The post Brother Dear Holiday Story first appeared on R. Phoenix & Raissa Donovan.

If you’re browsing, you might notice that things look different. I’m working on making the site more streamlined and hopefully easier to browse, so bear with me.

I’m almost done with the Raissa Donovan (MF/RH) page because that’s easier to deal with since there are only 10 books so far, but the other pages are serviceable enough. (For now. *laughs nervously* There will be links to all the freebies soon!

So why am I posting this already? Because… I can? Yeah.

Anyway, have fun looking around. I hope you like what you see and find something you’re interested in!

The post Website Overhaul: Pardon the Progress first appeared on R. Phoenix & Raissa Donovan.

Looking for your next read? I’ve got you covered with 6 recommendations to jump start your TBR. Here are a few of my favorite, amazing gay romance/gay fiction reads!

Broken by Nicola Haken

mental health rep, angst, love

Just a little fun – that’s what James tells himself. He can’t afford to care for someone who can never reciprocate, not once they find out who he really is. James believes nobody deserves the burden of being attached to him. He’s a complicated man. Damaged. Difficult. Demanding.

Broken.

Is Theodore strong enough to confront James’ demons? More importantly, is James?

Read it or listen on Amazon/Audible!

Kage by Maris Black

dark bi awakening mma/journalist

Kage is an MMA fighter. A famous one. I like to think I helped him get that way.

He’s charming as hell, with looks to rival any movie star and talent to back it up. So why did he need to hire me as an intern Publicist? Simple. He has a darkness in him– like a black hole so deep it could swallow him, and me, and everyone we know– and that’s not good for business.

The first time I met him, I felt the pull. I think the addiction began at that very moment. And even if I’d known then what I know now, I would have fallen for him. How could I not?

For me, Kage is everything.

This trilogy is available on Amazon and on audio. (You can also buy the box set of the first three books for only $9.99 — which I highly recommend, because it’s an addictive AF series.)

Alpha Unleashed: Two Werewolves for Sebastian by DJ Heart

MMM d/s big alphas & mates

What do you do when a cocky werewolf alpha with a dominant streak a mile wide chooses you to be his mate?

Sebastian’s first instinct is to run for the hills. His second is to wish that Viggo had asked him on a date like a normal person. If the muscle-bound stud had approached him at a bar and offered to buy him a drink, Sebastian would have followed him home like a lust-drunk puppy, no questions asked.

But there will be no dating or offers of drinks for Sebastian. He took the cash from the werewolf mating program, knowing full well that a werewolf might someday claim him, and now the consequences of that decision have come back to bite him in the ass.

Literally.

Grab this thicc, sexy book on Amazon!

Under His Heel: A Dark, Toxic, M/M Romance by Adara Wolf

toxic, codependent “love,” humiliation, stockholm syndrome

Alex figures it’ll be an easy five years as a bondservant when Captain Tracht takes on his contract.

Except beneath that calm, controlled demeanor is a sadist, and Tracht delights in humiliating Alex at every turn. Alex is trapped, and the only way through this is to give Tracht what he wants.

The manipulation, pain, tears, and torture will break Alex—unless he starts to enjoy it. Unless he bends to Tracht’s will, and forgets about getting out of this at all.

Because no matter how hard Alex struggles, Tracht always gets what he wants.

Find the first of four books on Amazon and get addicted now!

Bad Things (Fault Lines Book 2) by Varian Krylov

contemporary stockholm syndrome & all the dubcon

Carson suspects he’s playing a risky game with dangerous men. But the lies are convincing, especially when they’re slipped to him among hundred dollar bills. He never guessed how big and dark the secret hidden under all the lies and money could be. And he has no idea he’s not the predator, but the prey, until it’s too late.

And you can’t beg for mercy when there’s a gag in your mouth.

But when Carson escapes from Xavier’s trap, he’s forced to accept that Xavier is far from his most dangerous enemy. Xavier may even hold the key to overcoming the painful past that has kept Carson prisoner for almost two decades.

This book is technically #2 in the Faultlines trilogy, but it can be read as a standalone.

Max (Max, the Series Book 1)  by Bey Deckard

a dark, dirty mindfuck. calling it a romance is a stretch, but…

Fresh out of school, Dr. Crane takes on a new patient who both intrigues and unnerves him. Charming, manipulative, and amoral, Max has exactly the sort of mind Crane finds himself drawn to with fictional characters. As Max weaves himself into Crane’s life, Crane realizes that while fiction might be safe, Max certainly is not. When the professional line between them thins, who gets to define where one man ends and the other begins?

Grab the first book right now if you’re prepared for a read, psychological read.

Thanks for joining me this week on the first edition of Raissa Reads! I look forward to bringing you more recs soon!

The post Raissa Reads! 6 Book Recs for You! first appeared on R. Phoenix & Raissa Donovan.

Hey, everyone!

Are you a fan of sneak peeks, bonus contents, deleted scenes, and reading books as the authors write them? WELL, R. Phoenix/Raissa and Addison/Adara Wolf have teamed up to bring extra-special content to you via Wolf & Phoenix, which is our not!Patreon joint subscription website. The best thing about it is that we can write anything we want.

Works in progress? Check. Bonus scenes? Check. Early e-signed epubs of our new books? Double check. Want to take it a step further and get signed paperbacks of our new releases? We have a tier for that too!

So join us at Wolf & Phoenix, where you can get all of these things and more!

-Raissa

The post Patreon Alternative: Wolf and Phoenix first appeared on R. Phoenix & Raissa Donovan.

There were humans wandering up his mountain.

They were very loud in their ascent, with armor and horses and constant snapping back and forth about who had to do what. Jade was inclined to simply swoop around a bit to scare them away, until he noticed something strange when he got closer.

One of the humans had broken off from the rest of the group. He was messing with one of the rock walls by the narrow ravine, where the mountain path began to get steeper.

In his humanoid form, it was easy enough for Jade to approach without being seen. Humans were very bad at noticing what they weren’t interested in, and this human was much too intent on what he was doing to pay attention to his surroundings.

