Monday, September 9, 2013

Giveaway of Confessions by Leila DeSint!!!

Book Description:

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, a whore, London Brown, who will confess unfathomable truths, the other, a loving daughter, 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.

Rhys Christos Edward Stowell, a philanthropist will fight to win the woman he loves while baring the darkness of his soul.

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Leila DeSint was born in a small town on the east coast of Canada. Her nomadic childhood gave her the ability to ebb and flow with the seasons, people and places she lived in. Most often, she could be found in a corner with a pencil and notepad using words to recreate the dark world around her. Many summers of her youth were spent on the shores of her birthplace collecting seashells, but she alway...s retuned them for the next wanderer that happened by.

The pencil and notepad have been traded for a computer, but the words never stop flowing, nor did her interest in conjuring glimpses of the world as she perceived it. The corner is now a desk. And rather than leaving behind seashells for wanderers, she pens dark, gritty erotic literature that examines the complexities of human emotions and sexuality through an ever-changing lens. She delves into the shadowy areas and explores the social-perceptions of taboos.

She threads together the remnants of the world she witnessed in order to shed light on obscure places.


Today’s assignment:

Dear Ms. Brown:

Your presence is requested for afternoon tea, 3:30-6:00 pm at (hotel name). Wear only a trench coat and heels.


Sven Bylander

They were usually signed by a dead historical figure. I hated thinking of the past, so history had never been my thing. Sometimes the names had been vaguely familiar so I Googled them. They have come up with some amusing ones, like Sir William Blackstone and John Frederick Wolfenden. Both influenced laws on sodomy.

Some of my regulars have particularities, so based on their request I can tell who is asking for me. I'd guess this was a new client. I'm the priciest, so unlike the other women I don't get many new requests. Any I do receive are referrals from existing johns.

A man's fantasy awaited me…

When I arrived at the hotel valet, I opened the door, stepped out into the dismal London fog and handed over the key. Before I entered, I tossed the assignment card in the trash bin as per The Agency's policy.

No one thought much of my coming and goings. Desniah is the daughter to one of country's most powerful men. Meeting with politicians, executives, the ridiculously wealthy and other powerbrokers seemed normal. My clients had as much to lose if our secret got out as I did.

Peter, the maitre d', smiled. "Ah, Ms. Brown, we're so happy to have you this afternoon. It's been a long while since we've had the pleasure." Of course, he didn't call me by alter ego's name, but for the purpose maintaining separation between London and Desniah I've inserted it.

A few of my clients preferred a more discrete location, but some wanted high-risk spots as the thrill of getting caught heightened their arousal. I can't say I didn't get off on it too.

The older man turned and held the door to the grand room. The palate of white and gold always dazzled me. It was one of my favorite rooms in the city. An empty space set the stage on which this man's flavor of depravity would play out. Not that I minded. I'd been educated about men and their true nature through the acts they asked me to perform.

"I haven't seen Mr. Carrington in a great many years either," Peter said.

I couldn't have heard him correctly. My step faltered for but a second. I swallowed. As my mind tried to make sense of the meaning of this, I took a deep breath. A sick cosmic joke on me. Caden Jacob Carrington, and he didn't mean the forth, but the fifth. Of course, I'd heard he had recently returned from Hong Kong, but why would he need the services of an escort? I should have turned around and left—ran as fast and as far as I could. But I didn't. What better way for him to see why there never could be a future between us?

Following the maitre d' I went down the stairs.

My eyes met his, and there I didn't find surprise.


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