Monday, 24 December 2012

'Twas the very hot night before Christmas

Welcome to the Clandestine Classics Hot for the Holidays celebration!

So now we come to the last day of Hot for the Holidays. I hope you have enjoyed the racy trip through the newly spiced classics and the stories have “heated you up for the holidays.” These romances have had a lot of spice added to them and we hope you enjoy the new flavor. Northanger Abbey is one of my favorites and the romance between Henry and Catherine just lent itself to the racy scenes.

Please be sure to leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of A CHRISTMAS CAROL, along with being entered to win a $50 TEB gift certificate! Wouldn't that be an awesome Christmas gift for yourself?

 Review From Night Owl Romance
Reviewed by Pauline
 A clever idea comes to life with this classic collaboration. With Desiree Holt and Jane Austen, two of my favorite authors how could I resist this? I will admit to being rather apprehensive about reading this book as I am a fan of Jane Austen for as long as I can remember and I’d hate to mess with her masterpieces. But because Northanger Abbey was never one of my favorites I decided it couldn’t hurt. I’m so glad a set my trepidation aside and read this book. The author has taken a classic and blended her own erotic content seamlessly into the story without altering the voice and style of the creator who originally penned the piece. I can honestly say I enjoyed this version much more than when I first read this story so many years ago. If you are simply curious to see just what happens or if you are looking for something different you have to pick this one up.
When Catherine Morland meets John Thorpe and Henry Tilney in Bath, England, she is thrilled by the attention both men pay her. But she soon realises what a social climber John is and the very handsome Henry is the man who lights the sparks inside her. When Henry’s father invites her to visit their country mansion, Northanger Abbey, she is delighted to have more time to spend with Henry.

As the days pass Henry introduces her to a whole new world of eroticism, a world beyond her imaginings. A world where sex knows no boundaries and even her deepest, most secret fantasies, can be played out behind closed doors.

This is the story of the initiation into life of the naïve but sweetly appealing heroine, Catherine Moreland. A woman who suddenly finds herself an enthusiastic participant in the darker side of sexual activities. At the same time she finds herself embroiled in a real drama of misapprehension, mistreatment, and mortification, until common sense, humour and a crucial clarification of Catherine’s financial status, resolve her problems and win her the approval of Henry’s formidable father.


