Collarbones Like Promises
Softness That Demands to Be Kissed They were the first thing I noticed. Not his lips. Not his cock. Not the way his hands hovered near my hip like he already knew the curve. No—it was his collarbones. Sharp. Soft.…
Writing Queer Love Without Rules
Beyond the Triangle The first time I let myself want two people at once, I thought it was a failure of discipline. A crack in the monogamous armour I’d built over years of practice. The boy I loved wore eyeliner…
LGBTQ+ literary fiction bestseller: Rowan Thornwell breaks into Top 10
The Body Remembers Where Desire Lives Last night, I dreamed of Nico’s hands. Not as I wrote them, but as I knew them. The kind of memory that clings like sweat after a long run, salt-stung and intimate. He wasn’t…
One-Handed Reads (and Why We Need Them)
From the pen of author Plain Smut There’s a kind of honesty in a body’s reach.The way your hand slips under the sheet—almost of its own accord—before you’ve even hit the end of the first paragraph. A twitch. A pulse.…
The Smallness Myth
Shame, Truth, and Rewriting Desire It starts before the first kiss.Before the first undoing of a belt.Before you even know what wanting is—this whisper you carry, silent as a bruise:Don’t be small. That myth, honeyed and hollow, presses itself into…
The Worship of Thighs
Power, Weight, Press The first time he pinned me down, it wasn’t with arms. It was with his thighs. Solid. Relentless. The way they pressed into the mattress—one on either side of my ribs—left me no place to go, no…
Love With The Lights On
What Polyamory Isn’t You’ve seen the headlines. Heard the jokes. The loaded sighs. The questions posed like accusations:“Isn’t that just cheating with extra steps?”“Isn’t it just about the sex?”“Isn’t it just… a phase?” The keyphrase “what polyamory isn’t” has trailed…
Get Ready, Alaric Is Coming
MMF Erotic Romance Meets Tender Voyeurism Elias Mercer isn’t the same man he was in His, Theirs, Enough. He’s been claimed. Worshipped. Undone. But becoming visible has a cost. After an evening of exquisite surrender—public, witnessed, and impossibly raw—one woman…
The Mirror, Misremembered
Body dysmorphia in men There are mirrors I won’t look at.Not because they lie—but because they don’t. There’s a silence in reflection that isn’t kind. It’s clinical. Honest in the way a scalpel is honest. And some days, that sharpness…
On Polyamory
Not Needing to Be the Only One
Writing Elias (and the Small Things That Matter)
Writing a character with a small dick A love letter to the body that isn’t big—but is still enough Some characters arrive like storms.Loud. Demanding. All jawline and hunger.They don’t knock.They don’t wait.They just are—fully-formed—and dare you to catch up.…