From this vantage point, Jade could also see the rest of the travel party as they wound their way along the path. At the front was a human with strawberry blond hair, younger than most of the others and astride a black mare who kept fidgeting. She wasn’t very well trained, it seemed. Most humans had better control of their horses than that.

The others were happy to stay well away from the human at the front, trailing by a good tail-length.

“We’ll never reach the caves at this rate,” the one at the front complained.

“We’re trying, Prince Larkin,” one of the other men said. There was sweat running down his forehead, which was strange. It was reasonably warm outside, certainly, and he was covered in armor, but it just seemed excessive.

Even in his human form, Jade could see the way the man’s eyes flicked toward the human who was fiddling with the rock wall.

Interesting. What was the man up to?

“You should go ahead, Your Highness,” one of the other men suggested.

“Shouldn’t a scout go in front of us?” the one they’d called Prince Larkin asked, sounding offended.

A few of the men exchanged looks.

Huh. More than one of them looked nervous now, like they were children doing something very naughty and were afraid of being caught.

“You’re our leader,” the especially sweaty man said, dabbing at his brow. “Your brother said you’d defend us if it came down to it.”

Larkin sighed. “Very well, then.” He urged his mare forward, and she took a few cantering steps. That was clearly not what Larkin had in mind, because he made a disgruntled noise and worked to bring the mare to a stop.

The mare’s disobedience had brought Larkin far enough along the path that he was past where the lone human was hiding. As if that was his cue, the human on the rockwall did something that set off a flash of magic.

The earth rumbled, and the entire rockwall shook, cracking and releasing stone. The humans below started yelling, all of them scrambling to get out of the way of the sudden rockfall.

At least one of them ended up crushed underneath rock, the scent of his blood rising up in the air.

Jade flicked his tongue out to take in more smells, and noted a strange, sweet undertone he hadn’t paid attention to before. It was amplified now, but with all the humans around, it was hard to pinpoint where the smell was coming from.

The human who’d caused the rockfall scrambled down onto the side with the majority of his compatriots. It was only the leader who ended up on the other side, alone, with the mare stomping angrily and attempting to run farther than she had.

“P-Prince Larkin!” the sweaty human shouted. “Are… Are you all right?”

Larkin was too focused on getting the mare under control to respond for a moment, and he spun her around to gawk at the enormous rockslide between himself and his entourage. “I… I’m uninjured.”

Jade wanted to get closer, but he didn’t want to risk being seen — especially now, when things were just starting to get interesting. His tongue flicked out again, and he realized the sweet smell was coming from the lone blond at the head of the others.

Larkin shouted, “I see no way back! You’ll need to clear the rocks so you can get through, Armand!”

The men murmured amongst themselves, with little snippets reaching Jade’s sensitive ears: “need to help…” and “he’ll be fine” and a few disturbing, dark references to simply leaving their prince there and going back home without worrying about the rockslide, because really, “we’re guards, not quarry workers.”

The sweaty one, who must’ve been Armand, coughed loudly. “We can attempt it, but we don’t have the tools to do it quickly, Your Highness. You might want to continue without us while we work on the rockslide.”

Larkin paused for a moment, then called back, “I would prefer to have an honor guard!”

“You can take the creature on your own, Your Highness!” Armand shouted. “Your men have faith in you, that your training and bravery can carry you through this and return you to us victorious.”

The blond sighed, and the mare beneath him danced a little, so much so that Larkin had to clutch the reins more tightly to keep from being thrown off. “Yes, yes, I suppose,” he said. “You’re right. I can handle the creature. I will deal with it. By the time you’ve finished clearing the rockslide, I will return with its head as my trophy!”

Jade furrowed his brow. There wasn’t a lot of big game on the mountain, and certainly nothing that would warrant a prince and his guards having to travel up here specifically for that purpose. The only one living on the mountain was…

Well, Jade himself.

Jade took a closer look at the blond princeling. The sword and the armor were minorly enchanted, but nothing that would damage dragon scales. In fact, a few good breaths of fire, and the enchantments were sure to fall apart.

It was possible the prince was very adept at swordplay, but that rarely made a difference if Jade was in his dragon form. A man could be very agile and strong, for a human, and still be no match for a dragon five times his size and weight. The only stories Jade had heard of dragons being slain by humans included a large number of humans working together.

“Good luck, Your Highness!” Armand shouted back. “We will await your triumphant return.”

Larkin glanced back at the rockslide one last time before urging his mare farther up the mountain path. The other humans busied themselves with clearing the rockslide… until the sound of hoofbeats disappeared.

“Fuck me, I thought for sure he’d insist on hanging around,” one of the men said.

Armand shook his head and turned to the man who’d set off the rockslide. “You killed Peter!” He motioned to where the corpse of the man lay.

The man from the rockslide grimaced when he saw the corpse. “Sorry. He shouldn’t have been that close to the front. Anyway, let’s get the fuck out of here, I’m not hanging around for some beast to smell the blood and attack us.”

So much for loyalty to the crown. Jade watched as they turned back the way they came. He was a bit miffed they’d defiled his mountain like this, but he had to admit, the show was interesting.

He waited for the humans to wander off, then went to track the prince down.

It had been a while since he’d walked the mountain in this smaller form, so it took Jade longer than he cared to admit to catch up to him.

That alluring scent made it all worthwhile, though.

Once he’d caught up, though, it was trivial to follow at a reasonable distance. Dragon magic made it easy for him to hide his presence, though the mare seemed to recognize that there was a threat nearby. She made things every bit as difficult as she could for the human, thrashing and bucking and doing everything in her power to try to rid herself of him.

Poor thing. She really didn’t like the human, and on top of that, she was smelling Jade. She couldn’t have been happy at all.

Jade couldn’t understand why she didn’t like the human though. The prince’s scent was wonderfully alluring, tempting Jade to get more of it. Maybe a little lick? A long, deep breath, right along the human’s neck, where the sweat gathered.

