Teaser #3:

Wearing aprons, hairnets, and gloves, they stood behind the counter, ready to serve food. Shawn manned the warming trays containing the main courses—a choice between spinach and cheese lasagna or meat loaf. Weston held clear, plastic tongs to pass out rolls. Roxon stood guard at the dessert counter where slices of vanilla cake sat on paper plates.

Kellen occupied the side station. She studied her helpers with pride, but the sight of Shawn made her snort with laughter. The hairnet covered his perfectly groomed hair, and the elastic cut across his forehead, making him look absolutely silly. Never would she have expected to see business-suit Shawn sporting soup kitchen attire.

 “Are you laughing at me?”

 “You and your hairnet.”

 Shawn adjusted the hairnet. “I’ll have you know, I am rocking this hairnet.”

A Girl from Pluto Ep. 12

           

This series will contain posts styled as a memoir with memories that I feel like sharing. I first wrote these articles in 2017 when I was suffering from burnout. I may post one or two a month. I hope you enjoy these intimate glimpses into the life of...

Episode 12

Slut

Although I didn’t dress up as a ho for Halloween in 7th grade and always more modest (“nerdy”) clothes every day, even at home, I was still called a slut.

Walking home from school one afternoon in 8th grade, I heard the offensive word. School buses would pass me on the street and from one of them a boy shouted, “Slut!” I looked up at the bus beside me to see a boy poking his head out of an opened window, looking right at me. I didn’t even know who he was, so I doubted he knew who I was. Not many people did.

Pulling my shoulders back, so he wouldn’t think he got under my skin, I turned my head away and lifted my chin. Whatever, loser, my posture said, or at least I hoped it said that. But inside I was shaking. When the buses were at the end of the road, I finally got the courage to look over my shoulder. No one else was there. That hideous word was, indeed, directed at me.

But why?

My heart pounded in my chest. My palms were sweaty, and my knees shook. No one had ever accused me of being a slut before.

I was shy and awkward and tended to wear a jacket at school for comfort. My gaze lowered to my outfit. I had on jeans that didn’t even fit like other girls’ because my legs were twigs and I had a pancake butt. I even wore a jacket that was zipped nearly to my collarbone. 

As I continued home, I became angry. Who was this boy? And who else was on that bus? Did someone tell him to shout “slut” at me? (Who? Why?) Or did he just have the sudden urge to yell “slut” at any girl and I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?

That single moment haunted me for the rest of the year, every time I had to walk home from school, which tended to be about two times a week. I’d glare at the buses that drove past me out of the corner of my eye, just waiting for another assault. If it occurred, I had a plan of action up my sleeve; I’d give the little shit the bird. Clear as day. Fortunately (or unfortunately since I never got to take action against him), it never did happen again.

Could it have been a prank?

It doesn’t matter if it was or wasn’t. It still made an impact. Several times during the following days “slut” would repeat in my head and I’d look around, wondering if the boy who said that was close. Or if someone on the bus recognized me. 

I never did find out who this boy was.

Many women and young women can easily brush a remark like that off, especially if it makes no sense or isn’t true. But I couldn’t. Eventually, I did get over it, but I never forgot it.

“Slut” is a nasty word directed at women who dress with confidence. “Slut” is a hurtful word that doesn’t have an age limit. Even children have been called sluts, or worse.

If men think we’re sluts, and if women think other women are sluts, then fine. We’re all sluts. I’m a slut. You’re a slut. And guess what? He’s a slut! Let’s take away the power and meaning behind that word.

Here a slut. There a slut. Everywhere a slut, slut.

A Girl from Pluto Ep. 11

          

This series will contain posts styled as a memoir with memories that I feel like sharing. I first wrote these articles in 2017 when I was suffering from burnout. I may post one or two a month. I hope you enjoy these intimate glimpses into the life of...

 

Episode 11

I'm a P.I.M.P

I loved Halloween as a kid, and I still do. 

Over the course of my life, I’ve had many different Halloween costumes.

In 4th grade, I dressed as a French maid. It was not my idea. It was my best friend’s mom’s idea. My best friend’s older cousin had the costume and because I was thin and looked like her, they wanted me to wear it so they could take a picture of me in it and send it to her boyfriend and say it was her as a child. (Saying that now…wow. Super creepy.) I was eager to please, though, and put it on. 

Everyone was delighted, and thought it was cute, but as we walked around the neighborhood, I became self-conscious. I didn’t wear skirts or spaghetti strap shirts. I was a modest little thing, and I felt too sexy for a nine-year-old girl. I had on black tights, but the skirt was puffy and flouncy. I kept thinking the people of the houses we were knocking on looked at me in disgust. Who would let their daughter dress up as a French maid? That’s what I assumed they were thinking, anyway. And, well, my mom didn’t even know about the costume, so don’t blame her! 

