Saturday, December 13, 2014

Killian Stone paints harpies. 

Killian Stone is not into vanilla sex.

Killian Stone suffers from mood swings. 

Killian Stone has done something very bad. 

The day the painter approached her on the bridge and asked her to pose for him was the beginning of a lust Melissa wouldn’t be able to bridle. When he offers her a month of submission, she’s already too captivated to turn him down. His unhinged sexuality lets her explore her own dark fantasies, but his anger outbursts are scary and devastating. As the time goes by, Melissa realizes there’s something more than just irritability and anger. He has done something which doesn’t let him rest.

Killian didn’t say more but ran after Melissa. She had almost reached the exit. When she saw 

the already familiar erotic images over the walls, she rushed forward, stumbled upon the iron 

door, told the guard to open it, and threw herself out of the building. The yellow light of the 

street pole hurt her eyes after they had been too long in the dark. She looked up, as if searching 

for solace in the dark skies, and at last took a deep breath of the cold air.

“Melissa!” she heard his voice behind. She didn’t turn. Instead, she took a step, but her legs 

were losing their strength, and she felt weak in the knees.

“Baby.” He was close now, and she turned around and pushed him in the chest.

“Damn it! What the hell was all that for? What for?”

Laughing, Killian tried to envelop his arms around her, but she shrank back.

“Come here.” He made another attempt to hug her and met resistance again. “Come, stop it. 

Let me hug you, and you’ll calm down.”

“Leave me!” she yelled louder as Killian forced his arms around her. “Leave me, 


“Baby, sweet thing, little angel, I’m sorry if it scared you,” Killian muttered, pressing her to 

his chest and rubbing her back. “I didn’t think you were so impressionable. Those were just S 

and M games in a BDSM dungeon.”

“You said it was a museum!” she cried out, trying to get out of his grip. Killian held her 

tighter, and her efforts became more vigorous.

“Calm down,” he said, feeling her tears on his neck.

“Why would you do that to me?”

“Calm down.”

“Let me go! I can’t stand you!” She pushed him harder, but the steel arms weren’t letting her 

free. The claustrophobic feeling was back again, and Lessi pushed him with all her force. At last 

he loosened his grip but didn’t let her slip through his hands and kept her at an arm’s length by 

her shoulders.

“Calm down, nothing bad has happened,” he said as she again tried to get out of his arms. 

“Here, hit me.” Killian cupped her hands in his and balled her palms into fists. “Hit me, and 

you’ll feel better,” he said, hitting her hands against his chest.

Melissa tried to pull her hands back, but he tightened his grip and once again hit himself with 

her fists. “Do it! You’re so mad with me. Hit me and you’ll feel better.”

“Stop it.”

“Hit me!”

Ella Adamian lives in a small country named Armenia and writes in English. She also hides her identity, so that the local law enforcement bodies won’t fine or detain her for her explicit erotic novel “His Name is Killian.” Currently she’s working on the sequel of her first book.
by Whitney Martin 3:00 AM 2 comments


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