For a time, Jade watched them, letting his mind wander to fantasies of the human on his knees.

There was no reason all of that had to remain a fantasy, Jade realized. When Larkin reached the top of the mountain, Jade would be there to greet him.

The prince stopped for water, and Jade used that opportunity to pass him, going up the rest of the way up the mountain path to his cave.

It had been years since Jade had entertained any guests. It had been at least five years since his youngest sister had visited, and she was the nosiest of his siblings. The last humans who’d been there…

Jade looked at the skeletal remains of the bandits who had thought to make his cave their home. That had been a good seven or eight years ago. He really should have cleaned them up, but he thought the skeletons were a good natural deterrent, and they gave the entrance a nice air of foreboding.

Jade needed to get over his flair for the dramatic, probably.

How long would it take the human to travel up here? Jade had no sense for human travel times. But surely it would be enough to… take care of himself.

Jade reached down to palm one of his cocks. He could make himself come once, and save the other cock for the human.

Though he usually preferred the left one, it would be that much sweeter if he used it with the human. The right it was, then. He gripped it and squeezed, letting out a soft moan as he imagined it sinking into the prince’s tight ass. A prince would have a tight ass, wouldn’t he? He’d likely be used to being the one doing the fucking rather than the one being fucked, but he was so pretty that he might be used to being the bottom.

Not that Jade really cared; Larkin would bottom for him whether he wanted to or not. A bit of dragon saliva in his mouth, a bit of dragon cum in his body, and he’d be an utter slave for the aphrodisiac bodily fluids he had.

He rubbed himself with another moan, his lightly-scaled hands running down his smooth, hairless balls and cock. He started to slowly stroke himself, already able to picture it: the human down on his knees while Jade thrust into him with one cock, the other dangling against his ass cheeks and reminding him of just how much Jade had to offer.

Jade couldn’t wait to hear the prince moaning with wanton desire. He’d have to get that hole nice and loose, finger it so one of his cocks would fit inside. He tightened his grip on his cock, simulating what it would feel like to feel Larkin’s tight hole clenching around him.

He imagined a haughty little princeling, demanding Jade release him, only after a few good kisses he’d be melting, too, spreading his legs wider…

Nobody Jade knew had ever been approached by human royalty. His brother Opal had whined for years and years how unfair it was that the only human visitors he got were lowlifes and bandits and the occasional unpopular knight. Of course, Opal still toyed with even the lowlifes, but Opal always said he wanted a nice prince or princess to lock up in a tower somewhere like in the stories.

To which Alabaster had pointed out that Opal despised towers, and that Opal’s cocks were too large for any nice prince or princess.

Maybe Jade shouldn’t have been thinking of his family while masturbating. He let go of his cock and stared up at the small opening in his cave, contemplating how badly he wanted to come versus how much more time he had before the delicious human appeared before him.

Jade realized he needed to make a suitable entrance. It would be undignified to be caught on his back like this. And naked, at that! Jade got up, ignoring his bobbing erections, and started sifting through the pile of human clothes.

He settled on a nice silk robe, pulling it over his shoulders and smoothing the sleeves. It hung open, but how else was he going to entice the little human?

Jade would pretend not to know who the prince was. Build up some anticipation and dread in him, so that Jade could watch the way the prince’s expression morphed from horrified to very, very willing.

Or maybe the prince was going to be one of those types who threw themselves at any large cock they saw.

Either way, this was going to be fun. Jade could already imagine how he would tell the story to his siblings at the next family gathering. They’d all be so jealous.

Ready for more? Get The Dragon and His Prince at Amazon/in KU now!

The post The Dragon and His Prince Prologue first appeared on R. Phoenix & Raissa Donovan.

Set during Owned (between chapters 2 and 3 when Noah doesn’t remember who he is) and Temper (chapter 4).

“Why didn’t you let me do anything?” Noah demanded as soon as they were behind closed doors.

“Because there’s not anything you can do against five werewolves,” Khaz said. He knew Noah had killed a few ‘wolves before he’d ended up in Mays’ tender care, but that could’ve been a fluke. As much as he wanted to have faith in his childe, he wasn’t willing to lose him for the sake of letting him try to prove a point.

“They raped him!” Noah said hotly, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

He was beautiful. Even in righteous rage, Noah was gorgeous — maybe because of the rage, even, because he felt so strongly about it.

“I know,” Khaz said, slumping down onto the couch and pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“Khaz!” Noah protested. “This isn’t the time to play on your phone.”

“I’m not playing on my phone,” Khaz said. He had a little more humanity than that, even if it wasn’t always obvious.

“Then what the fuck are you doing?” Noah demanded. He crossed over, looming above Khaz and watching him expectantly.

“I met his… person,” Khaz said vaguely, not wanting to admit to Noah that he’d fed upon the man they’d seen downstairs moments ago. He hadn’t caught the werewolf’s last name, but there couldn’t be too many werewolves who looked like Reese and had that name, too. He might’ve been relegated to a back alley whore, but he still had contacts.

He sent a text to the one he was on best terms with, a witch who’d loved the drama of having him on his arm, and got an answer almost instantly.

Dorsey.

“Reese Dorsey,” Khaz mumbled, typing the name into a search and scanning the results. “Can’t be too many of those around…”

He sent a text back to Nathan. Do you have a phone number?

No, but I can get it. Five minutes.

“This is taking too long,” Noah said, pacing across the living room. “Khaz, we have to do something.”

Noah didn’t remember who he was, what he was, and that was a good thing. If he’d still identified himself as a rebel, there’d be no way to keep him back. Slave or not, vampire or not, there was no way he’d let the werewolves hurt a human without consequences.

Khaz swallowed. He wasn’t willing to risk Noah for the sake of a human, but he knew better than to say that aloud. Noah might not have remembered who he was, but he still had the same priorities.

It was enough to send a pang through him.

In three minutes, Khaz had the phone number.

“Well?” Noah asked. “Come on, Khaz.”

