The storm arrived right on schedule.
Outside, the rain lashes against the glass in steady waves, thunder rolling low across the afternoon. England has a way of staging drama, doesn’t it? But I’m not complaining. There’s something delicious about being tucked away inside while the weather throws its tantrum—candle lit, coffee steaming, silk against skin. I’ve slipped into something comfortable, something soft and black, and returned to my rightful place: behind the laptop, plotting sin.
After my extended break, I can finally say I feel… full again. Recharged. Grounded in decadence. There’s no substitute for time away, for letting the mind wander, for being reminded of all the pleasures that exist outside a screen. But there’s also no replacing this—the control, the creativity, the exquisite joy of writing stories that make men ache, stroke, and spend.
To those of you who stepped up during my absence—thank you. Your tributes landed. Your gifts were unwrapped with care. Some of you even impressed me. That’s no small feat. And yes, I noticed. I always notice. Those indulgences didn’t go to waste—they’ve been fuelling something new. Something darker. Something entirely mine.
And to the ones who stayed quiet? Let’s be honest: you need to do better. The world doesn’t stop when I take a break, but your place in it becomes very uncertain when you fail to show up. Obedience is measured in absence as well as presence. And silence? Silence is cheap.
Now that I’m home, the rules are simple. I write. You send. I indulge. You ache. And if you’re lucky, you’ll get the chance to see what I’ve been working on. Or even better—you’ll become part of it.
Because when the storm clears, I’ll be releasing something new. And it won’t be for everyone. Only those who’ve earned it.
So tell me… did you?