I don’t usually write incest.

It’s not that I have any big qualms about the genre, it’s just that incest isn’t one of the kinks I’m wired for—maybe because I’m a straight girl with no close male family members, so I’ve never experienced the fear or thrill at the thought of crossing that line.

But I know it’s a very popular area of erotica, and I understand why: it’s one of the most dangerous kinds of sex imaginable. It’s horribly transgressive. A violation of the laws of nature and society.

And that I can appreciate.

So, I challenged myself to write an incest story. And, as soon as I put my characters into a situation where I genuinely believed they would do the things they do, I discovered, to my surprise, how much this story is like the stories I’m most often compelled to write.

Lost is more than hot brother-on-sister action, or hot dad-on-daughter action, or hot dad-on-son action (I’m not saying which happens in the story—I have to keep you guessing, right?). It’s also a story of desperate, hungry love coming to fruition against all odds, of people giving in to love, even when they think they’re unworthy of it, of love saving people who thought they were forever lost to that joy.