Once Upon A
By Charlotte E. Hart
Alana Williams is three published authors. She has been for years, but now she wants to add another voice to her whirlwind of deadlines and unachievable targets. Trouble is, she knows nothing of her latest literary undertaking – KINK.
It began as research. Just research. The technical approach. One that delivers the content necessary for a hidden culture to seem plausible, even if it’s not. Readers expect perfection from me. They want the experience. They need to be taken on a journey. That’s my job as a writer.
Blaine Jacobs is his name. He’s my research. A man who seems as logical and focused as me. A man who agrees to help. A man who, regardless of his stature in the community, seems to offer a sense of realism to this strange section of society. And even if he does occasionally interrupt my data with dark brooding eyes and a questionably filthy mouth, what does it matter? It’s just research, isn’t it? It’s not real. None of this is. Nothing will come of it or change my mind.
So why am I confused?
I’m becoming lost.
And Blaine Jacobs, no matter how calm he might have seemed at first, now appears to linger on the edges of sanity, pushing my boundaries with every whispered word.
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There are so many stories. So many characters. And it’s become constant. It’s a hive of other people’s feelings, other people’s emotions inside me. Murder and mayhem. Sex, love and romance. Beaches and holidays, wishes and dreams. I can’t even remember my own dreams anymore. Maybe I never had any, or maybe they’ve been realized and I missed them while I was writing everyone else’s happily ever afters. I don’t know, but they’re not here anymore giving me a purpose to all this. It’s just a constant drive of forward momentum, barely giving me enough time to smell my own roses.
“I was asking about your sexy Dom pants.”
“What about him?”
“I’m not allowed to tell you that. You know the ethics behind research,” I reply incredulously, finally breaking through the throng of people out into the small square where we afternoon sprint write. “And he most definitely is not mine, Bree.”
In fact, I doubt men like Blaine Jacobs belong to anyone.
He made it feel that way with his hushed obscenities in my ear and his solid frame tugging me back into it. Blaine Jacobs, in those few minutes, made the abhorrent seem plausible. He made the vile seem enlightened, enjoyable even, and he did it with nothing but his satin like tone and his sense of ownership around me. He made the distasteful more believable than normality could ever be, with just his touch.
Charlotte is an erotic romance/suspense author living in the heart of the Shropshire countryside in Great Britain. She’s lived all across the United Kingdom due to her previous employment as an event manager, but finally settled in a small town that still reeks of old school England. Writing novels and poetry has now become a revolution for the soul, and she cherishes every second that she’s sitting at the laptop and tapping her way into a new character.
When not writing she enjoys socialising with close friends and travelling to all the major cities across the globe. Travel has always been a constant companion to reading throughout her life and only increases her thirst for stimulation.
With the release of The White Trilogy, and VDB Trilogy, she intends to spend the next year enjoying every element of being a published author and learning as much as she can.