****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!

It’s Here! Sexy Spooky Season!!!

 

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

Why did I write Sexy Spooky Season?

Because I read a few certain books out of curiosity books and wanted to take the masked MMC trope and make it less creepy. No st@lking the FMC outside park grounds, no m^rdering people, no force, no k!dnaping, no ignoring the FMC when she says “no” or ““stop.” Basically, I wanted to take away all the scary (problematic) things and keep all the sexy things about a masked man who doesn’t speak. 

Length: Novella 156 Pages

Format: eBook ($2.99) & Print ($12.99)

Genre: Halloween Erotic Romance

Amazon eBook / Amazon Print / Barnes & Noble / Kobo

Apple / Smashwords / Fable / EverAnd / Thalia / Vivlio 

Blurb:

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?

Masked MMC

Halloween Theme Park 

Speaking Disability 

ASL

Service Dog

Chaotic Female Joker

Adult Haunted House

Scarred FMC

Self-Harm (past, mentioned)

Scare Actors

Opening Paragraph:

Through the eyeholes of his mask, Lark saw her, and everything crystalized in that beautiful and startling moment. She was stunning, with black hair that feathered like raven’s wings and brushed her pale shoulders. Those feathery strands of ebony hair skimmed against her neck, and that was how he noticed the scar that stretched from one side of her neck to the other, just above her collarbone. His entire body tensed at the sight of the pale pink line—so pretty, so mysterious. There was a story there that he yearned to know. 

FOR MORE TEASERS VISIT MY LOVE FEY INSTAGRAM.

A Girl from Pluto Ep. 10

         

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 10

Sucker

As a child, I obviously needed a lot of comfort, because on top of having an imaginary friend and a security blanket, I also sucked my thumb. But I mostly sucked my thumb at night, as a way to soothe me to sleep. In school, I hid the fact that I sucked my thumb. Even when a hard patch formed on my thumb’s knuckle with two little indents, I never said it was because I sucked my thumb. I knew that sucking your thumb as a child older than five wasn’t normal. None of my friends did it. Or if they did, they never owned up to it, just like I didn’t. 

Spending the night at my best friend’s house was tough because I knew I couldn’t suck my thumb there. At night, I’d curl my fingers around my thumb, in the center of my fist and would shove my hand under my pillow so I wouldn’t be tempted. It would take me hours to fall asleep. 

Once, when my best friend spent the night at my house, she caught me sucking my thumb. Smarty pants little me played it off, though. I woke up to the feel of my best friend’s hand stroking mine, and I realized my thumb was in my mouth, even though I didn’t do it intentionally. I kept my eyes closed and muttered, “Stop. I’m thirsty.” Then I turned over and put my hand under my pillow. I stayed like that for a few minutes before “waking up.” 

She mentioned that I had my thumb in my mouth, and I played it off like, “Really? That’s weird. I was having a dream that I was drinking soda cuz I was like dying of thirst.” She didn’t question me, and I made sure she never caught me with my thumb in my mouth again.

I sucked my thumb at night all the way through 6th grade. During the summer before 7th grade, I knew I had to “grow up.” For the next two months, I trained myself not to suck my thumb. It was extremely hard at first, but I did it. Before school started, I no longer sucked my thumb. Phew. Just in time for the crazy and judgmental years of middle school. Yay!

You’re probably wondering about my teeth, aren’t you? Do I have buckteeth? Are they extremely spaced out? If not, did I have to suffer through years of braces? 

Nope.

Actually, when I was in first grade, my teeth were badly spaced apart. I remember seeing my school picture and thinking, that’s what my teeth look like? Oh my gosh! From that moment on, I only smiled with my mouth closed. I was embarrassed with my teeth, not even realizing that they eventually corrected themselves.

In 6th grade my PE teacher asked me if I ever had braces. I told her no, which was the truth, but because of my insecurity, her question humiliated me. She quickly explained, probably after seeing my pink face, that she loves my smile. She thought I must’ve had braces because my teeth were perfect, and I had a beautiful smile.

Her words struck me. Really? How could it be? All I could imagine was my 1st grade school picture and my smile. Ugh. Those teeth!

My best friend was there and confirmed what our favorite PE teacher told me. And yet, it took me a long time to actually believe these words. Still in all of my school pictures I smiled with my mouth closed, even when other people complimented my smile. 

Insecurities can sure damage us, can’t thing? Because of one school picture, I developed a dislike for my teeth and couldn’t even see that they weren’t hideous anymore. Insecurities can do this to us. They blind us. If someone compliments you, open your ears and open your eyes. Look in the mirror and repeat their compliment. 

See it. 

Believe it. 

