I started with a short drizzle. When the first drop of molten wax made contact with the skin in the center of his chest, he winced with his whole body. He wasn’t expecting it; his arms jolted, but then he smirked and relaxed, waiting for the next drop. I didn’t make him wait. Another splash of wax spurted over his abs and slid down his left side, cooling and solidifying on its way.
This time he grunted. Again, I had that strange feeling of arousal every time the hot wax landed on his skin. Each part of his body reacted differently to the heat. He flinched when the wax nipped his chest, and shuddered when it puddled over his stomach; he writhed beneath me when I dripped a drop of wax on his nipple, his breath turning into a quick gasp. I detected every movement of his muscles, watched his ribs shuffle smoothly underneath his skin, his V lines teasing me with a light motion. Those moments of us together—him surrendering to me, and me toying with his body—were moments of intimacy and of deep closeness, of trusting each other, and loving each other. As the wax streamed across his skin, as hot as the blood that was snaking through his veins, his body language was telling me things no one else could decipher.
“How does it feel?” I asked, holding the candle above his chest.
I stroked his sweating face, grazed it lightly with my nails. If it was scalding, then I needed to quench his fire. I grabbed an ice cube from the bucket on the tray and tipped his brow. He flinched at first, thinking I had dripped hot wax on his face. I couldn’t help giggling. Dripping hot wax on the face is a big ‘No.’ I’d never do that, but it was funny to see how he’d lost the ability to tell the wax from the ice.
“Let’s play a game,” I said. “We’ll call it A Song of Ice and Fire. You’ll have to guess what I’m dipping on you. If you guess wrong, the wax will become hotter.” I bent the candle holder and sprinkled the wax over his tensed biceps. He wasn’t expecting to feel the heat on his arm and laughed nervously.
“Fire,” he whispered.
About the Book
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.
Mailing list: http://eepurl.com/9kKUf