Jennifer Brown

What’s the actual last thing you’d ever want your celebrity crush to see you doing when you finally come face-to-excruciatingly-handsome-face with him? Singing and dancing around by yourself to “Dreams” by The Cranberries while drinking straight from a bottle of champagne? While you’re wearing some wedding gown you just found in a closet? Yeah. Me too. And yet, here we are. At a mountain cabin I was sent to by the awfully pretty actress/pretty awful human I work for to get things ready for her romantic New Year’s Eve getaway with him.

I’ve been desperately looking forward to Christmas in my family’s snowy alpine chalet. Two blissful weeks of skiing, eating, and sneaking off for 'naps' to listen to my favourite audio erotica star. Yes, the man who warms my bed each night may have no idea I exist, but that doesn't stop me fantasising that his spicy stories and filthy words are for my ears only. It's set to be the most relaxing Christmas ever. Until my brother shows up… with an unexpected guest.

I've endured fifteen years of underwhelming marital sex with Lord John Russell. One front-page tell-all from his secretary puts an end to that misery pretty efficiently. As the media furor rages around our divorce, two things become abundantly clear. One: it's time for some decent orgasms, which is why I've joined the Unfurl program at London's top sex club, Alchemy. Two: it's time to take control of the narrative, for myself and for other women. That's why I plan to document my sexual revolution on camera.

My colleague Elodie thinks I despise her. In fact, she’s owned my heart since the first time I caught sight of her slim white neck. Monday to Friday, I’m the grumpy Head of History. Zero personality, except when I’m teaching. So passionate about my field that my pupils bought me a highly inappropriate t-shirt last year. I HAVE A HARD-ON FOR REVISIONIST HISTORY, if you must know. It’s only on Saturdays, when I play Henry VIII at Hampton Court Palace for over-exuberant tourists, that I channel His Majesty’s swagger. Think with my codpiece, if you like.

I can’t have Elijah Iverson. I can’t have him because he’s my older brother’s best friend. I can’t have him because I broke his heart five years ago; because he’s now engaged to someone else - someone kind and dependable who deserves his whiskey eyes, his soft mouth, his fierce intellect.

I cultivated my shamelessness. I wore it as a badge of honor at my convent school, and I've been turning it into an art form at Alchemy, the club whose social media I manage. My boss, though? He's the most proper person I've ever met. No one would peg him as the finance director of a sex club. (I mean, no one's pegging him at all, which is probably his problem. #justsayin) I get it. He's a widower, single-parenting two little girls while holding down a massive job. He needs an outlet, something just for him.

When you've been told your whole life that something is sinful, you have two options. Avoid it like the plague, like it has the power to destroy all that is good and pure. Or become as fixated upon it as Eve was upon that apple. I'm sick of the push-pull of terror and temptation. It's tearing me apart. I just want a bite of the apple. More than a bite. I want to devour it. Have its juices spill from my lips. And by apple, I, of course, mean sex.

Working as a nanny for the world’s grumpiest single dad should have been simple. Except I can’t keep my eyes off him. And he can’t keep his hands off of me. Cade Eaton is 13 years older than I am and barely looks my way. Until I get him into the hot tub one night for a game of truth or dare. Then all bets are off—and so are our clothes. He’s gruff, a little rough around the edges. But broad-shouldered ranchers with calloused hands and filthy mouths are this city girl’s kryptonite. So who am I to resist?

Matthew Walsh doesn't have feelings, and he likes it that way. Between breathing life into his family's third generation Boston architecture shop, keeping the peace with his five siblings, and competing in triathlons, he doesn't have much time for feelings. At least that's the case until Lauren Halsted tumbles into his life.

House-flipping sensation and YouTube star Maggie Nichols can’t wait to dig into her next challenge. Arriving in tiny Kinship, Idaho, with only a cot and a coffeemaker, Maggie is prepared to restore a crumbling Victorian mansion in four months or less. She has her to-do lists, her blueprints, and her team. What she doesn’t have is time for sexy, laid-back landscaper Silas Wright. The man takes flirtation to a whole new level. And he does it shirtless...sometimes pants-less. He’s the wrench in her carefully constructed plans.