Welcome to the White Room . . . The rules are simple:
No real names.
No commitment.
Two hours.
They’re put into place to protect us—exclusive clients lucky enough to afford the cost of playing. But everyone knows: some rules are made to be broken.
When hearts and bodies collide, even the best intentions slip away . . . exposing the true reasons why we seek the room in the first place.
Will the White Room set you free? Step inside and find yourself.
* * *
The White Room is a five-star STEAMY contemporary romance that takes off from page one and leaves you breathless and panting for more with each new chapter. This book IS different from my first three books as the heat has been dialed up times a thousand!
Thirteen chapters explore different couples as they discover the naked truth behind their desires, limits, lessons, love, and what they really crave in life. The White Room is non-stop heat from page one, but don’t let that fool you. There’s plenty of heart, humor and depth woven into each couple’s adventure.
This is a full-length stand alone with a HEA.
[Note: Simon Ellison is his real name; Professor Grant Browning is his White Room name.]
It wasn’t what Simon was expecting. He rolled his chair forward, running his hands over the smooth flesh of her ass. Her skin was so clear and beautiful. He noticed, for the first time, a tattoo across the small of her back. It was in cursive and was capped on each end by the crest of a wave.
I crave a love so deep the ocean would be jealous.
Simon ran his hand over the surprising words. He wouldn’t have pegged Brooklyn for a hopeless romantic. Despite his many conquests, he was one too. He just never found what he was looking for.
Simon pulled her to a stand until they were nearly back to chest. Her firm bottom pressed against his hard-on, making it difficult to speak. Her hair was still wrapped around his hand, and he trailed the other down the side of her face, along her neckline, until he stopped and cupped her chin. He turned her face to make her look at him.
“Brooklyn,” he whispered, “you don’t really want to hear about the other women I’ve fucked. What do you really want? Let’s drop the charade.” Simon turned her so they faced each other, Brooklyn’s bottom pushed against the desk.
She jutted her chin out defiantly, pushing her pelvis against his own. He grabbed onto her hips, grinding himself into her center. Man, she was making this hard. He knew they were never supposed to share real information, and he never had. Why, all of a sudden, was he curious if Brooklyn was her real name. Or how old she was. And whether or not she got those insanely sexy legs from surfing.
“I want you, Grant. We only have a little bit of time left. I want to feel you all over me. I want to quiver beneath your fingers again. I want to hear you recite more poetry to me. I—” She paused. “I’m curious about your past. How many students you’ve slept with. I’m not your real student, but I can’t help but want to be special. To be more than just another conquest. Even if it is just for a couple of hours.”
Just for a couple of hours. The words punched him in the gut, a visceral reminder that this wasn’t real. That she wasn’t his.
It wasn’t what Simon was expecting. He rolled his chair forward, running his hands over the smooth flesh of her ass. Her skin was so clear and beautiful. He noticed, for the first time, a tattoo across the small of her back. It was in cursive and was capped on each end by the crest of a wave.
I crave a love so deep the ocean would be jealous.
Simon ran his hand over the surprising words. He wouldn’t have pegged Brooklyn for a hopeless romantic. Despite his many conquests, he was one too. He just never found what he was looking for.
Simon pulled her to a stand until they were nearly back to chest. Her firm bottom pressed against his hard-on, making it difficult to speak. Her hair was still wrapped around his hand, and he trailed the other down the side of her face, along her neckline, until he stopped and cupped her chin. He turned her face to make her look at him.
“Brooklyn,” he whispered, “you don’t really want to hear about the other women I’ve fucked. What do you really want? Let’s drop the charade.” Simon turned her so they faced each other, Brooklyn’s bottom pushed against the desk.
She jutted her chin out defiantly, pushing her pelvis against his own. He grabbed onto her hips, grinding himself into her center. Man, she was making this hard. He knew they were never supposed to share real information, and he never had. Why, all of a sudden, was he curious if Brooklyn was her real name. Or how old she was. And whether or not she got those insanely sexy legs from surfing.
“I want you, Grant. We only have a little bit of time left. I want to feel you all over me. I want to quiver beneath your fingers again. I want to hear you recite more poetry to me. I—” She paused. “I’m curious about your past. How many students you’ve slept with. I’m not your real student, but I can’t help but want to be special. To be more than just another conquest. Even if it is just for a couple of hours.”
Just for a couple of hours. The words punched him in the gut, a visceral reminder that this wasn’t real. That she wasn’t his.
Only $1.99 for a VERY limited time!
Double-check the price before you buy!
Up for grabs:
A Limited Edition (only 50 will EVER exist) White Box (White Room Welcome Kit) ($55 value). It will be packed with fun stuff: silk blindfold custom made in England, WR key chain, custom matte book mark, autographed paperback, tickle feather, WR candle, white chocolates, exclusive WR notebook and “diamond-topped” pen, and more!
(USA/CA only)
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