Now-a-days, French maid costumes are for adults who want to dress slutty. Even if the child isn’t trying to be sexy, as I certainly wasn’t trying to be, you can’t help what others, especially men, will think when they see a little girl dressed in such a way. The very thought that I wore this at all makes me cringe.

***

Fourth grade brought my most iconic costume. My mom found a blue and black silk and lace dress at a thrift store that looked Victorian and gothic and fabulous. I wanted it for my Halloween costume, and she bought it for me in the summer!

My best friend and I planned to go to my school’s first Halloween dance. She dressed as a unicorn, a costume she was extremely proud of then. And I had my Victorian dress, but suddenly it humiliated me. I think I was really just nervous about people seeing me wearing it. 

Her mom brought us to the school to get ready early after pitching in with setting up, and my mom met us as we were getting ready. My mom did not know that I didn’t want to wear the dress anymore and found out that I’d stuffed one of my oldest sister’s dresses (a pretty blue silk dress with butterflies on it) in my backpack and planned to wear it instead. The dress that belonged to my sister didn’t even fit me! I’d have to twist the spaghetti straps to make sure it covered my flat, little chest.

My mom refused to let me wear my sister’s dress, so I put on the Victorian dress. Pouting in front of the mirror in the girl’s bathroom, I applied my makeup. 

I stood next to my best friend, seething inside, as we took pictures. In the first one, I was frowning. I knew I was, and I wanted my mom to see it. She ordered me to smile, so I did. I gave a “fine, I’m smiling” smile that made me look a little like the Joker. 

It wasn’t until the most popular girl in our school said she loved my dress when I realized it wasn’t awful, and you know what? I had actually loved it, too. Until I started to doubt it and myself. Truth is, it was stunning.

My best friend and I entered the costume contest. She won first place, and I won third place. Ironically, now my best friend hates the pictures of us from that night because she can’t believe she dressed as a unicorn, something she had been proud of then. And now, I love it. I look beautiful, sneer and all. And the dress made it. Thank you, Mom, for pushing me. She didn’t know that I felt shy about wearing it. She probably thought I was being a brat, but she put down her foot, and I’m glad she did. I have this memory now and no regrets, as I’m sure I would’ve regretted it If I ended up not wearing that Victorian dress.

***

In 7th grade, I dressed up in my boldest costume yet. I dressed up like a dude. I borrowed my brother’s neon green swim trucks and put them on under my red flannel pajama bottoms, making sure to pull down my pants enough to show off my “boxers” as all the boys did back then. I put on one of my brother’s T-shirts and slipped my feet into those huge white and red sneakers of mine. Remember those? The one’s I hated because they were boy’s shoes? Well, they actually came in handy. My golden hair hid beneath a black knitted ski cap. To top off my look, I drew on a beard, mustache, and uni-brow with black eyeliner. 

As we were leaving my best friend’s house I said in a deep voice, “Just call me Christopher.”

Everyone roared with laughter.

What did my best friend dress up as? A ho, of course. And not just any ho. She was my ho! She didn’t have a costume planned until her mom saw what I did and suggested that her daughter be my ho. Yes, really. I can’t make this up. 

I laughed. Okay, sure, go ahead. Truth is, I was glad. My best friend was the one who liked attention from boys and was comfortable wearing “skimpy” things. Me? I was happy to be the pimp.

My best friend didn’t really wear anything offensive, though. She had on cheerleading shorts, a tube top (which was in style then), flip-flops, and hoop earrings. 

This time, I saw people looking at my best friend with questions on their faces. Me, on the other hand, I got laughs. Good laughs. I played my part to everyone, especially to the guys who joined us, one of which was my best friend’s boyfriend who got a kick out of my outfit and my role-playing. The next day at school, he jokingly called me Christopher. I was glad to be a part of an inside joke, and one that I created.

***

Being Christopher the P.I.M.P. wasn’t the last time I dressed up as a guy for Halloween. I was in my twenties when I dressed up as Jeff Hardy, the wrestler. I went trick-or-treating with my sister and nephews and a grown man said, “Look. It’s Jeff Hardy.” I turned to him and gave him Jeff Hardy’s hand signals, which looks like you’re making a gun with your two fingers and thumb and pointing them to the sky. He didn’t say anything to that, and I secretly patted myself on the back.

That’s right, buddy, I’m Jeff Hardy!