No apologies. Blame my Valentine's stall. I just booked it.
Love of that type, sentimental and romantic, pft. Booted firmly out the window.
I'm running with my goth and steampunk lines; designs informed by immortality, death, submission, domination. Works for adultery, love forbidden, non-sanctioned, disapproved, filth, dirt, and desires plain wrong. Enjoy.
All notebooks are made for privacy that becomes secrecy: a hold for wants, confessions and forbiddens, close and private. Concealed pockets, hidden folds, and discreet envelopes store incriminating evidence.
Texture, touch and feel with leather, embossed card, handmade papers, velvets and embroideries. Ribbons, ties, and chains wrap and bind the pages you don't want casually exposed. One customer tells you better than me. Three fastenings to get in? Someone would have to be pretty bloody shameless to pry.
But, wait a moment, the seekers of these books won't be the sort to splatter their desires over Facebook or Twitter, nor show to the world my handiwork folded in their knicker drawers, so I'll photograph these darlings now, before they flee from me forever.
(And in the making of these places for your desires, the guilt might be all yours, but the pleasure is all mine.)