Impatience dripped from his childe’s voice, making him just as anxious as the younger vampire. “I’m working on it,” he said. “As fast as I can. I’m sending a message to Dorsey now.”

“Sending a message?” Noah asked, incredulous, as he stopped pacing and outright stared at Khaz. “You aren’t going to at least call?”

“It’s dangerous enough to send a text,” Khaz said, typing out the message — the address to Bound, and nothing more. He could get away with sending the address to someone’s phone even if they were picked up as a traitor, and he had a feeling Reese was going to be that and more after he realized what had happened to his human.

Then again, it was possible Reese had already thrown him away, to hell with the consequences. There was only so much Khaz could do without putting him and Noah at risk, which wasn’t something he was willing to do — even if he could see Ashton’s eyes, even if they already haunted him, even if he wished there was something he could do.

But five werewolves against one fledgling and a vampire who was hardly combat-trained? It would be a disaster.

Not to mention, Mays would surely go back on their deal, and he couldn’t afford to put Noah at risk again…

Noah wouldn’t understand it because he didn’t know how high the stakes were. He didn’t know that Khaz was offering himself to Mays, over and over again, just to keep his childe free. He didn’t know who he was or why that was so important. He didn’t know just how much was riding on staying under the radar.

Khaz felt guilty as fuck, and sorry for the human to boot, but it wasn’t enough for him to risk Noah. If he tried to rescue every human who came through Bound, he’d be labeled a sympathizer or worse. What made this one so different? He’d walked past similar scenes in the past, but none of them had affected him the way this one had.

None of them had begged Khaz to help.

He’d always been willing to avert his eyes, but there was something about being around Noah that made that ten times harder.

“Well? Did you get a response back?” Noah pressed.

Khaz hated seeing his childe so agitated, but calm as he was on the outside, he was just as rattled. “Not yet,” he said. “We may not get one. Noah, I don’t even know if his werewolf still… has him.”

“You should’ve called,” Noah muttered.

“Noah, I can’t,” Khaz said, but he knew he couldn’t exactly explain why he couldn’t… which made it harder for him to talk to Noah about it.

“And what if he doesn’t do anything? What if he can’t?” Noah asked, pleaded with him.

Khaz was terrified that this was going to make Noah remember — passionate as he was, guilty as they both felt, and under the blade as they were — and he didn’t know what to do about it.

“We just have to believe he will.” Khaz hated how fragile his own voice sounded, but he had to count on the werewolf showing up and getting the others to fucking stop. He patted the seat on the couch beside him. “Come here, Noah.”

Noah glanced again at the door, yearningly, and he seemed about to take a step in that direction. Instead, he sighed, moving to sit down beside Khaz. “I know there’s probably nothing I can do,” he said softly. “But I feel like I need to try. I know I should try. I don’t know if I can take on five werewolves, but I can try.”

“And you’ll get killed,” Khaz said, turning and clinging to Noah — terrified his childe would insist on going anyway. “If the ‘wolves don’t kill you, the Enforcers will. You can’t defend a human against supes. You just can’t.”

“That’s so fucked up,” Noah said, relaxing as Khaz’s touch smoothed along bare skin. He might not have realized he was being dosed within an inch of his life — thank fuck — but Khaz ruthlessly used his gift to make sure Noah didn’t want to be anywhere but beside him.

It wasn’t playing fair, but then, the idea of losing his childe…

It sent shockwaves of panic through him, and he couldn’t stand it. Bad enough that Elias Ivers was taking interest in his childe without worrying about him running off to an almost certain death.

Mays hadn’t gotten to where he was by being a fluffy bunny, and he was sure the other werewolves were more than capable of defending themselves.

Khaz felt bad not warning Reese what he would be up against — assuming he did anything at all — but he couldn’t risk anything more.

He did what he had to do, and he’d done what he could do, and that would have to be enough.

He had to hope that Reese could do what he and Noah couldn’t.

He had to believe he would.

The post Missing Scene: Khaz/Noah during Owned/Temper first appeared on R. Phoenix & Raissa Donovan.

The post Brother Mine Release! first appeared on R. Phoenix & Raissa Donovan.

There are several excellent stories brought to you by this year’s Rainbow Advent Calendar! Check out the group on Facebook or the master list to get links to all of them.

My offering features Cammy and Daddy from Gilded Cages. This is a prequel story set on Christmas Eve of their first Christmas together (approximately 4 years prior to GC). You do not need to have read GC first. Contains age play & daddy kink.

Open Cages

“It’s time to wake up, baby boy.”

I close my eyes even more tightly, trying not to let on that I’m already awake. I keep hoping that this is a dream, that I’ll wake up…

Somewhere. Somewhere that isn’t here, somewhere that isn’t home.

“I know you’re awake, Cammy.” His voice is soft, and I think he means for it to be soothing. All it does is cause my anxiety to rise all over again. “C’mon. Open your beautiful eyes for Daddy.”

He’s not my Daddy. I don’t have a Daddy, and I never have.

I have a father, and he doesn’t even like me very much. He never has, and now that I’ve run away…

I swallow hard around the lump in my throat.

I’ll be beyond salvation for sure now.

“Cammy, it’s okay. It’s really okay, baby boy. Today is a good day, remember? It’s Christmas Eve. We’re going to cheat a little and make cookies. But you have to get up. Only good boys get to have cookies.”

Christmas Eve.

How could I have forgotten? The entire house is decorated, right down to a beautiful tree he had delivered, right when I was down the hall gagged and bound in a crib. They’d come and gone, and all I’d been able to do was cry.

Would I have screamed anyway? I’d come here because I’d wanted to. He’d invited me, and I…

I just hadn’t known what would happen.

“We’re starting small. All you have to do is open your eyes for me. That’s all. Can you do that for me?”

What’s the point of resisting? One way or another, I’ll end up opening my eyes. I do, and I stare into his. 

He smiles. “There we go. It’s time to eat some lunch before we start making some sweets for my sweet boy.”

Lunch. 