Darkness impenetrable and immovable filled the room. A violent gust of wind, rising with sudden fury, added fresh horror to the moment. Catherine trembled from head to foot. In the pause which succeeded, a sound like receding footsteps and the closing of a distant door struck on her affrighted ear. Human nature could support no more. A cold sweat stood on her forehead, the manuscript fell from her hand, and groping her way to the bed, she jumped hastily in, and sought some suspension of agony by creeping far underneath the clothes. To close her eyes in sleep that night, she felt must be entirely out of the question. With a curiosity so justly awakened, and feelings in every way so agitated, repose must be absolutely impossible. The storm too abroad so dreadful! She had not been used to feel alarm from wind, but now every blast seemed fraught with awful intelligence. The manuscript so wonderfully found, so wonderfully accomplishing the morning’s prediction, how was it to be accounted for? What could it contain? To whom could it relate? By what means could it have been so long concealed? And how singularly strange that it should fall to her lot to discover it! Till she had made herself mistress of its contents, however, she could have neither repose nor comfort; and with the sun’s first rays she was determined to peruse it. But many were the tedious hours which must yet intervene. She shuddered, tossed about in her bed, and envied every quiet sleeper. The storm still raged, and various were the noises, more terrific even than the wind, which struck at intervals on her startled ear. The very curtains of her bed seemed at one moment in motion, and at another the lock of her door was agitated, as if by the attempt of somebody to enter. Hollow murmurs seemed to creep along the gallery, and more than once her blood was chilled by the sound of distant moans. She began to wish for Henry Tilney to find his way secretly to her room to help allay her nervousness.
When the door to her room opened slowly she searched frantically for something with which to defend herself, not knowing if it was ghost of human who trespassed. When she saw Henry slip into the room, fingers to his lips, she poofed out a sigh of relief. Had just thinking of him conjured him up?
“What are you doing here?” she whispered as softly as she could, noticing that he had divested himself of all his clothes save a thin pair of breeches and a loose shirt.
“I feared the storm would disturb you and wanted to ease you through it.”
“But—But—But what if someone sees you walking around like that?” Her fingers gripped the bedclothes.
“General Tilney and my mother are long fast asleep,” he whispered back, “and I hope the same for my sister. However, since she sleeps two doors down we must be careful not to do anything to call her attention.”
“And what would we be doing?” she asked.
With a smile Henry approached the bed and eased himself down on top of the covers next to her. “I hope many things,” he told her. “I have felt this strong attraction between us from the first moment of our meeting and I have seen in your eyes a like feeling. If I am mistaken please advise me of it and I will leave at once.”
Even as the blood stirred within her and her pulse rate accelerated, she felt compelled to offer at least a token protest. “I assure you that I am still an innocent, an unsullied and respectable female.”
His hand cupped her cheek, turning her face to his. “My dear sweet Catherine, I am fully aware of that. I would take no advantage of that if you bid me leave. And if you bid me so I will be gone and this will be as if it never happened. But understand that you have my full respect as well as a number of other emotions that far surpass it. From our first meeting I have dreamed of being the one man to show you the pleasures of the body. I care for you so much. Please do not turn me away.”
She could have demurred further but she was so eager for his touch that it seemed to her a waste of time so she simply smiled and placed her hand over his. “And I have dreamed of the same things.”
Henry leaned his head closer to her face and placed his lips on hers. They were firm and moist and the touch was utterly pleasant. He brushed his mouth lightly over hers in a back and forth motion, teasing her, until his tongue peeped out to trace the seam of her lips.
“Open your mouth for me, sweet Catherine,” he urged. “Let me in.”
She did so and when his tongue swept inside it filled her with a sensation of pleasure that danced through her body. Her nipples tingled and at once the sensitive muscles in her cunt trembled. She felt the liquid of her arousal soaking the crotch of her nighttime bloomers and had to press her thighs together. All this from a kiss! Imagine! But it was far beyond any kiss she’d ever imagined. Henry’s tongue touched the inside of her mouth everywhere, sliding over her own tongue in a movement that coaxed her to let hers dance with him. He thrust it in and out, mimicking the act of sex she and Virginia had read about and arousing her even more.
Pulling the gown up far enough, he proceeded to pull one nipple into his mouth. Catherine’s breath caught at her throat as he sucked deeply on it then gently scraped it with his teeth. He cradled her breast in his warm palm kneading it gently as he continued to suck and nip at the stiff peak. Her blood heated and the fire roared straight to her cunt to meet the insistent throbbing in her already wet tissues. He gave equal attention to her other breast until she was arching up to him in delight.
When Henry lifted his head she cried out. “Oh, continue, please, I pray you. I cannot bear it if you stop.”
His smile was mesmerising. “If I am to continue we must move all this fabric out of the way.” He plucked at her gown, rucked up around her neck, and ran a finger around the waist of her drawers. “I wish to see your body in its entirety that I may worship every inch of it.”
No one had seen Catherine naked since she was a child with the exception of her good friend, Virginia. But she trembled in anticipation of Henry’s gaze taking in every inch of her and hoped she would not be found wanting. Mutely she nodded and allowed him to assist her with the removal of her nightwear, shivering slightly as the cool night air wafted over her.
Henry placed a kiss between her breasts. “I am not shy of my own abilities to warm you up but I think a fire would help us along.”
Catherine lay nude with her arms crossed over her breasts, her eyes glued to Henry as he built up the fire until it leapt into a nice flame. But the fire was not the only thing that heated her as Mr Tilney began to slowly remove his own clothing, draping it over the arm of a boudoir chair. She was stunned at the sight of his magnificent body, gleaming in the firelight, the curled hair on his chest slightly darker than that on his head and darker still as it clustered around his cock which stood straight out in all its glory. Her fingers itched to touch it, to rub herself against it. To see if it would fit within her as the book had described.
Henry Tilney smiled at her as he stood beside the bed, what she could only describe as hunger flaring in his eyes.
“Go ahead,” he urged. “Touch it. I can see that you want to.”
She reached out her hand and closed her fingers around silky skin over a hard as steel core. “Oh! It feels hot!” Experimentally she slid her fingers up and down, from tip to root and back again. It flexed beneath her touch, a most pleasant feeling so she did it again and yet again. The soft wiry curls surrounding it brushed sensually against the edge of her hand and by the third slide a small drop of fluid eased from the tiny slit in the head. Catherine stared in wonder and before she could help herself touched the tip of one finger to it. Bringing her finger to her mouth she licked slowly, enjoying the slightly salty taste of it.
Tilney’s expression heated as he watched her. Do you fancy the taste, then?”
Catherine nodded mutely.

Sunday, 23 December 2012

Phantom and the Clandestine Christmas

What does the Phantom of the Opera have to do with Christmas? It's part of the Clandestine Classics Hot for the Holidays celebration!

Total-E-Bound, with great wisdom and savvy, has chosen to "open the bedroom door" on several of the established classics with which we are all familiar. These romances have had a lot of spice added to them and we hope you enjoy the new flavor.

Please be sure to leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of The Phantom of the Opera, along with being entered to win a $50 TEB gift certificate! Wouldn't that be an awesome Christmas gift for yourself? I know I'd love one!

