Wednesday, 11 February 2015



About the Book

Title: His Name is Killian
Author: Ella Adamian
Genre: Erotic Romance
Killian e-book cover
“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.

Author Bio

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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Book Excerpts
These excerpts are 18+.
Excerpt 1.
“Don’t try to fight it,” he whispered, leaning forward. She knew he was talking about the goose bumps that covered the skin of her arms up to the shoulders. “You have no idea how well I know your body.” Killian clasped her palms tightly in his when she tried to hide her hands under the table. “I close my eyes and I see your legs and breasts, your waist and the dimples at the small of your back.” He squeezed her palms tighter, possessing her gaze with his own. “What I don’t know yet is how it feels to be inside you.”
Melissa felt her brain stop working, stop processing sound. Her lips slowly parted as her mind looked for something to say. Anything. Just so she would stop staring at him with her mouth open, a look of pure shock on her face.
“Has to feel good,” he continued. “Tight. Wet. Warm.”
Once again she tried to pull her hands back, but his grip was tight, possessive.
“Please stop it.” She looked away.
“I need to know how it feels to have you under me. I want to know if you’ll cry out my name when I’m buried between your thighs. I have to know if you prefer tearing the sheets, or scratching my back till you draw blood.”
At last he loosened his grip, and she managed to pull one hand from his grasp.
“I don’t understand what you are doing or why, but you are making me uncomfortable. You have to stop this right now,” she whispered, hiding her face with her free hand and praying the violent tickle in her belly would cease.
The corners of his mouth twitched into a smile. Leaning his jaw on his hand, he waited patiently for her to feel as embarrassed as she wished.
“There are so many things I want to do to you. To take you in a way no one has ever taken you before. Claim your poor, tortured body, a prisoner to that prudish mind.”
“You didn’t know your body was talking to me? Longing to be claimed by me? Begging me to ravish it every time I came close?”
She wished she knew what to answer. Maybe what he was saying was true—partly—but it still didn’t give him the right to embarrass her like that, to call her a prude. And still, no matter how much she pondered, nothing good came to mind.
“One month,” he said.
She looked up at him.
“Surrender yourself to me for one month.”
“Surrender?” She squinted at him.
“Submit to me.”