He’ll feed me baby food again, then he’ll give me another bottle. I haven’t had solid food since I was recovering from surgery, back when he still called me Camden — back when I wasn’t wearing diapers and didn’t sleep in a crib.

I close my eyes again, but it’s too late. He slides the side of the crib down, scoops me up into his strong arms, and carries me out of the room. 

He sets me in the high chair, fussing over the straps that criss cross against my chest. I want to try to unfasten it, to try to slip from the chair and flee what should’ve been my rescuer. I like to think I would, too, if it wasn’t for the mittens keeping my hands balled up into fists. 

I don’t know if I really would.

He slides the tray into place in front of me, and I’m left sitting helpless in an oversized high chair. I watch him as he moves around the kitchen now that I’m bound in place where he wants me. 

Just like I expected, he gets two jars of baby food out, then scoops some powder into a bottle, adds milk to it, and shakes it. Vitamins, he told me the first time he prepared the bottle in front of me. I have to take his word for it, just like I have to take his word about so many things.

His hands are gentle as he unfastens the gag from around the back of my head, but I’m too afraid to spit the pacifier out of my mouth until he tells me I can. He smiles after a pause, his hand stroking my hair while he says, “Good boy. I’ll take your paci out for you, baby.” He carefully plucks it from my mouth, and I heave a sigh of relief. 

I don’t speak, though. 

“You’re being so good, Cammy,” he says warmly. “Just eat and drink well for Daddy, and you can be a big boy this afternoon. I got all sorts of cookie cutters and sprinkles and icing for my boy.” 

I can’t remember ever making cookies with anyone, least of all using cookie cutters and making a mess with sprinkles. “What if I make a mess?” I blurt out.

He gives me a chastising look, but he answers while he opens the first jar of baby food, “Then Daddy will clean it up.” 

“Just like that?”

The way I press must have him considering the questions more carefully, because this time, he doesn’t give me a look. “Little boys make messes, Cammy,” he says gently. “That’s what Daddies are for — to love their boys and to take care of them, which sometimes means cleaning up after them.”

There’s a horrible lump in my throat. Why couldn’t my father have ever felt that way about me? Why is it a man who seems determined to make a child of me the one who wants to reassure me? 

He smooths his fingers through my hair. “I know it’s hard to accept, baby boy, but I want to give you everything you want.”

“I want to be an adult,” I say. My parents never let me have that sort of freedom, and now that I’ve run away, it seems like this man isn’t going to let me have it either. 

“An adult,” he repeats, shaking his head. “Adults have all sorts of problems, Cammy. They have to deal with jobs and bills. Would you rather work paycheck to paycheck? Drown in student loans? You can have everything here, without any of the stress.”

“What if I want the stress?” I ask him, blinking back tears. 

“If you’d ever dealt with it before, you’d know you don’t,” he chides me. “But that’s adult conversation, and that’s not the kind of conversation Daddy wants to have with his baby boy.” 

He dips the spoon into the jar of baby food and holds it out to me. 

I reach for the spoon without thinking about it, only to catch sight of the blue mittens holding my fingers closed. I exhale slowly, feeling his eyes on me, and I lower my hand back to my side. 

“Open up for Daddy,” he coaxes me, lightly pressing the spoon against my lips and smearing some of the baby food on them.

Reluctantly, I open my mouth. The peaches aren’t bad. Really, none of the baby food has been bad. The first time, I expected it to taste awful, but I guess people don’t want to feed their babies slop.

Better for me that way, that’s for sure.

He feeds me then nudges the nipple of the bottle into my mouth. I don’t want to suck on it, but he’s giving me this calm, too patient look that tells me there’s no winning this battle. One way or another, I’m going to lose.

Fighting back a sob, I drink.

When the bottle’s finally empty, he clears the tray. “There we go. Now, I have the best sugar cookie recipe… Do you like sugar cookies, Cammy? I also got chocolate chips in case you prefer those.”

I stare at him. How can he go from feeding me from a bottle to asking what my cookie preference is? 

“Well, we can always make both,” he says, unperturbed by my silence. “But Santa has to have his cookies, doesn’t he?”

“Santa isn’t real,” I mumble.

He arches a brow. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”

“He isn’t!” I insist. 

“You’re going to earn yourself a spanking if you keep telling lies, Cammy,” he warns me, but I’m having a hard time caring. This is ridiculous, all of it, and I want to break down. Does he really think baking cookies is going to bring me around? “And if you aren’t a good boy, Santa won’t bring you presents.” 

Presents.

What kind of presents does he have in mind? More onesies? More diapers? Stuffed animals? 

That’s when I realize I don’t know what I’d ask for. My family has never been the type to tolerate wish lists. I got what I got, and I was grateful for it. The idea of being ungrateful for gifts doesn’t sit well with me, but at the same time, these aren’t gifts for me. They’re going to be gifts for who he wants me to be.

They’ll be gifts meant to turn me into what he wants me to be.

It’s a horrible realization.

“Now, let’s try this again,” he says, watching my expression. “What kind of cookies do you want to leave out for Santa, baby boy?” 

I slump in the high chair. “Chocolate chip.”

“Good!” He lights up, his face flushed with pleasure like I just did something truly remarkable. “See? I knew you could do it.” 

It was a simple choice, but he’s treating it like it was earth-shattering. 

“We’re going to make cookies from scratch,” he says. He pulls out his phone, checking it before shoving it back into his pocket, and I freeze. I want to get my hands on it. I want to be able to call for help.

Just as quickly as the urge seizes me, I can’t help but make a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sob. How would I call, given the mittens on my hands? 

Who would I call?

He comes to me, touching my cheek. “It’s okay,” he tells me softly. “You’re thinking too much, Cammy. Just let yourself relax. You don’t have to make any big decisions, you don’t have any major responsibilities. Your biggest worry is whether you’re going to leave Santa chocolate chip or sugar cookies, and you’ve already decided. So you see? There’s nothing to worry about.”

If only it was that easy.