Have you ever read one of the classics and wondered was happened behind those doors, curtains, trees? Yeah, us too. As you've seen, we've brought you the likes of JANE EYRE, PHANTOM OF THE OPERA, NORTHANGER ABBEY, and others with those thrilling bits included. Well, get your favorite holiday drink and kick back to enjoy a taste of our Clandestine Classics.

Today's my day and I'm going to talk about my addition to the line, The Phantom of the Opera.

Why the Phantom? Well, I've been asked a lot to change the ending. I won't give it away, but some aren't thrilled with who gets the girl. I liked the way the book worked out and I loved the idea making the story line sizzle. I also enjoyed the challenge of sticking with Gaston Leroux's plot line. He's got a complex story going on there, but there were so many little places where a little heat went a long way! Yes, working with the time period and language of the day wasn't always easy, but it helped me to appreciate the little things, like not having to wear so many layers of undergarments! Grin. Want a taste of the Phantom? Keep reading!

Here's the blurb:
The Classics Exposed…

A chance sighting at the Opera, fated love, and three lives in turmoil.

One man pledges to own her, while another wants her heart. The Opera sets the stage for romance and intrigue. In the catacombs below the building lives a man rife with sorrow and passion. The Phantom. But he’s not content to live alone. He wants to possess the one woman who can set him free.

His Christine.

Viscount Raoul de Chagny doesn’t believe the rumours of a Ghost living below the Opera. He only has eyes for Christine, his childhood friend and first love. Together they embark on a sensual journey of discovery and fiery desire.

But she can only have one man. Will love raise her up or tear their world apart?

Teasers are so great, aren't they? I'd love to share a snippet from Phantom with you! Happy Holidays!!!

“What are you asking of me?”

“Your submission. Allow me to direct you as if I were the composer of one of your songs. Do you trust me?” Raoul smoothed a lock of her hair between his fingers. She smelt of flowers, a most intoxicating scent. Although she trembled in his arms, she met him for a kiss. Christine whimpered. Damn the blanket and the layers of fabric between them. He longed to feel her body next to his. He parted her robe and shoved the garment from her shoulders, leaving her in her nightgown. He swiped his tongue along her bottom lip and palmed her breast.

“Raoul,” she gasped, but didn’t swat him away. “I trust you.”

“Let me make you feel the magic.”

Christine stared at him a moment. “What do you want me to do?”

“Give me what I want. Can you do that?” He unbuttoned the top button on her nightgown. “Show me the depths of your soul.”

“I can.” She whipped her nightgown up over her head, exposing her body to him. Her rosy nipples peaked and the flush spread across her entire chest.

Raoul shrugged out of his nightshirt and tugged her back onto his lap. Skin to skin, mouth to mouth, he lost himself in her sweetness. His desire to conquer her took over. Christine slid her hands up his chest and twined them behind his head.

“Do you still wish to learn? This will not be what you expect.”

“I do.”

He sat back on his heels and hazarded a glance to the door to reassure himself it was locked.


“I do not wish to be interrupted.” He grabbed the chair at the small table and dragged it to the couch. “Sit.”

Christine hesitated, then moved from his lap to the edge of the bed. Raoul eased her onto her back. He crawled between her thighs. “I will pull out so I don’t leave my seed inside you, but I cannot guarantee this won’t hurt.”

She nodded, but didn’t look particularly agreeable. He braced himself on his knees and one hand. With his free hand, he stroked her cheek. “I will make you feel precious when I’m done.”

“I’m yours.”

And make sure you come back from now until Christmas Eve to see what we have in store for you. :) 

December 18   Em Woods 
December 19   Ranae Rose 
December 20  Lynne Connolly 
December 21  Sierra Cartwright 
December 22   Lily Harlem 
December 23  Wendi Zwaduk 
December 24   Desiree Holt

I wish you tons of fun reading the re-told classics, and I look forward to hearing from you. 

Wendi Zwaduk - Romance to Make Your Heart Race
"The depth of the characters and their love was beautifully told by Ms. Zwaduk...a deeply emotional story." BlackRaven's Reviews

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Saturday, 22 December 2012

Hot for the Holidays with Lily Harlem

Welcome to the Clandestine Classics Hot for the Holidays celebration. Total-E-bound, with great wisdom and savvy, has chosen to "open the bedroom door" on several of the established classics with which we are all familiar. The romance has had a good sprinkle of spice added to it and we hope you enjoy the hot new flavor.

I’ve certainly had fun jazzing up my classic so be sure to leave a comment on this blog post for a chance to win Clandestine Classic, Tarzan of the Apes, on the day of its release – 4th of February 2013 AND a £50 gift voucher to spend at Total-E-Bound!!

