Who Is The Author Of 'I Do What I Do'?

It's a coalition of parallel worlds trying to survive a new and uncertain phase called marriage. It's the hurting, The loving, It's the sex, The secrets, It's the moment they said I DO. *** Marrying a billionaire and going from rags to riches wasn't at all what Dawn had foretold for herself but when the former becomes the latter, she finds herself sharing vows with a retired fuckboy who has quite the reputation in slutry. However, as time progresses, the newlyweds both realize that; it isn't what happens on the outset that matters, it's the rest of the other days when you have to live in a whole new world called marriage—where sometimes the steamy sex and miscellaneous extravaganzas aren't enough to keep the secrets at bay.

Contains strong language: My parents died, my sister died, my brothers left, and I was left to a man who thought we were pawns in his play. You know the type of people who say "it gets better" they're lying to you, because it just keeps getting worse. How the hell did I end up in a gang? Well, this is that story

“Get on your fucking knees.” Ivy came home broke, bitter, and full of secrets. She never expected her quiet, powerful stepfather to look at her like that. Or speak to her like this. Dominic has rules—strict ones. Eat at the table. Dress right. Don’t talk back. But Ivy? She breaks every rule... just to see how far he’ll go. What starts as heat turns into obsession. And once he claims her, he won’t let go. Dark. Dirty. Addictive. He’s twice her age. She’s off-limits. But some sins feel too good to stop.

My name is Gabriel Wilson, and my sister is Isabelle Wilson. Growing up, Dad runs our house by making an example out of me. In elementary school, whenever Isabelle misses a single math problem on her homework, Dad forces me to write it out a hundred times. I scribble until my fingers cramp into a knot and I can barely grip the pen, which terrifies Isabelle so much that she stops making careless mistakes altogether. During middle school, Isabelle uses her allowance to buy a ten-dollar bag of snacks for a boy she likes, and the moment Dad finds out, he slashes my monthly allowance from 1,200 dollars down to a measly 200 dollars. For the next month, I survive entirely on cheap, stale bread until I'm rushed to the ER for throwing up bile. Even so, Dad only relents when Isabelle breaks down in tears and promises never to waste another dime. When college rolls around, Isabelle insists on applying to the police academy. Dad tries to talk her out of it, but when he realizes she won't budge, he tells her, "You want to be a cop? Fine. Let me show you what real cops actually have to deal with." He wipes my social security number from the system, stages my disappearance to look like a kidnapping, and dumps me right in the middle of a serial killer's hunting ground. I spend days confined in an abandoned cabin, calling for help until my voice goes hoarse. Blood begins to pool beneath my feet as the serial killer slices my skin with a rusted blade. Back home, Isabelle frantically begs Dad for my tracker. "Dad, please!" she screams. "Just tell me where Gabriel is! I won't join the police force, okay? I'll drop the whole thing!" Even though I'm just on the other side of the wall from them, I can no longer make a sound. My soul drifts in midair as I watch Isabelle collapse onto the floor in despair, sobbing. Dad, I'm done letting you make an example out of me.

These are stories of true romance and touching emotion. I believe those two very important ingredients are constants in my highly sensual and very believable stories. My goal is to give you readers stories of high quality that may sometimes make you laugh, sometimes make you cry, but are always fresh and creative and contain many delightful surprises within their pages.

My husband was like a broken record. His answer was always the same. "I can't leave." On our wedding anniversary, he said he couldn't leave because he had to take Natalie Rivers out and cheer her up. When I miscarried, he couldn't leave because he had to take Natalie to therapy. Even when my mother died, he still gave me the same answer. "I really can't leave. Natalie's depression has come back, and she can't be alone." Still weak after my miscarriage, I kept vigil alone for three days. That was when I finally understood. To him, neither our baby's life nor my mother's life mattered. My relatives were shocked to see me handling everything alone. "Josh really isn't coming?" After saying my final goodbye to my mother, I stood up and answered calmly. "No. He doesn't have that obligation anymore."