“Now, as much as I’d like to make these from scratch, I’m not a baker,” he admits. “So I got some cookie dough for us to roll out and shape.” He gets a basket from on top of the fridge, bringing it over to me. He rummages through and shows me a plastic cookie cutter of a gingerbread man, then holds up a bottle of sprinkles. “See? I told you I got you sprinkles.”

He returns to the table, setting it down.

“If you promise to be a very good boy and not try to scratch Daddy, I’ll take those mittens off for a little while,” he tells me. 

It’s more freedom than I’ve had since he first diapered me, and I can’t help but crave it. I nod, and I feel like I’ve just set something in stone. I was taught not to lie, and I was taught not to go back on my word. I should be fine with doing either to this man, but it’s so deeply ingrained in me that I know I won’t.

“Good,” he says. He goes to the refrigerator and pulls out two rolls of dough, bringing them over and setting them next to the basket. 

After he has everything arranged to his liking, he unties the mittens from around my wrists and pulls them off.

I breathe a sigh of relief as I stretch my fingers, staring at them like they’re entirely new. The ability to use my hands is something I’ve taken for granted, but not anymore. Never again.

“Do you want to sit at the table like a big boy?” he asks. 

I nod again.

He shakes his head. “No. Tell me.”

“I want to sit at the table.”

“Tell me properly,” he prompts.

I close my eyes. I know what he wants, but I know every time I say it, it’ll drill it deeper into my subconscious. “Daddy,” I whisper. “Can I please sit at the table?”

His face lights up with his smile. It’s such a simple thing. He’s so easily pleased, but the flip side of that is that he gets stern just as easily. I don’t know how he can flip the switch the way he does, but it makes me uneasy.

“Yes, Cammy.” He pulls the tray back from the high chair and sets it aside, unstrapping me from the seat and helping me out. He settles me into a chair right in front of the cookie dough. “What do you think? Should we start with the sugar cookies?” 

It doesn’t matter which ones we start with, but I nod. 

He lays out a sheet of parchment paper and cuts a slice from the roll of sugar cookie dough, setting it in front of me. “Here we go,” he says. “Which cookie cutter do you want first?”

The whole situation is bizarre, but I pick the gingerbread man he’d shown he earlier. I cut out the cookie and set it on the nearby baking tray, and he smiles at me. 

I make Santa hats and ornaments, elves and more gingerbread men, and by the time we’ve gone through all the dough, I’m smiling despite myself. I didn’t think it would be… fun, but it is. 

As soon as I realize it, though, I frown again. There shouldn’t be anything enjoyable about this… but I can’t escape the fact that there is.

He doesn’t seem to notice my shift in moods. He gets up, putting the first tray of cookies into the oven. The timer chimes as he enters the time, then he comes back to me with a smile. “Now for the chocolate chip ones.”

I cut those out too, and by the time I’m done, the timer is beeping.

He trades them out. “There we go. Now we just have to wait for them to cool, and we can decorate them.”

“We?” I ask despite myself. I’ve been quiet while I’ve decorated, but that surprises me enough to ask about.

He studies me. “Is that all right? I thought we’d do this together, baby boy.”

I nod slowly, but I’m still surprised. He spends so much time with me, and I don’t know what to think of it. I keep expecting for him to turn this physical, and there’s a part of me that wonders how I’d respond if he tried to kiss me again. 

Will he even try, considering he’s got me all dolled up this way? He keeps telling me that this has nothing to do with children, but he has me dressed like one. He hasn’t made a move, though, and I’ve started to think he’s going to keep his word.

It’s a dangerous slope to be on, because it means I’m starting to trust him. I don’t want to trust him. 

He sets out the sprinkles and icing while we wait for the sugar cookies to finish cooling, having a one-sided conversation about how he thinks he’ll decorate his part. It’s soothing in a way, and by the time he brings back the cooled cookies on a plate, I’m relaxed.

“What does the gingerbread man put on his bed?” he asks me as he starts to carefully line his with icing. 

I blink at him. “I don’t know.”

“A cookie sheet.” The answer startles a laugh out of me, and he smiles. “I have more of those,” he says.

In that moment, I feel closer to him than I have anyone in my life, and I don’t know why. The shared humor is just so new to me, and I don’t understand how, despite everything, I can still laugh. 

“Cookie sheets or bad jokes?” I ask, shyly. I half-expect him to backhand me for the question, but he only chuckles.

“Both. I bought cookie sheets just for today. Just for you.” 

I don’t know how I feel about that. The care he takes with me is still so foreign, and I’m not used to it. 

“Why do you have to do this? Why can’t we just be… friends?” I ask.

He sighs. The mood instantly sobers, and I’m mentally kicking myself. “Cammy… Can you just accept this for one night and one day? Please? Can we get through Christmas without you doubting me? Just… accept it.”

“I don’t know,” I tell him. 

“You were having so much fun with the cookies. Then you started overthinking. You don’t need to overthink, baby boy. Just let me take care of you.” 

It feels like so much for him to ask, yet I know he doesn’t think it’s much at all. 

It is.

It’s everything.

“Let’s finish decorating,” he urges me. “Then we can watch some Christmas movies and cuddle on the couch. I’m not expecting anything from you, Cammy. Just for you to relax and enjoy yourself.” 

Usually I’d be in church, on both Christmas Eve and Christmas morning. I wouldn’t be making cookies, preparing to watch movies — least of all cuddling. It’s like touch will pass on some horrible disease in my family, and it’s been one of those things that I’ve started to crave. I don’t want to admit it, and I’d never tell this man, but it’s something I need.

“All right,” I agree in a small voice.

We finish decorating the cookies, and by the end of it, I’m even smiling again. 

“Pick two for Santa,” he says. 

This time, I don’t argue. I choose a Santa face that I messily decorated despite my every effort to keep it clean and neat, then I pick out his pristine reindeer. He sets those two on a plate and covers it with plastic wrap, setting it aside before putting the rest of them in a tin. 

He cleans the kitchen quickly and efficiently, and I watch him. He doesn’t seem concerned that I’m going to get up and try to run — and he’s right. Where would I go? When he picks me up, I lean against him, trying to take his advice and just let go.