Yes, that’s right, Tarzan of the Apes! Wow, was I excited to get my hands on his hot, nubile body! For years I’ve lusted after him, dreamed of swinging through the trees in his arms, and fantasised about that sexy little loincloth!

Not only that, I’ve always wondered exactly what naughtiness he got up to with Jane in the jungle. Its an endless playground for an erotic authoress and you can imagine my excitement when I was given free reign to fill in the gaps, add in the spice and crank up the temperature.

So now, get your favorite holiday drink, light the fire, put up your feet and I’ll dish the dirt on all the juicy details.


A wild man with primitive desires, will anyone be able to tame him?

A handsome English aristocrat raised in the jungle by apes, self-sufficient, thriving on danger and with a head full of unanswered questions. Where is he from? Why is he different? What will satisfy the hunger that eats away at the very core of his being and finally feed his appetite for something other than food and shelter?

A delicate American woman, expected to be the best she can be and marry well, but with a craving for adventure and exploration as well as a hope in her heart to find true love with a man who can sweep her off her feet.

When the two very different souls collide, in deepest, darkest Africa, only one thing can happen, and it’s raw and feral. Lust a common language, satisfaction the ultimate goal. But will the gentleman outshine the savage-man? Is virtue to be honoured? And when faced with a civilized decision, can Tarzan do the right thing?

Wow, its hot stuff and the original was just perfect for sexing up! First published in book form in 1914 Edgar Rice Burroughs left some wonderful gaps for me to play with. For example Tarzan grows from boy to man with no mention of sexual urges, but of course in real life this would have been an issue. His body would have gone through many changes and he’d come to want for something he had no name for. Luckily, though, ERB did leave an opportunity for me to slip information to Tarzan in his late teens so he could explore the new feelings and urges he experiences. I did need him to have some idea of what he was doing when it came to the steamy scenes!

ERB also describes Tarzan and Jane stealing their first kiss. He calls Tarzan ‘a hot-blooded man’ which he most certainly is, and I’m sure female readers of the book, way back then, were quite aquiver when they reached this particular page. And need you ask? Yep, I’ve added to it! And then, well, then, Tarzan whisks Jane away into the jungle for an entire night!!

What a treat for a naughty girl like me! I really enjoyed myself here and all those pent-up emotions in my characters were finally released.  Naturally it gets raunchy and rude, Tarzan finally understands the desires that have rumbled within him for so long, and I think, to be honest, he was quite appreciative of the fun I allowed him to have with Jane!

And, Jane, well, she is one lucky lady even if a little prim to begin with. I really enjoyed writing the sections from her view point. She’s feisty and demure, a complex mixture of traits but one that ERB portrays so well. She’s worried about virtue, but is in touch with her sexual side enough to give into some of her needs. She’s also sweet and brave and bless her, pretty damn confused at times too. 

I’m not the first and surely not the last to enjoy dreaming about and expanding on Tarzan and Jane’s romance. Over the years the couple have captured the public’s imagination as much as the idea of an infant being raised by apes. In fact in 1918 a silent, black and white movie came out at cinemas called The Romance of Tarzan though sadly no known copies of this film remain. 

The most famous film made of the book was released in 1932. Johnny Weissmuller, an American Olympic medalist swimmer, played Tarzan in this and then went on to feature in a further eleven Tarzan motion pictures. I think I’ve seen about half of them, but some time ago – that loincloth!

Dozens of other actors have also played the role but Weissmuller is by far the best known. His character's distinctive cry is still often used in films. Mr Harlem, in his usual sense of silly humour, has made the Tarzan yell my ring tone and I’ve been getting some very funny looks when he calls me - which I think he's doing when he knows I'm out and about, just to be a devil! If you’ve forgotten what the yell sounds like, click below.

In 1981 Bo Derek played Jane opposite Miles O’Keeffe in Tarzan, the Ape Man. Bo is beautiful, no matter what role she’s in. I haven’t seen this version, I’m going to add it to my ‘to-do’ list over the holidays. (I like to-do lists like that!)

So, going back to the bit I mentioned about Tarzan stealing Jane away into the jungle. Below is an excerpt taken from the Clandestine Classic, Tarzan of the Apes, and picks up just at the point they are settling down for the night in a small clearing in the jungle. Tarzan has made a crude shelter for Jane out of sticks and leaves and intends to keep watch over her the whole night through. It doesn’t quite go to plan… enjoy…


