by Selena Kitt
NOLAN TRILOGY: BOX SET
Table of Contents
BOOK TRILOGY DESCRIPTION
TEMPTATION
Temptation Book Description
AUTHOR’S NOTE - Temptation
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
CONFESSION
Confession Book Description
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
GRACE
Grace Book Description
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue - Grace
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MOXIE
By Selena Kitt
High school senior, Moxie, agrees to be moral support for her friend, Patches, who is totally enamored with a college boy, so she says yes to a double date, even though she has to lie to her parents to do it. But Moxie wasn’t counting on lying about her age to get into an x-rated movie, and she definitely wasn’t counting on her date’s Roman hands and Russian fingers, or the fact that the pants she’s borrowed from Patches are several sizes too small. By the end of the night, Moxie finds herself in far more trouble than she bargained for!
BOOK TRILOGY DESCRIPTION
Nolan Trilogy: Box Set
Get ALL THREE Under Mr. Nolan’s Bed books in the trilogy for one LOW PRICE!
TEMPTATION
CONFESSION
GRACE
“It’s a bit like Flowers in the Attic meets Eyes Wide Shut.”
This edgy, page-turning saga isn’t just a trilogy, it’s an enthralling reading experience, a non-stop roller coaster ride of emotion that will keep you on the edge of your seat, giving you cliffhanger after cliffhanger until the final, jaw-dropping climax.
You will be on pins and needles as Selena Kitt plays cat and mouse with you, the reader. You’ll find yourself asking—am I reading a romance? A coming-of-age tale of sexual awakening in the Puritanical, repressed late 1950’s? A commentary on the power and corruption in the Catholic Church?
Yes, yes, and yes! The mystery and secrets revealed in this new Selena Kitt Classic will have you praying for forgiveness before it’s all over, but in the end, will restore your faith in the triumph of the human spirit and the overwhelming power of love.
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TEMPTATION
(Under Mr. Nolan’s Bed)
By Selena Kitt
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Temptation Book Description
“Lead us not into temptation...” ~Matthew 6:13
What happens when you fall in love with your best friend’s father?
Leah is a good, Catholic girl, and she and Erica have been best friends since their first communion. Sure, Erica’s father is handsome and charming, but Leah spends so much time at the Nolan’s—just Erica and her famous, photographer father now, since Erica’s mother died—that she’s practically part of the family.
Both girls have led privileged, sheltered lives and are on the “good girl” track at St. Mary Magdalene’s Preparatory College, Leah pursuing her love of dance and Erica sating her endless curiosity as editor of the newspaper. Neither of them could have ever imagined that one fateful discovery will not only push the boundaries of their strict, repressive upbringing, but the bonds of their friendship as well.
Leah certainly never could have imagined finding herself torn between her best friend and her best friend’s father. Sure, Leah’s mother had always talked about Mr. Nolan as “a catch,” but Leah herself had never thought of him as anything other than just Erica’s dad—until the girls discover something darkly erotic under Mr. Nolan’s bed, a deep, shameful secret that will not only lead them into temptation, but will deliver them into a far greater revelation than any of them could ever have imagined.
Don’t miss Under Mr. Nolan’s Bed: CONFESSION, the second installment in the three-part series!
AUTHOR’S NOTE – Temptation
The sequel to Under Mr. Nolan’s Bed has been a long time coming.
The original sequel was set to release right around the time Amazon starting banning biological incest fiction. In order to allow people to continue to access the book on Amazon, I created two versions—the original Under Mr. Nolan’s Bed and Forbidden Fruit. The former ended the same way this story ends, but the latter leaves Leah and Mr. Nolan in an entirely different place.
In order to release a sequel, I knew I would have to figure out how to let the continuation apply to both versions. And the more I re-wrote the original sequel in an attempt to fit both, the more I realized that the story that wanted—really, needed—to be told, required that I change the first one. Again. So I thought I would try a little experiment. What if we took the same characters, the same basic situation, but I took them back in time?
Not literally, of course—the girls don’t get into a DeLorean and travel back to 1955 with Christopher Lloyd and Michael J. Fox, I promise. I just decided that, to tell the story I wanted to tell, we had to be situated in a different place and time, when the secrets found under Mr. Nolan’s bed were (arguably) far more shocking—and dangerous—than they are in our present time.
