Hi all,
I'm delighted to welcome a very special guest on my blog today. She's a multi-published and award-winning author and has just delved into Total-E-Bound's Clandestine Classics collection, spicing up Edgar Rice Burroughs' Tarzan of the Apes - but I won't spoil it for you, here's what the lady herself has to say about her latest work -
Ladies & Gentlemen, please welcome
Lily Harlem
Thanks so much for inviting me over today as your guest. I’m really
excited because as part of Total-E-Bound’s Clandestine Classic range
I’ve teamed up with Edgar Rice Burroughs and added steamy jungle scenes to TARZAN
OF THE APES. This is one of several classics brought to life by various
Total-E-Bound authors and inserts the sexiness that readers previously had to
use their imagination for.
Blurb
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 civilised decision, can Tarzan do the right thing?
Excerpt
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.”
~ Lily Harlem
Lily Harlem bio
Lily Harlem is an award-winning author of
contemporary erotic romance and lives in the UK with Mr Harlem and a host of
rescued pets. She loves to spend her days dreaming up naughty stories that have
a happy ever afters. When you read her books be warned though, the bedroom door
is always left wide open!