So Tarzan of the Apes did the only thing he knew to assure Jane of her safety. He removed his hunting knife from its sheath and handed it to her hilt first, again motioning her into the bower.
The girl understood, and taking the long knife she entered and lay down upon the soft grasses while Tarzan of the Apes stretched himself upon the ground across the entrance.
Here she lay, gazing upward at the crude roof of the shelter, and mulled over the extraordinary day that had unfolded, and the wild man who had stolen the first kiss from her lips. Although Jane was an innocent woman she was not naive in the ways of married couples. What went on behind closed doors and beneath the covers was something she was completely intrigued by and she’d sought to quell her curiosity in the only way she could. For Jane, like Tarzan, adored reading, and fashionable books about love and romance that hinted and suggested at the many delights to be had between a woman and a man were her most favourite material—she’d been thrilled to find two such books within the primitive cabin.
She sat and began to unlace her shoes, her hair just skimming the greenery above her. As her small and nimble fingers unweaved the soft leather laces her gaze settled on Tarzan’s broad, golden back as he lay, facing away from her, staring into the line of trees. The gutter of his spine was deep set and flanked with columns of strong muscle. He had a few scars and imperfections around his shoulders, marks of his wild lifestyle, and at the very base of his back, just before the doeskin-like loin cloth he wore, were two dents, almost dimples.
Jane couldn’t help but linger over the task of removing her shoes, the sight before her was simply too engrossing. She had never seen a man wearing so little clothing. The scrap he wore around his modesty barely covered his buttocks, indeed she could make out the very groove of his cheeks through the material. Her gaze roamed downward, committing to memory his powerful thighs coated in sandy hairs, calves sinewy with tendon and muscle and long feet that she was quite sure had never been within spitting distance of a shoe until now.
Footwear finally removed, she pushed them outside her small shelter.
Upon hearing her movement Tarzan turned, his body twisting, his face a mask of concern.
“I am quite all right,” Jane said, gesturing to her shoes. “But I really can’t sleep in those.”
Tarzan looked at the shoes, then sat and reached for one. He held it up, turned it over, examined the base and the inside, poking and prodding. Finally he lifted it to his nose and inhaled, long and deep.
“No,” said Jane, snatching it away. “Really, that is most untoward and really quite rude.”
Tarzan tugged his hand back, fingers clenched, his expression evidence enough that he knew not what he had done wrong.
Jane, seeing his confusion, took pity on him. For she understood that he was trying very hard to make her feel at ease, and she should surely return the favour. “I’m sorry,” she said, reaching for his hand that was in a fist at his sternum. “It is just that they are the only shoes I have, and I, well, I fear I may not have been able to keep them as fresh as I would like.” As she spoke she squeezed his big hand in hers. His skin was a little sticky from the copious amounts of juicy fruit they had shared, but even so a current of pleasure shot up her arm and settled in her belly. His hand, nearly twice the size of hers, was so masculine, and so strong. Unlike Clayton’s neatly trimmed nails, Tarzan’s were unevenly short, no doubt from wear and tear, and he had a twisted strip of vine around his wrist, a kind of makeshift bracelet, it was like nothing she had seen before.
He allowed her to keep holding his hand and tipped his head, his gaze boring into hers.
“It is just,” she went on, “that bathing facilities since we landed ashore have been considerably less than adequate. What I really long for is fresh water to sink my entire body into, to make me feel refreshed and rejuvenated and get some relief from this tropical heat.” Knowing he understood not a word, she tutted and released his hand. Frustration ploughed lines across her brow.
Tarzan raised his eyebrows and wiggled his fingers in a ‘carry-on’ gesture.
“Oh,” she said with a sigh. “What I really want to be able to do is wash.” As she spoke she cupped her palms and raised them to her face, mimicking splashing water on her cheeks.
Tarzan’s face lit up. He knew instantly what Jane was trying to say. She wanted to clean her body. Tarzan understood that desire very well, for he too liked to bathe frequently to keep his body free from irritations and unpleasant aromas. He had also read about it in his books. Civilised people set personal cleanliness in very high esteem.
Eager to show Jane his comprehension of her request, Tarzan jumped up and pointed in the direction of Cumba, the small rocky inlet just yards to the right of their camp. It was a safe and shallow bathing area that he had used since being a small boy. He was sure it would be perfect for a woman, for his woman, Jane.
He made a grunting sound which his ape family would have recognised as ‘come this way’ and stepped toward Cumba.
“Do you understand me?” Jane asked, amazement in her tone and her eyes wide.
Tarzan stepped further away, urging her to follow with frantic hand gestures.
“You want me to come with you?” Jane asked, crawling completely from the shelter and standing barefoot on the roughly textured grass.
Without realising he was giving the correct signal, Tarzan nodded.
“Okay,” Jane said, pressing down the creases in her dress and tilting her chin in a very confident little gesture given her precarious situation. “I will. Please lead the way.”
Tarzan grinned, flashing his neat teeth, and strode across the clearing. In order to keep up Jane quickly realised that she must move at a near jog. Though once they reached the denseness of the forest this was impossible, and Tarzan slowed in order to move branches and bend bows out of her path.
Jane was thankful when after a couple of minutes of thick undergrowth another clearing emerged. This time one with a large rock pool fed from a sparkling waterfall. She heard it first, the tinkling sound of water falling on stone, and when she finally laid eyes on it, she paused to marvel at the sheer beauty of the small lagoon.
High above the sky was turning pink. Dusk would soon be upon them. In the tallest branches, bright red and blue parrots were preparing to roost. The rocks around the waterfall were the colour of elephant skin, and the water, a rich navy, sparkled silver where the cascading water added to its depths.
“It is beautiful,” Jane said, her fingertips sweeping over the petals of a crimson orchid that bobbed its long neck to her right. “Simply exquisite.”