I hope you will continue this journey with Leah and Erica and, as you re
ad the trilogy, you’ll understand why I’ve written this first book, Temptation, to begin their saga, rather than relying on version one (the original Under Mr. Nolan’s Bed) or version two (Plaid Skirt Confessions) as the basis for the series. I believe the integrity of the first story has been kept intact, but the experience, I think, is something entirely new.
As always, thank you for reading.
XOXO
Selena Kitt
Chapter One
Leah had only seen one Playboy magazine in her life.
That was back in 1953, in ninth grade, when Bobby Harris flashed Hugh Hefner’s premiere edition like he was revealing the hidden secrets of the universe. The boys had gathered around, dogs salivating over a juicy piece of meat just out of the grasp of their snapping jaws.
The girls had been far more reticent, most of them eschewing the opportunity to look, not wanting to be thought of as easy or fast, but Leah’s best friend, Erica, far more adventurous than she, had insisted. Bobby Harris was Erica’s fella and she had to show solidarity, even if it meant daring the wrath of Sister Abigail if they all got caught behind the chapel, shivering from both cold and excitement, heads bent and breath drifting overhead in white streams, sending smoke signals to communicate their whereabouts over the slick pages of the very first Playboy.
So Leah had been led astray, as she always seemed to be, by her wayward best friend, and she had looked. Marilyn Monroe was the “Sweetheart of the Month” in that first issue—a title later changed to “Playmate of the Month”—and the most famous nude photo of the actress, the one the boys fixated on with such dogged persistence, showed her curvaceous form in all its glory, her face half-hidden behind the arm thrown above her head, golden curls tumbling around her plump shoulders, her breasts clearly the centerpiece of the photo, pink-tipped and juttingly proud, lifted by the curving arch of her back and tilt of her generous hips.
That was the moment Leah realized her own slight frame was sorely lacking in those shapely areas guys liked. It was Marilyn Monroe they wanted, and Marilyn Monroe she was not. That’s when it first dawned on her it was no wonder she didn’t have a boyfriend. It didn’t help, of course, to be standing next to Erica most of the time. All the boys looked at Erica—stacked, to say the least—who filled out her sweaters nicely with no help from Kleenex, whose hips held the weight of her schoolbooks (when she had the rare misfortune to carry them on her own) with the gentle sway of a goddess.
Thankfully, they hadn’t gotten caught, but that seductive, naughty image of a nude Marilyn had stayed with Leah, burned into her memory throughout high school and into her first year at St. Mary Magdalene Preparatory College for Girls——the place Erica had nicknamed “Catholic Community College”—until their discovery under Erica’s father’s bed outstripped it by far. She had never seen anything like what they found under Mr. Nolan’s bed.
That changed everything.
“It’s a darkroom.” Erica pulled the tapestry aside and showed Leah the door, whispering like they were going to get caught, although no one was home. Even Solie, the housekeeper, was gone. She always left early on Friday because she wasn’t required to stay and cook dinner that night. The Nolans ate dinner out on Fridays.
“But he already has a darkroom.” Leah stared at the door with no knob, just a sliding bolt with a padlock to keep it closed, hidden by a giant floor-to-ceiling oriental tapestry. Mr. Nolan’s elevated room included a loft bed, eight feet high with a ladder on one end and spiral stairs on the other. Erica and Leah had nearly broken their necks when they were younger pretending to be Superman, jumping over the railing onto the hardwood floors, “capes” made of blankets flying behind them.
The gigantic tapestry covered the wall behind the bed, and underneath the bed was an old mahogany desk littered with papers and books, as well as several cameras and lenses, including some so big and clunky Leah was sure they had to be antiques. There was a walk-in closet on the other side with all of Mr. Nolan’s suits and ties and shoes.
“Daddy’s sneaky, but I’m sneakier.” Erica opened the middle drawer of the desk, fishing through a section full of loose keys and pulling out one attached to a leather fob.
“It’s another darkroom.” She unlocked the padlock, putting the key back, and slid the bolt. The sound made Leah jump. Erica grinned over her shoulder as she slipped inside, motioning Leah to follow. “A darker darkroom.”
