Warning: excerpt is 18+ only.
As I sank to my knees, his legs in blue jeans blocked my way to the door. Something dangled in the air above my head. The handcuffs teased me, and my heart quickened as I pictured my hands cuffed by those silver rings. I looked up at him. His eyes were expressive enough to explain to me what he wanted. Slowly, I raised my clenched hands, looking at him and waiting for a glimpse of a smile, or at least a grin, and receiving none. On my knees, I felt like a pagan priestess worshipping a stone idol, insensible and lifeless. The cuffs briskly trapped both of my wrists; the chilling ratcheting sound echoed in the silence.
As he squatted before me, something with a glint of silver flashed between his lips. He took it into his mouth, then leaned forward and kissed me. I tasted the cold metal on his tongue. The key to my cuffs, the means of my freedom, teased me in his mouth.
He unclasped my bra. All of the bras he had picked up for me had the claps in the front, probably because it’s the most convenient design when your hands are tied. Both his hands glided over my chest, slathering sweet-scented lavender oil into my skin and working firmly with his palms, taking the time to knead each of my breasts, sweeping his hands up and down my belly, rubbing my sides… Oh, God, why couldn’t it last forever? How does he always know where to press his fingers to release so much amassed pain and tension from my body? Every stroke of his hands is a gift, which I willingly accept, never tire of, and always crave more.
He rolled my already hardened nipples between his fingers. Then the touch of cold metal on my skin made me wince.
“Dear God,” I muttered with fear when the clamp hugged my nipple, then tightened around it. Was it painful? I’m not sure; I’d say no. All I know is that it felt strange. Since I have begun the S&M games I experience weird feelings. Unknown emotions, unheard sensations; painful yet enjoyable in some peculiar, fetishistic way.
I held my breath until my other nipple was clasped inside the clamp, then dared take a sip of air and lay motionless, hoping that keeping still would ease the pressure on my nipples. The clamps were attached to each other with a chain, and as Kill pulled it up, my back arched on its own, and a shallow gasp escaped my lips. That felt totally bizarre, but the state of helplessness, the feeling of captivity, and the idea of dependency were oddly thrilling.
Touch me, I was pleading mentally. Touch me there. I was so aroused I thought I might orgasm the very moment he’d put a finger between my legs. I didn’t know his face was so close to mine, but then I heard him whisper in my ear, “You will not come unless I allow it.”
Title: His Name is Killian
Author: Ella Adamian
Genre: Erotic Romance
“I met a guy today and I think he’s crazy.”
She knows little about him. Only that he paints harpies, and that he loves it rough. That he suffers from mood swings. And that his name is Killian.
He’s gentle until he’s not. Sweet until he gets angry. He has promised her a month of sexual games, but is that really what he wants from her?
As the time passes, his dark side slowly reveals itself. There is a secret in his past and it doesn’t let him rest.
This novel is intended for mature audiences only. Contains explicit sex scenes.
Ella Adamian was born and raised in a beautiful faraway land called Armenia. She spent her childhood among books, devouring them at the speed of light, and creating her own stories. Realizing that writing in Armenian wouldn’t take her anywhere, she learned English and has recently published her debut erotic novel, His Name is Killian.
She also has to hide her identity to avoid being fined (or even detained) in her country for such an explicit novel.
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