Mmm, I hope that set the scene for you. This waterfall section was great fun to write, there are lots of dynamics going on between Tarzan and Jane and the fact that they can’t communicate in English, but just hand signals and body language, really allows for some great tension between them. Lots of things are unsaid with words, but spoken loud and clear in other ways.

Do leave a comment, along with your email address, tell me what you think it is that's made Tarzan such an appealing hero for so many and for so long. I'll pick a winner at random to receive a copy of Tarzan of the Apes by myself and ERB on the 4th of February 2013 and you could also win that £50 Total-E-Bound voucher - now wouldn't that fill up your e-reader nicely!

Lily x 

Friday, 21 December 2012

Hot For The Holidays With Sierra Cartwright

HAPPY HOLIDAYS and...  Merry, merry, and a little bit naughty Christmas! I hope all your dreams for the New Year come true! 

Welcome to the Clandestine Classics Hot for the Holidays celebration! 

Total-e-Bound has chosen to "open the bedroom door" on several of the established classics with which we are all familiar. These romances have had a lot of spice added to them and we hope you enjoy the new flavor. 

Please be sure to leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of JANE EYRE along with being entered to win a $50 TEB gift certificate! Wouldn't that be an awesome Christmas gift for yourself? 

Have you ever read one of the classics and wondered was happened behind those doors, curtains, trees? Yeah, us too. We've brought you the likes of JANE EYRE, PHANTOM OF THE OPERA, NORTHANGER ALLEY, and others with those thrilling bits included. 

Well, get your favorite holiday libation and take a little time for yourself. Kick back to enjoy a taste of our Clandestine Classics…

Today I'll be talking about…JANE EYRE. I really loved working on this story. I’ve always been a huge fan of history, and since I’m from England, not far from where the Brontës are from the project had special meaning to me. (To see pictures of the estate, checkout my photos on Facebook:

Honestly, it was considerably more work than I could have imagined when I first started. But I’ve also had a ton of fun with it in the meantime. I was interviewed by a local Fox station about the Clandestine Classics books, and here’s a link to the lighthearted and very entertaining bit: 

The original book had such a fabulous underlayment of sexual tension that inspired me. Charlotte Brontë’s lush storytelling lends itself to the addition of erotic content. Jane and Mr. Rochester had bedrooms just down the hallway from one another. They also spent time alone, including in the garden at night.

I believe Mr. Rochester to have been a very strong man who was attracted to the equally strong Jane. What a powerful dynamic. Brontë also penned this (Jane’s internal thoughts): I knew the pleasure of vexing and soothing him by turns; it was one I chiefly delighted in, and a sure instinct always prevented me from going too far; beyond the verge of provocation I never ventured; on the extreme brink I liked well to try my skill. 

With lines like that as a perfect setup, how could any writer of erotic fiction not be stimulated? 

Here's the blurb:

One of the world's best loved books, Jane Eyre, is retold with scorching passion.... 

Mystery, betrayal, scandal, and a love that transcends time.... 

There was only him... 

From the moment Jane Eyre sets eyes on her one and true master, Mr. Rochester, her life is irrevocably changed. The tall, dark man is an enigma, complex, deep, compelling, frightening, and tempting beyond compare. 

This stern, unyielding man brooks no refusal and demands l of what Jane has to offer as he invites her on a journey of the senses that would scandalise society. 

He demands her abject surrender. In his strong and athletic arms, Jane submits to his darkest desires and discovers hers are every bit as searing, plunging her into a world she never suspected and never wants to escape...

It seems to me that the thrilling and beloved novel is more relevant today than it ever was. Jane Eyre's struggles to live a life of grand passion, compromising nothing, willing to sacrifice everything for what she believes, resonates with the modern woman's struggles to have it all, to be it all, and to love with uncompromising abandon.

And how about a little teaser of an excerpt...?

“You have me intrigued. Go on.” 

 “I took a book from your library.” 

 “Did you now? Which book did my little thief abscond with?”

“There are all manner of sketches in it.”

“What kind of sketches?” 