Funny enough, when I was in 10th grade, there was this boy who openly sucked his thumb everywhere, even in class. No one made fun of him, either. He was pretty popular, though, so maybe that’s why? Or could it be because he was a boy and had a great sense of humor? And was even cute, with a baby face? Who knows. But I sure never felt that I would be accepted as a thumb sucker, not like this boy was. Heck, I was bullied for my shoes and eyebrows, so I definitely would’ve been bullied if my classmates had known my secret. 

He chose to be open, and I chose to hide it. We had our reasons and influences that told him it was okay and told me it wouldn’t be a good idea. 

The point is, sucking your thumb is a reflex, a comfort. He could’ve needed that comfort longer than me, and more often. 

Thumb suckers of the past…I am one of you.

Thumb suckers of the present…I see you.

Thumb suckers of the future…I am with you.

A Girl from Pluto Ep. 9

        

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 9

Security

Many children need security. Not just a safe home and a caring family. Some children need something a little more, something they can hold and cuddle. For me, this was my blankie, that lavender knitted blanket that I’d put on my head to act like hair. 

I went everywhere around the house with this blankie, and no one minded. Thankfully, they never did what Owen’s family did in the children’s book written by Kevin Henkes. Owen had a blankie he lovingly called Fuzzy, but his parents wanted to kick his habit of bringing his blankie everywhere because he was going to enter Kindergarten. They’d steal it a night and soak it in vinegar. All to make Owen want to stop using his blankie. How awful. I’d clutch my blankie tighter when I read this story or had it read to me. 

Thinking about it now, it’s terribly sad that a parent could think they have to “fix” their child and come up with a “remedy” so your child wouldn’t want to have their blankie anymore. And all because they’re going to start Kindergarten. 

I never brought my blankie to school. It stayed in bed until I came home, and then I’d snatch it up and would drape it over my shoulder or around my neck so I could have it if I sat on the couch or wherever I went.

If my mom had cut up my blankie into small squares, I would’ve been devastated. It wouldn’t be the same blankie anymore. I probably wouldn’t have wanted it, which, if you’re like Owen’s parents and wanted this…you win!

My blankie did end up getting a lot of holes because the knitting started to unravel, but I continued to love it.

Even when I was older, a pre-teen, I still slept with it. I just didn’t bring it around the house anymore. If I slept over at my best friend’s house, I’d neatly fold it and slip it into my pillowcase so I could still touch it when I slept.

My blankie was for security.

When my family fought, I’d clutch it to my chest. When I my throat hurt, I’d use it as a scarf. When I didn’t feel good, I’d press it to my tummy. But it wasn’t just for comfort.

It was also a friend. I didn’t talk to it, but because it gave me security, happiness, warmth, and comfort, it very much was a dear friend.

I slept with this blankie until I was eighteen and it had so many holes I was afraid it’d fall apart, so I folded it up and stuck it into a container containing my favorite childhood mementos. It’s still there. If I dig through that container looking for something and come across my blankie, I hug it to my chest, remembering its love and thanking it for all the time we had together. 

If your child has a blankie or woobie, please don’t force your child to give it up. They have it because they need the comfort and security it offers. There’s nothing wrong with this. Maybe your child will grow out of it or do what I did: cherish it. Or maybe your child will still need it as an adult. No judgements!

Yes, even some adults need a woobie. I actually still have one. It’s not my childhood baby blanket but a teddy bear I received when I had spine surgery the day after I turned fifteen. A sweet woman behind the receptionist’s desk called me over and said I looked like I needed something to hug, and then she pulled out a silky, brown bear with a blue ribbon tied in a bow around its neck, and she gave it to me. At the time I thought, “I’m too old for a teddy bear.” But I took it and kindly thanked her for it. That bear was on my hospital bed with me while I was in pain. I didn’t actually hold it then, but it was there. 

Later, it was there in the corner of my bed for the next two years. I was eighteen when I woke up one night with the stomach bug. After getting sick to my stomach, this bear went from being in the corner to being hugged to my tummy beneath my comforter. A few months after this, I stuffed it into my suitcase when I went to Michigan to visit family, and I slept with it hugged to my tummy. 

Now that I think about it, this was around the same time when I stopped using my blankie, so maybe this was a sign that I still needed something, and the teddy bear took my blankie’s place, offering comfort when I most needed it. 

Do you want to know a secret? I still sleep with this teddy bear.

Do you have a woobie? Do you still have the one you loved as a child? Find it and give it a hug.

* FREE EBOOK * Her Nutcracker Boyfriend * OUT NOW *

 

Content Warning: If you're not interested in erotica aka smut, please skip this post. Thank you!