I don’t know if I can.

But I think I’m willing to try.

The End… for now

Enjoyed this short? Please leave a comment below. If you haven’t read Gilded Cages, it follows the introduction of a “puppy” to their dynamic about 4 years later. Tarnished Cages, the sequel to GC, is expected to be out in mid-to-late January! Subscribe to my newsletter or join my Facebook group for more updates.

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THE HISTORY

Three years ago, I was writing the most important book I’ve ever published. I spent hours working on it — writing, editing, getting input from beta readers… having panic attacks, nightmares, suicidal thoughts, Borderline Personality Disorder induced “episodes,” and feeling complete and utter despair. I didn’t understand why it was so hard to write a book. Sure, it was based on a relationship I’d had in the past, but it had been a decade before. The pain had to have passed enough for me to get through this in one piece, right?

But it hadn’t, and every day was a new nightmare. I woke up wanting to go back to sleep. Instead, I got up and braced myself for the day. I took care of our then four-year-old son, I did classwork for two online graduate-level classes, I took care of ducks, rabbits, and quail as well as our garden including getting 50 pound bags of feed for them and carrying those around, I made sure dinner was ready when my husband got home and even brought his plate to him, I did laundry and dishes, I did everything involved with the house, I was responsible for running errands (including picking up his liquor), I wrote for myself and edited for someone else, and I tried to keep myself sane by doing role play writing. All through that, I was taking long naps and fighting off panic attacks every time I had to leave the house.

I was, to put it nicely, miserable.

All the while, I thought the problem was that I was writing about a decade-old abusive relationship I’d been in back in high school/college. It had been physical and emotional, and it had left scars that I’d finally been pretty sure had healed. Writing the book, I suddenly wasn’t sure anymore. It got so hard to write, and in the meantime, my personal life continued to deteriorate.

My husband’s moods grew more and more erratic, he lost his temper over the smallest of things… and then there was the night of the election, which was the beginning of the end for me. I was heartsick and desperate when Hillary Clinton started to lose, and I was talking to people who understood how I felt. After many bitter arguments with J about politics and how I thought it was problematic that he didn’t care who would be leading our country, I didn’t talk to him about it until I got a flashback of a night when I’d been sexually assaulted. The memory I’d kept blocked out for so long came rearing its ugly head when I realized someone who had abused women might be the leader of our country.

I cried to him, and for once, I thought he understood. But as the night went on and I got more and more upset, we started to fight. That was nothing new. We fought all the time. But what was new was that he went outside and unhooked the line to the cable — to the internet, TV, and phone. (He’s a cable technician.) Our son was watching the iPad and trying to stay out of the chaos, and I was using the internet to stay even remotely sane.

When I confronted him about it, he told me he’d done it for my own good. I was getting too worked up, he said, and watching the election results was making it worse. We fought, more bitterly than we had in a while — which was saying something — and I told him I was leaving for the umpteenth time.

I went through the bedroom into the bathroom, pulling out a suitcase from the closet and starting to pack. He followed me, demanding to know what I was doing. Hysterical, I was shoving things in a bag even though I didn’t know where I was going to go and didn’t know what I was going to do because I had nothing. No money of my own, no job of my own, nothing. But in that moment, I didn’t care.

Then he blocked me in the bathroom and refused to let me out. He’s a big guy, and I’m small, and there was no way I was getting past him. He told me he’d move if I would just listen to him and calm down, that he’d let me leave if I still wanted to after I’d calmed down. This time, instead of letting him talk me down, I demanded that he move. This time, I didn’t back down. I told him I was going to call 9-1-1 if he didn’t move, and he dared me to.

He. Dared. Me. To.

For the first time ever, I did it. I got my cell phone out, called, hysterical, and all I could see was how calm and put together he was and how frantic I was… and about what? That my husband wouldn’t let me out of the bathroom? How stupid did that sound? I told the person on the other end of the line that it was nothing and hung up. I let J talk me down. He told me he’d show me how to reconnect the cable in case he ever did it again.

I seized upon the little things, the way he apologized and tried to make amends. I was uneasy about the “in case he did it again” because I knew the next time, he could just cut the cord instead of just unscrewing it. Meanwhile, my best friend was frantic because she knew we were fighting and she couldn’t get hold of me. She’d tell me later she’d have called 9-1-1 if she’d had my address (even from outside the country, however she had to do it), but that’s the thing about the internet, isn’t it?

That night, I should’ve left. I didn’t.

That’s where I was in November 2016.

I defended his behavior, dismissed it, and I minimized my own reactions. I didn’t even tell my therapist what had happened. I, for all intents and purposes, forgot it happened because I didn’t want to think about it. Never mind that he’d grown increasingly violent toward our surroundings, in front of our son, and more. He never hit me.

What he did do, in some ways, was worse. He held me down and refused to let me go. He wouldn’t let me pass when I needed to get by him. He’d grab me and hold me to him. He pushed me down and hushed me when I panicked instead of getting off of me. He took advantage of me, he hyper-sexualized me in front of our son. He called me names a four-year-old should never have heard his mother called. He touched me when I told him not to.

The word “no,” in our house, meant nothing.

The part that’s the hardest for me to admit is that he’d grab our son and hold him down, too. He’d “hug” him and refuse to let go, saying that was the only way he could get either of us to go near him and touch him — and no wonder. Our son didn’t even want to go home when his dad was there. He stayed by me and didn’t want anything to do with his dad. And I was too damn afraid to do anything. I tried to tell J to stop, but he never listened. I’d stand outside of our bedroom and sob because my son was screaming for me to help him. Three years later, I’m still ashamed and devastated because I didn’t do anything — because I didn’t know what to do. Was I supposed to call the police and tell them my husband wouldn’t stop hugging our child? What the hell was I going to say?