For a moment, I hoped I could vanish, perhaps pull back the words I had boldly spoken. But I had taken a step down the path and I knew the master wouldn’t allow me to retreat. “The sketches are scandalous, sir.” 

“What do they represent that you find so offensive?” 

“Acts, sir.”


“Personal ones between a man and woman.” 

His brows were drawn together, but there was no real shock or outrage in his countenance. “And did you perhaps return the book at your first opportunity?”

“I felt it better to keep it secure until I could return it you so that you could lock it up as it should be.” 

“Ah, so you did not burn the pages in the first available fire?” 

“I did not. As I have already said I thought to return it directly to you. I have had no opportunity, so I kept it.” 

“Kept it did you? Do you look at it from time to time?” 

“Every night, sir.” He hooked his hands behind his back. As for me, I folded mine primly in my lap and glanced down at them.

“Every night,” he repeated. “I see. And these—sketches—do they intrigue you?”

“They do indeed.”

“And you wish further exploration?” I kept my eyes downcast. “I have been exploring, sir.” There was a terrible silence. “Exploring? A solo expedition, Jane, or with someone else?”

And make sure you come back from now until Christmas Eve to see what we have in store for you. :) 

December 18   Em Woods 
December 19   Ranae Rose 
December 20  Lynne Connolly 
December 21  Sierra Cartwright 
December 22   Lily Harlem 
December 23  Wendi Zwadek 
December 24   Desiree Holt

I wish you tons of fun reading the re-told classics, and I look forward to hearing from you. 

Hugs, Sierra

Thursday, 20 December 2012

Hot for the Holidays with Lynne Connolly

Welcome to the Clandestine Classics Hot for the Holidays celebration!

Total-e-bound, with great wisdom and savvy, has chosen to "open the bedroom door" on several of the established classics with which we are all familiar. These romances have had a lot of spice added to them and we hope you enjoy the new flavour.

 Please be sure to leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of TOM JONES, along with being entered to win a $50 TEB gift certificate! Wouldn't that be an awesome Christmas gift for yourself?

Have you ever read one of the classics and wondered was happened behind those doors, curtains, trees? Yeah, us too. We've brought you the likes of JANE EYRE, PHANTOM OF THE OPERA, NORTHANGER ALLEY, and others with those thrilling bits included. Well, get your favourite holiday drink and kick back to enjoy a taste of our Clandestine Classics.

Of course today I'm going to talk about my own...TOM JONES.

I succumbed. For years I’ve been reading eighteenth century novels with huge enjoyment. I saw the wonderful film of TOM JONES and not for the first time, wondered what exactly happened behind those closed doors and in the fields, and, well, anywhere else Tom decided to pause his adventures for a happy interlude. The book is incredibly bawdy, and if it hadn't been for the scandal surrounding FANNY HILL, released the same year as TOM JONES to great controversy and even greater sales, who knows? It might have been as open-door as Cleland’s book!
The author, Henry Fielding, was an incredible man. Not only did he write some of the finest books in the English language, he began the movement for a civilian police force and in his capacity as magistrate at Bow Street founded the Bow Street Runners.
His masterpiece is as full of life and its enjoyment as the man. Through a series of boisterous, bawdy adventures, Tom and the love of his life Sophia eventually find their way to their happy ending. A cast of unforgettable characters, including Tom’s wealthy and fun-loving foster father, Squire Allworthy, the round-heeled Jenny Jones and even bawdier Molly, Tom’s first love, start in Somerset and end in London, leaving indelible memories in their wake.
It’s been my privilege to add back the bits cut from the novel, and reacquaint myself with the wonderful world of Georgian England, free of the hypocrisy of the Victorians. They just wanted to be as honest as they knew how and have as much fun as they could!
TOM JONES is out in January, at least part one is, because this is a chunky book. we're planning four parts, each bringing Tom closer to his goal.
So here’s an excerpt from the beginning of the novel. See if you can tell where Fielding stops and I begin!