I got the idea for Her Nutcracker Boyfriend after finding a cute juvenile story about a ballerina and a nutcracker at a used bookstore. My inner child was delighted. But then me and my bestie’s minds went the other way. The title of that book didn’t help, which I won’t mention here because I don’t want to put anything negative on that story. Still, the damage was done.

We talked about how Clara and The Nutcracker showed up on quite a few author’s and reader’s origin story posts, which everyone had been creating and sharing on Instagram at that time. Plus, I’d just purchased a smutty story about a door coming to life, so why not a nutcracker? We asked ourselves that. And…I think it was like the very next night…I had a title and a temporary cover for Her Nutcracker Boyfriend. My fate was sealed. 

Title: Her Nutcracker Boyfriend

Author: Love Fey

Genre: Holiday Erotic Romance

Length: 76

Format: eBook

EBOOK LINKS:

Nook / Kobo / Apple / Fable / Thalia / Smashwords / Amazon

REVIEW LINKS:

The Story Graph / Goodreads

TROPES:

Sex lessons

Kissing lessons

He’s eager

He’s curious

He’s innocently smutty

Golden Retriever MMC

BLURB: As a little girl, Robin danced with her “nutcracker boyfriend” while watching ballet, and she’d fall asleep with him on a special pillow. Years later, that sweet childhood memory resurfaces and pushes her to reconnect with her beloved nutcracker, but it also reinforces how lonely she truly is.

Christmas Eve, she lays the nutcracker on the pillow beside her and uses a very specific gift to give herself some attention. In the morning, her nutcracker is a flesh-and-blood man whose only memories revolve around her. He’s adorably innocent, sweetly obsessed, and incredibly curious. He awakens her body like never before. But he also awakens her heart.

They may not have forever, but they’ll spend whatever time they do have in each other’s arms.

EXCERPT: 

“What is passion?”

“It’s a strong interest in something or someone. It’s like a driving force.”

“I have a passion for you.”

She gawked. “You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t know me.”

“I told you, you’re all I know.”

“But that doesn’t mean you know me.”

His jaw flexed. He gazed at her shoulder as he skimmed his fingers over the curve. “You’re wrong. I remember, Robin. When you were a child, you were so lonely. By yourself. Lost. Looking for…for…”

She could tell he was searching for a word to describe the deep yearning she’d endured as a child, but he didn’t know what that word was. “A friend,” she said as her eyes misted with tears. “I was searching for a friend.”

A Girl from Pluto Ep. 8

       

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 8

Fake Friend

Before my brother and I became buddies, I had an imaginary friend. I don’t know why I created her or when. She was just there one day. I don’t even remember a beginning. But I can guess why I needed her. When I was born, my oldest sister was already six years old. My other sister and brother were about three years older. Older siblings usually don’t want to play with toddlers. I suspect this was the case for me, so when I was little, I invented a friend who would play with me. 

Ena.

She had long lavender hair. Sometimes, I would put my baby blanket, a lavender knitted blanket that passed down to me when my siblings didn’t want it, over my head, tuck it around my hair, and walk around imitating Ena. My blanket would sway at my ankles, and according to me, this was exactly how Ena looked.

Sitting on my bed, I’d talk to Ena for hours. We’d color together, and whenever I walked through the house, she was there beside me, almost like a bodyguard.

My whole family knew about Ena and asked me about her. I loved having a friend no one else could have. She was all mine.

Then, one day, she was gone.

I didn’t even realize she was gone until someone asked me about her, having noticed I stopped mentioning her. Shortly after, as if summoned, Ena returned. Her pretty, long, lavender hair was gone, though. Now she had short black hair. Apparently, she went to Paris. I had no real idea about Paris, but that’s where she had gone away to. Maybe to be with another little girl who needed her on the other side of the world? I believe so. At that point, we said our goodbyes, without actually saying “goodbye,” and she went back to Paris. I never saw her again, but I never forgot her, my first true friend.

Imaginary friends are powerful beings. If your child has one, don’t laugh. And whatever you do, do NOT tell them they need to grow up or that their friend is fake. Because to your child, this imaginary friend is as real as breath, as real as they are, because this apparition comes from them, their mind, their creativity.

Imagination is not fake. It’s real. It’s the most real thing in this world. In fact, this imaginary friend is helping your child to grow up. So, let your child have this friend, because this friend, even if you can’t see him or her, is helping your son or daughter in a huge way. This friend is giving your child exactly what they need: companionship. They’re learning what it’s like to be social and grow a relationship. When it’s time, their imaginary friend will leave, but only when they are both ready to part. Don’t push it. Just watch and enjoy your child’s happiness.