Vol.1 London Brown

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Desire (LONDON BROWN #1)

The whore caters to her clients every desires.Their wants become her own. Not this time. Not this client…

 A London socialite, a daughter’s infamous alter-ego, the whore has but one desire to escape a haunting past, only to find herself face to face with the man that can bring down the carefully crafted world around her.

Back with a single burning desire, the politician wages battle to reclaim the woman he loves, but failed once before. He lures her under the guise of a john to know once and for all if they can never be.


“I thought I’d have to spend my entire life wondering what touching you would be like. If you are amenable to the encounter, I won’t have to.”

Did he believe I would falter? Worse, that I’d be flattered? Someone had told him about what I do. His father would be one of many with something to gain from revealing my secret. But not the only one…

“I don’t see why not, given you’ve paid handsomely for the privilege.” With my index finger, I traced his pursed lips.

No change in his expression, which only told me he didn’t like the pile of shit he’d stepped into. If he was going to stand here and act like this was about sex, did he really think that I should treat this any differently? He’d get what he paid for.

His stare never left mine. “We both know you want not.”

“That is where you are wrong. All I am is want.” I turned my head toward the ornate timepiece on the wall and stared. “And your meter is running.”

He released me. Not surprising. “Money isn’t an issue.”

The Carrington holding mirrored my own family’s wealth. “But time is.”

“Ah, yes. The matter of two and a half hours.” He searched my eyes.

More than he needed for a sexual encounter. I always allotted two and a half hours the first time with a new client, and most needed much less. It allowed time to feel each other out and see if we wanted to proceed. Even for those clients that required pillow talk, there was usually time left on the meter.

“You never seemed the type who needed to pay for sex.” So why was he paying for me?

“I want the pleasure of you, and you are only available to me in this manner.” He slid out a chair for me. I, in turn, sat. Textured fabric brushed my outer labia. I could only hope I didn’t cream a wet spot. After he sat next to me, he filled my glass then his own. “So I’m getting what I want by whatever means it is available to me.”


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The whore cedes to no one. But just this once to the lesser of two threats won’t change everything…right.

She plays an unlikely role when she cedes to his demand of her. Nothing will ever be the same after she cedes to him.

If not the one he loves, the politician will take the next best thing the one opening herself to him. The mirror image.


The door shut behind me. “You are not very good at this. The same hotel twice, and creating situations where, together, we interact with staff. I’m getting the impression you want a scandal.”

Some, like Des for example, couldn’t live with secrets. I hardly remembered a time when I wasn’t hiding something from everyone.

“Your coat…” He held out his hand.

I smirked. Men amused me. I undid the buttons and belt, slid the sleeves off, and placed the material in his hand. The location of our last such encounter had been much colder than this suite. And yet, my nipples hardened anyway.

Lavish colours and French furnishings brought the space to life.

“I thought we could have dinner.” He motioned me to the adjacent room while he made his way to the closet.

Wining and dining me was pointless. I always put out. “Am I on the menu?” Dutifully, I headed to the adjoining room.

“Dessert, of course.” He entered.

At this point, I hadn’t decided whether I liked this game or not. He’d requested me, and it didn’t appear that sex was the purpose. Dinner lay spread on the table. Set for two. This evening’s offering consisted of surf and turf. Would sex be served on the table this evening as well? I never enjoyed fucking on a full stomach. Men seemed to. Why eluded me.

He pulled out a chair for me next to the head of the table. In all my nude glory, I took my seat in the Louis the XIV inspired chair. He sat at the head of the table.

“What game are we playing?” Men liked to assert their control by spinning a woman’s head round and round. I didn’t care enough to be sucked into the mind-fuck whirlwind. Des had already travelled that road with him. Athens, Greece would forever haunt her.

“I should ask you the same,” he said, crossing his arms.

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The whore rouses such anger in them. Twists and turn them until someone snaps…

She does her best to return to how things were before he roused her out of a numb existence.

Rouse from her inner sanctuary the socialite discovers the level of depravity her alter-ego has sunk.


“You don’t answer my calls.” The accusation made it seem as though it was intentional.

The card on the flowers was addressed to Des.

“If you were phoning you haven’t left a message and I screen all calls coming in. Meaning I never pick up the phone only call people back. I avoid everyone. Don’t take it personally. Though I doubt Des would have answered the phone for you.”

“You’ve been off The Agency’s catalogue since Monday. The only opening later today is booked.” He unbuttoned his jacket and placed a hand in his pocket. “Nor were you here when I came by.”

“I didn’t realize you cared.” I flipped over my hand waving him off and removed the card with my other hand.

“Don’t.” He brushed away the hair from his ear and showed the stud in his tragus. Usually it was covered. What was the story behind the piercing? Oh, right, I didn’t care.

I pulled the card out of the small envelope. My one call. Meaning if he were found with a dead hooker in his trunk he’d call her. It was just that I’d be the dead whore. A message with double meaning. How clever, Mr. Stowell. I put the card on the table.

“What am I not to do?” Men loved getting up in arms about the silliest of things. “Question your sincerity? That’s asking a lot.”

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Vol.1 (LONDON BROWN #3.5) (Includes Desire, Cede, and Rouse)

Descend into a world of deception, depravity, decadence, desire and desperation…

In the opulent setting of London’s aristocracy, lives a young woman fractured into two distinct individuals, one face with multiple facets.

One façade, the whore, London Brown, who will confess unfathomable truths, the other, a loving daughter the socialite, Desniah Williams will pull back the curtain to reveal what lurks in the shadows.

Caden Jacob Carrington V, a politician will do anything to reclaim the woman he lost, including dredging up pains of the past.


“London.” With a tender guiding hand, he took me inside.

He stood behind me, removed the head cover, and replaced it with a blindfold. I removed my clothing, as the routine always went. Ivo took my hand and wrapped his arm around my waist, moving me to another room. His touch was clammy, which was unusual.

Every now and then, I would try to form a picture of the layout of the house based on steps and scent, but by the time they sent me home my mind was vacant. I loved that most about them.

As we manoeuvred down the hall goose bumps covered me. My nipples hardened. Some kind of pleasant wood aroma filled the air. Not that I knew one type from any other. He paused. Door hinges creaked. I put one foot in front of the other, seventeen steps. My bottom lip trembled.

I was a sacrificial lamb, slaughtered next to their feast table and shared. Time ticked away, bringing me closer to carnage.

Kees never entered a scene until I was prepared for him. Leather permeated the air around me. Ivo seized my wrist and affixed a strap. After both were fastened, he pulled my hands together, lifted them to a plank overhead and secured my restraints to it. His breathing deepened. They liked me on display, stretched out. I stood on my tippy toes to ease the pressure on my skin. Otherwise, the restraint eventually cut off circulation.

Heavy footsteps pounded the floor, we were no longer alone. My body tingled with anticipation and fear of what would be in store for me at Kees firm hand. Paddle? Crop? Cane? Whip? He changed it up. I’d yet to detect a pattern in how he selected the instrument of play.

Kees drew up behind me and inhaled. “Mmm.”

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