Welcome Tanith Davenport to The Mystique.
She brings with her version of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall.
The review for this book is coming shortly.
But for those wondering, WOW, a new spin!!!
The Tenant
of Wildfell Hall
Tanith Davenport and Anne Bronte
Tanith Davenport and Anne Bronte
Genre:
Erotic romance
Publisher:
Total-e-Bound
Date of
Publication: 6 September 2013
ISBN:
978-1-78184-444-1
Cover
Artist: Posh Gosh
Book
Description:
Into the
quiet village of Lindenhope comes Helen Graham, an attractive young widow and
mother. Living alone with her son at Wildfell Hall, her seclusion attracts
curiosity from the local people, in particular Gilbert Markham, whose interest
in her is soon edged with desire—and Helen, despite herself, begins to
reciprocate his love for her.
But when
scandalous rumours begin to circulate about Helen’s behaviour, Gilbert is
filled with anger and jealousy. Helen attempts to clear her name by offering
Gilbert her diary, which reveals the dark, passionate story of her former
marriage to debauched rake Arthur Huntingdon, whose sexual and sensual desires
fill her with excitement and pleasure but precipitate a gradual descent into
hell.
Gilbert
believes he could forgive her anything, but the lies continue to spread,
threatening Helen’s peace of mind and, above all, her physical safety. Will the
secrets of Helen’s past get in the way of their future?
EXCERPT
He was already
in the room when I entered. I felt his hands rest on my shoulders from behind
and he gave a low chuckle at my gasp of surprise. I was in my nightgown—Rachel
had helped me disrobe before retiring herself—and his breath heated the nape of
my neck as he teased his fingers along the silk edging. I had chosen the
material deliberately. It clung to my body, the sheen of the fabric
highlighting every curve.
“Would you
like me to undress, Arthur?” I asked.
“No, Helen,”
he answered, pressing a kiss to my shoulder and sending a chill along my spine.
“I want to undress you myself.”
My heart
quickened, but I held myself still as slowly he slid the gown from my
shoulders. The cool air on my skin made me shiver, my nipples hardening as the
soft material dropped past my waist to land lightly around my feet, exposing my
naked body to his gaze. I closed my eyes, feeling conscious of my bare skin,
the curls at my quim, the growing wetness inside me.
“Don’t move,”
he commanded, and with his fingers he began a slow, tortuous glide along the
curve of my spine. I felt one hand slide around my ribs to cup my breast, his
thumb brushing against my nipple, and I was unable to suppress a moan as sparks
of pleasure radiated from that tender spot. Instantly the movement was
repeated, his other hand mirroring the motion until I cried out, overwhelmed by
the unfamiliar sensation.
“I love that
this is all so new to you, my Helen,” Arthur whispered in my ear as I let my
head fall back onto his shoulder, my body weakening as he continued his sweet
assault on my breasts. My knees began to tremble. I clenched my fingers
tightly, aching for his hands to move lower, to touch me where I had touched
myself so often while thinking of him, but afraid he would think me too wanton
if I asked. So new to me, indeed! What would he think if I touched myself in
front of him? Would he be surprised? No—he would not, I was sure. But he might
insist on pleasuring me himself, and my clit pulsed at the thought, imagining
myself on the edge of ecstasy, him removing my hands and holding them until I
begged him to bring me to completion.
He slid his
hands down to my hips, leaving me moaning at the loss, and turned me to face
him. Before I could stop myself, I reached my hand out to touch his swollen
member, which jutted towards me, almost brushing against my stomach. He groaned
as I closed my hand around the tip, which was glistening and sticky with
moisture, hardening farther under my touch.
How strange it
was to know that I had such power, that I could bring him such pleasure with
only a simple touch! I tightened my grip, feeling the skin move as I tugged,
but before I could continue he had caught both my hands in his and was holding
them at my waist.
“My darling,”
he said, with a smile, manoeuvring me backwards as he spoke until my calves hit
the edge of the bed. “If I let you do that, I shall lose all control, and that
will never do. Lie back for me—let me see you waiting for me.”
Trembling, I
lay back on the bed, my breath coming faster as he stood watching me, his casual
gaze lowering to rest at my quim. Instinctively I parted my legs, blushing as I
felt the moisture seep from inside me and dampen my folds.
The smile on
his face took on a possessive, lascivious quality.
“How beautiful
you are,” he whispered. Slowly he placed one knee then the other on the bed,
the mattress dipping under his weight as he moved towards me. He laid one hand
on my breast, my heart beating rapidly beneath.
“Arthur,” I
gasped.
He lowered his
head and kissed my nipple, laving it with his tongue, then trailed more kisses
down my body—my ribs, my stomach, my hips—until I was trembling with
anticipation. His breath rushed over my quim, and for a moment I thought he
would kiss me there—oh! How I wanted that!—but instead he paused, watching me
with desirous eyes, and slowly slid one finger inside me to the second knuckle.
“So pure,” he
whispered, caressing me as I moaned. He reached forward with his thumb and
swept it back and forth over my clit. I cried out at the sensation, my body convulsing.
It was so much sweeter, so much more pleasurable than when I had touched
myself, and I longed for him to continue.
“Helen,” he
growled, “tell me you want this.” I recognised the words from our first kiss,
and felt my heart bound and my quim tighten at the knowledge that now I could
be truthful. Now I could tell him what I wanted.
“I want this,
Arthur.”
“Tell me how
much you want this.”
“I want this
more than anything,” I moaned. His finger was still moving inside me, his thumb
still applying delicious pressure, and my wetness was leaking onto his hand and
the bed.
“How long have
you wanted this, Helen?”
Oh, he was
torturing me! “Since I first met you,” I whispered, shifting my hips to match
his touch. He smiled and crooked his finger inside me, touching a spot that
made me clap a hand over my mouth and shriek—the pleasure was exquisite, and I
was on the verge of begging him to take me.
“Tell me what
you want, and I’ll do it.”
I arched my
back, aching for him. “Please, Arthur, take me.”
About the
Author:
Tanith
Davenport began writing erotica at the age of 27 by way of the Romantic
Novelists' Association New Writers' Scheme. Her debut novel "The Hand He
Dealt" was released by Total-e-Bound in June 2011 and was shortlisted for
the Joan Hessayon Award for 2012.
Tanith has
had short stories published by Naughty Nights Press and House of Erotica. She
loves to travel and dreams of one day taking a driving tour of the United
States, preferably in a classic 1950s pink Cadillac Eldorado.
Tanith's
idea of heaven is an Indian head massage with a Mojito at her side.
3 comments:
Thanks for having me on here - I hope you like it!
Ooops - maybe should have logged in under the right name first :-)
It's all good. You are channeling more characters! Thanks for coming!
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