I’d tried to leave so many times, but J wouldn’t let me. He’d hide my keys, get in front of the door, talk to me until I was sure I was crazy, and tell me he wouldn’t be there when I got back. Over and over, I let myself be manipulated and forced to stay. The few friends I had who understood what was going on at home urged me to leave, but I didn’t know why I should. What was really wrong? He worked, he got a bit pissy, he had high expectations for me because he thought I could reach them (of course), and it only made sense that I took care of the house and our son while he did the hard work.

I’m open about all of these things, and I’ve told my story more than once. This is the first time I’ve really talked about the month leading up to my departure. Usually I talk about what finally got me to leave, but that’s another story.

That was November. I’ve written about December before, and I’ll probably write about it again, especially because this time of year is so hard for me and I have a lot to work through even now.

But for now… I want to skip ahead, because I’m still hurting. You see, I’ve had my ups and downs, but come January, I’ll have been gone for 3 years… and this book is a large part of why I left. Rereading it after I published it forced me to really look in the mirror and see that if it was so wrong for Tate to treat Skylar how he did, then it wasn’t okay for my own husband to treat me like he did. The situations weren’t exactly the same, but they were close enough. The book released at the end of December 2016. I left in the first few days of January.

THE AUDIO

It took me a long time to decide to put Too Close into audio. This book was hard for me to write, and the experiences were hard to live through. I was still uncertain about what parts were “really” abuse, were “really” domestic violence. After all, he never hit me. (Just held me down, shoved me against the wall, got on top of me and refused to move, touched me where I didn’t want to be touched and wouldn’t stop when I told him to, guilt-tripped me into sex and got angry if I refused, hit the wall around me, kicked things around when I made mistakes, slammed doors but threatened to take them off their hinges if I did the same… but he never hit me. So it wasn’t abuse, right?)

I listened to so many narrators, and not one of them seemed right. Then I was listening to TJ Klune’s Lightning-Struck Heart, and Michael Lesley’s voice just struck me as perfect for Skylar. I knew without a doubt that was who I wanted — someone who could narrate humor as well as drama, someone who could capture the essence of a book as well as the written words, someone who could truly perform instead of reading the words on a page. I contacted him, but the time wasn’t right for a long time.

It took another year for the stars to really align enough for us to get started on it. This wasn’t going to be an easy project, and we discovered that pretty quickly. This book was so close to my heart — some might say too close (yes, Skylar comes by his puns honestly) — that it needed to be perfect. This was something difficult for both of us, and we’ve spent the past few months communicating and working to make this meet both my vision and his.

When I got the final draft of the audio, I was terrified. I knew I’d have to listen to this book. I’d have to hear my own words and remember things I often want to forget. It was separate enough to be possible, but it was close enough to be difficult. I had a panic attack when I saw that the button had been pushed for final review and that it was ready for me.

I wasn’t ready for it.

But if I didn’t do it, I’d put it off forever, so I started to listen. It’s only about 5 1/2 hours long, but it took me about three days to listen to because I had to take such frequent breaks. Sometimes it was a couple pages, sometimes it was a couple paragraphs. Sometimes, I could only listen to a few sentences before I needed to stop and take a deep breath. I slept, and I took my anxiety medication as prescribed (I have a love-hate relationship with my anxiety meds, and I usually take them as little as possible).

I got next to nothing else done because this book got back inside my head and brought me back to a place I’ve been gone from for so long. See, leaving my husband didn’t instantly bring things to an end. It’s been a long, hard journey. It took a full year and a half to be able to get a divorce, for example, and we still haven’t sold our house even though that was court-ordered to be done months ago. We have to share custody of our son despite the things he did before and after I left — but again, another story for another day.

When I was finally done listening to this book, I breathed the biggest sigh of relief and sent off the minor corrections to Michael. Then it was time to wait again, but it wasn’t the same this time. This time, it was tense and hard because I knew it was really coming. It’s going to be out there in the world, and it’s going to be just as hard as it was the first time I released it. Three years after its release, Too Close will go from ebook, paperback, and Italian translation to audio. (It’s also due out in French, but it’s been pushed back.)

Tonight, I hit the final approval button, and I’m sitting here not sure how I feel. Sad, relieved, terrified… excited, because the audiobook means I can reach new readers who may need to hear Skylar’s story. I couldn’t possibly have found a better narrator than Michael. I just can’t even emphasize how much he brought to the table.

I expected something amazing after hearing his other recordings. I came away with something extraordinary, something that made me laugh and cry right alongside the characters — and hopefully the readers/listeners are just as affected because it means we really did do our job like we should have.

Now I’m just sort of rambling, but at the end of the day, I want to say thank you. To everyone who’s read the book, to everyone who’s reviewed it, to everyone who’s spoken to me about it… to everyone who reached out to me because of Skylar’s story and told me their own. There have been times when I’ve wondered just what I was thinking by writing and releasing this book, but every time someone thanked me for it, it only reinforced how important this was.

In a few short weeks, the audiobook will be out there for the world to listen to. My terror will rise again, and I’ll have left my heart in your hands. Until then, I wait, and I breathe, and I remind myself that writing this book saved my life.

It only stands to reason that the audio will unlock the door to another phase helping me move forward even more.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

Love,
Raissa

Too Close can be found in English in ebook and paperback as well as Italian. It will soon be available in French and audiobook.

Skylar Orion’s life has been complicated ever since his mother abandoned him and his sister Evie. Making ends meet seemed impossible until Tate Chandler took them in — his knight in shining armor who promised to make life about more than just surviving. But Tate is not the man he seemed to be, and even his whispered I love yous and generous gifts do little to soothe the pain he causes. Knowing he can’t give his sister all that she deserves without Tate, Skylar stays with him, relying on bad puns and a worse sense of humor to keep up the charade.

He will do anything for his sister, even if that means acting the responsible adult and going back to his old high school to meet Dexter Weston, the hot math teacher who can make even algebra interesting. Sparks fly between the two of them, but with his dependence on Tate, Skylar isn’t free to follow his heart. He wants what is best for Evie, but can he pass up the chance to find love that heals instead of harms?

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I’m going to TRY to keep up with my blog feed more, but I make no promises.

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