I’m a writer who lives in the shadows—where lust and longing twist together, where pain seduces pleasure, and where love is never clean or easy. I write pornographic dark romance, not because it’s trendy or titillating, but because it’s the most honest way I know to explore desire. My stories aren’t just about sex—they’re about obsession, power, surrender, and the monsters we fall in love with when the lights go out.
I’m obsessed with contradiction. I want to peel back the skin of perfection and reveal what’s raw underneath. The taboo doesn’t scare me; it draws me. I write the kind of stories that linger after the climax—the ones that make you question what turned you on, what made you ache, and why you kept reading even when you swore you shouldn’t. My characters are never safe. They don’t always get a happy ending, but they always get something—a wound, a revelation, or a mirror held up to their most vulnerable parts.
I work from the deep end of the imagination. My villains are often lovers, my lovers are often broken, and everyone is capable of both cruelty and tenderness. I’m not here to make you comfortable. I’m here to make you feel. To disturb and arouse in the same breath. To leave fingerprints on your soul.
My language is graphic, because the truth is graphic. I don’t censor the erotic. I don’t soften the pain. Sex in my work is more than friction—it’s communication, it’s weaponry, it’s worship. I write it with reverence, filth, and poetry, because I believe in the power of the erotic to tell the truth in ways no other genre can.
There’s romance in my work, but it’s never pure. It’s love laced with danger. It’s affection under duress. It’s the craving for someone you shouldn’t want—and wanting them anyway. Sometimes the lines blur between pleasure and punishment, between possession and devotion. I love writing those lines most of all.
I write for readers who want more than just escape—they want to be wrecked a little. Touched in places they don’t always talk about. I write for the ones who are curious, haunted, hungry. The ones who want a story that grips them by the throat and doesn’t let go until they’ve screamed, cried, or come—or all three.
If you’re looking for safety, I’m not your writer. But if you’re looking for heat that burns, for love that bruises, for fantasies that bite back—then come closer.
I promise, I’ll take good care of you.
Even when it hurts.
Especially when it hurts.