I have told my reader, in the preceding chapter, that Mr Allworthy inherited a large fortune, that he had a good heart, and no family. Hence, doubtless, it will be concluded by many that he lived like an honest man—owed no one a shilling, took nothing but what was his own, kept a good house, entertained his neighbours with a hearty welcome at his table, and was charitable to the poor, i.e. to those who had rather beg than work, by giving them the offals from it—that he died immensely rich and built an hospital. Always considerate of his health and the people around him, the squire conducted his more interesting business away from home, where his reputation should not be sullied by any rumour that he was less than upright at all times. Indeed, according to the ladies, his uprightness was never in doubt.
And true it is that he did many of these things, but had he done nothing more I should have left him to have recorded his own merit on some fair freestone over the door of that hospital. Matters of a much more extraordinary kind are to be the subject of this history, or I should grossly misspend my time in writing so voluminous a work, and you, my sagacious friend, might with equal profit and pleasure travel through some pages which certain droll authors have been facetiously pleased to call The History of England.
Mr Allworthy had been absent a full quarter of a year in London, on some very particular business, though I know not what it was, but judge of its importance by its having detained him so long from home, whence he had not been absent a month at a time during the space of many years.
This enabled him to pay attention to a lady he had been acquainted with for a long time, but had sadly neglected of late, business having kept him in the country.
Mrs Dickinson was the relict of a city businessman and had a very fine sort of lodging in Red Lion Square, so good that when she invited Mr Allworthy to save the cost of an inn and stay with her in comfort, he accepted with a grateful heart and voluminous thanks.
So pleased was the estimable lady to see him that she found great difficulty in keeping her fichu in place, a matter the squire was only too pleased to assist her with, and, the fichu disposed of, a great expanse of cleavage came into view, something Mr Allworthy took advantage of with both hands.
On tumbling her back onto the sopha, the squire animadverted on the size of her breasts, which had become bountiful in his absence. “Mr Allworthy, I have had nothing to do but eat and visit the establishments that cater to my requirements,” the lady said. “I have long been in need of more vigorous exercise.”
A gleam came into the good squire’s eyes when the lady announced that fact. “I believe I can help you with that ambition, my dear madam.”
So saying, he swept up her skirts, finding the lady, having anticipated his visit, had little more than a hooped petticoat and a shift between her decency and her total exposure to the squire’s appreciative eyes. “My word, madam, you have spent a long time without a man,” he said, gratefully fingering her slit, which had gathered copious moisture to guide his way. Not that he needed such guidance, his experience having given him much knowledge in the matter of women and what they required.
“I’m a respectable woman, sir, and I do not lift my petticoats for a man unless I can also enjoy his company out of the bedroom. I have a reputation to consider.”
The squire glanced up from his absorbing pursuit. “I hope I have not sullied your reputation. I would not wish to damage what you have taken so long to develop.” But he was gratified by the widow’s words and appreciated her welcome.
Taking some of her welcome, he tasted it and found it good. Having done so, he hungered for more and bent his head to her welcoming amplitude. At the first application of his tongue, the lady shuddered and begged him not to stop this side of Christmas. While he doubted he could accomplish that feat, being comparable to the marathon races accomplished by the ancient Greeks, he assured himself that he was capable of achieving the lady’s good favour.
Mr Allworthy was proved correct in his assumptions, and applied himself assiduously to his self-imposed task, reflecting that he had not tasted a woman in a considerable time, being too taken up with matters of work and his duties in the country. A clean, respectable woman could produce a nectar a man could appreciate, even incorporate into his daily absorption, and Mrs Dickinson proved extremely generous in her offering, as she was in every aspect of her life.
Mr Allworthy tasted, and found good enough to continue until the lady’s screams and gratified murmurs gave him permission to expose his desire for her, which he did without further discussion.
His spear proving adequate to the occasion, he plunged deep inside her, mingling their essences with a satisfaction that nearly overcame his vow to bring her to the gates of heaven more than once. Burying his face in her breasts, which she generously gathered in her own hands to offer him, he thought it only good manners to accept and make himself at home in her warm welcome.
His roaring was enough to provide entertainment for the populace passing outside, but they remained hidden to the world at large, as Mrs Dickinson had received him in her first floor salon, using the ground floor of her snug house mainly for business. He had completely omitted to take the servants into his consideration, but fortunately the lady was a good mistress, and he would also see they did not go out of pocket.
Plunging inside the lady’s sweet quim, he did not ask for permission, taking the lady’s sighs as abundant invitation. Only then did the good squire realise how much he had imperilled his health by leaving such exercise too long, for he had a strong belief in the power of good fresh country air and vigorous exercise to prolong a man’s health and happiness.
The lady seemed of similar mind, because she applied herself to the course of physical prowess with great enthusiasm and abandon, having a mind to contest the squire’s ability to keep his course for more than a short span of time.
Indeed, in a matter of moments, the squire gave a great bellow and flooded the lady with all the gratitude she might have wished for, except that her sopha might not be the best place for such action, because it squeaked and groaned with every thrust, accompanying their already loud serenade with a different counterpoint.
They lay, panting and laughing, the lady a willing participant for a second course, once the squire had regained his senses and control over his respiratory faculties.
With such activity, and the business that had drawn him to the city, the squire was well content, but as time passed he hankered for his home, and having satisfied the lady and himself on numerous occasions, in and out of bed, he bade her a lingering farewell and commanded his horse to be brought to the door. In fact, he was looking forward to a period of peace and tranquillity, without the need to service a woman before he could get some rest, because the lady’s enthusiasm for the task occasionally outweighed his willingness to give it.

Lynne Connolly