Leah didn’t understand what she meant, until they got inside—and then she did. The light bulb was red and cast a crimson glow over the photographs hanging from a line by clothespins. Erica was editor of their little college newspaper, and all the photographers—all two of them—had the newest 35mm cameras, but Mr. Nolan was old school. He still used medium format.
It had the same chemical smell of his regular darkroom and a developing table in the middle with the standard three trays and tongs. On the left was a table with a light bench littered with little silver Exacto knives and scraps of photo paper. A shelf along the right side wall, above a padded bench, held all the chemicals, developers and stop baths, big yellow cans with Kodak written in red on the side. Leah saw one that said “Microdol Replenisher”—she had no idea what it meant, although she’d spent a lot of time with Mr. Nolan in his darkroom. His other darkroom, never this one.
This one was different.
“Is that… what I think it is?” Leah took a step closer, leaning on the counter and peering at the hanging photos, making out shapes and lines in the dimness. The photos were black and white, giving the subject matter a high-quality, artsy feel, but even though Leah had only ever seen one “dirty book” in her life, she knew exactly what she was looking at.
“Uh-huh.” Erica reached under the counter and pulled out a book, an actual bound book, with a woman on the cover wearing only a black corset and stockings and a pair of long, dark gloves. The title read, “An Artist’s Guide to Figure Study.”
“What—?” Leah blinked in wonder as Erica sat on the padded bench that lined the wall on the right side of the room, under the shelves of chemicals, patting the seat cushion beside her.
“Cast an eyeball on this!”
Leah sat cross-legged beside her friend, still in uniform—blue and white plaid skirt, white knee socks, white blouse. In high school, their uniform skirts had been red and white plaid, but graduation up to St. Mary Magdalene Preparatory College for Girls meant they could move to the more respectable blue and white. Erica had changed into dungarees and a pink sweatshirt with a monogrammed MM for Mary Magdalene on the front.
The book was full of women. They were half-naked, posed provocatively, and all of them were extremely well-endowed to the point of overflowing. Erica flipped pages and the girls stared at each one. It didn’t escape Leah that they were bathed in the red cast of the darkroom light, a color neither girl was allowed to wear on their nails or lips. Red was the color of blood, of sin—of Satan.
Leah glanced from the book to the similar row of photographs hanging on the line, and then underneath the developing table to see the shelves there stuffed with more books with titles like, “The Colossal Book of Data for Artists and Photographers.” Some were more daring, giving a girl’s name, and following that with a descriptor: “Frenchie, Artist Model, In a Series of Figure Studies For Artists and Photographers” or “Jackie, Forty Artful Poses.”
“These are… art books?” Leah asked doubtfully, looking back over her friend’s shoulder to see a completely topless woman, her nipples painted but prominent on the page.
“You’re kookie if you believe that bit!” Erica snorted. “And this stuff is nothing compared to what else is here.”
“There’s more?” Leah’s eyes widened as Erica got down on her knees on the floor, digging to the back of the shelves, moving books carefully aside.
“Dig on this!” Erica pulled another book out, this one a little larger, without the “For Artists and Photographers” disclaimer on the front. In fact, the front was a shocking photo of a woman in blac
k fishnet stockings, blindfolded and restrained, with some kind of strange ball in her mouth that had been secured behind her head with straps.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Leah whispered, but she looked over Erica’s shoulder anyway.
“Oh don’t be a party pooper,” her friend admonished. “So you wanted to know what I was doing to Bobby last week at the drive-in?”
Erica opened the book and Leah gasped. It was full of photographs, all of them far more graphic than anything Leah had seen in the magazine Bobby Harris passed around behind the chapel—the same Bobby Harris who was now doing all sorts of sexually perverted things with her best friend, at least according to the details Erica had relayed before bringing Leah into her father’s darkroom.
“This is...” Leah didn’t finish, too breathless, staring as Erica turned page after scandalous page.
Crazy?
Sick?
Far out?
All of those came to mind. These weren’t just pictures of women posing—although there were some of those too—these were men and women doing things together, to each other, things she couldn’t have imagined before seeing it firsthand.
