start sleeping around and with an alien no less? She would pay and so would he. They wouldn’t see it coming. The red bastard would pay with his life and before he died, he would watch as Landon claimed what was his once more. That bitch would get a taste of pain she had never had before. Ember was his.
He had spent years watching that bitch, her foster care background making her an easy target. She struggled so well in the beginning, her personality not easily accepting defeat, but she had succumbed in the end. How dare she leave him, he hadn’t said she could leave. Now all he had to do was bide his time. They would pay. He smiled to himself as the ice cold calm he strived for years to obtain slid into place. It was time to call in a few favors.
EIGHT
Ember allowed the paint brush to move on its own, the dark red paint taking the shape that played over and over in her dreams last night. Black hair framed a lovely oval face complete with full lips. Her dark eyelashes framed her almond eyes that sported a unique hazel-green gaze. Ember let the brush lead the way, totally relaxing her muscles, like she had so many times before. Ember loved to paint and draw, letting her imagination roam and create beautiful pieces. Her talent had allowed her to stow away money for when she gathered up the courage and an opportunity presented itself for her to escape Landon. Of course, it didn’t exactly work out as she had planned. Her plan involved her walking away, never seeing the cruel bastard again. Fate, however, had a different and fucked up plan for her involving being caught in the act and the painful beat down that followed. She realized without that she never would have met Ceylon which was something hard to fathom.
Other times her art owned her, dreams demanding to be painted or drawn and never leaving her alone until they graced the pages they begged to inhabit. She knew to let herself go and allow the paint or pencil to decide how the art would unfold. She would never verbalize it, but she had several sketched of Ceylon stowed away under a floorboard. She remembered him now, how he graced her dreams. Vivid dreams of him losing the female that her subconscious demand she paint. He did love her, and it almost destroyed him when she died. Some of the elements of the dream didn’t make sense, but he hadn’t told her his entire story, the reason why his people were here in the first place. Thoughts of Ceylon made her sigh. He was all that she could ever ask for in a man. He was beautiful, his baby-face adding to his attractiveness, rather than being off-putting as she would assume. His fine hair fell to his shoulders, and the skin that was a reddish tint only added to his appeal. He towered over her, dwarfing her five foot two frame. Though she hadn’t seen him naked, their many nights sitting on the couch with him embracing her to his chest as she fell asleep, she couldn’t help but feel his muscles firm beneath his shirts.
She knew that he wanted her, his erection was ever present pressing into her backside as she sat with him or on his lap. He was kind and patient. Sometimes she could sense his anger stirring, but she didn’t always know what caused it. If Landon was brought up, his anger made his eyes almost glow with the rage that he suppressed. She trusted him. Even though it was stupid, she trusted him explicitly. She wanted him so bad she could almost taste him on her lips. The orgasm he gave her while she was pressed against the wall, even without fully being skin to skin only whetted her appetite, an appetite she wasn’t sure she had. Years of being forced to have sex with her cruel husband had only convinced her that she didn’t like sex, but she now knew that sex with Ceylon would be anything but unpleasant.
Earthshattering.
Mind-numbing.
Those were words she would bet describe sex with Ceylon. But maybe it wasn’t the prospect of sex with a man who wouldn’t force
He had spent years watching that bitch, her foster care background making her an easy target. She struggled so well in the beginning, her personality not easily accepting defeat, but she had succumbed in the end. How dare she leave him, he hadn’t said she could leave. Now all he had to do was bide his time. They would pay. He smiled to himself as the ice cold calm he strived for years to obtain slid into place. It was time to call in a few favors.
EIGHT
Ember allowed the paint brush to move on its own, the dark red paint taking the shape that played over and over in her dreams last night. Black hair framed a lovely oval face complete with full lips. Her dark eyelashes framed her almond eyes that sported a unique hazel-green gaze. Ember let the brush lead the way, totally relaxing her muscles, like she had so many times before. Ember loved to paint and draw, letting her imagination roam and create beautiful pieces. Her talent had allowed her to stow away money for when she gathered up the courage and an opportunity presented itself for her to escape Landon. Of course, it didn’t exactly work out as she had planned. Her plan involved her walking away, never seeing the cruel bastard again. Fate, however, had a different and fucked up plan for her involving being caught in the act and the painful beat down that followed. She realized without that she never would have met Ceylon which was something hard to fathom.
Other times her art owned her, dreams demanding to be painted or drawn and never leaving her alone until they graced the pages they begged to inhabit. She knew to let herself go and allow the paint or pencil to decide how the art would unfold. She would never verbalize it, but she had several sketched of Ceylon stowed away under a floorboard. She remembered him now, how he graced her dreams. Vivid dreams of him losing the female that her subconscious demand she paint. He did love her, and it almost destroyed him when she died. Some of the elements of the dream didn’t make sense, but he hadn’t told her his entire story, the reason why his people were here in the first place. Thoughts of Ceylon made her sigh. He was all that she could ever ask for in a man. He was beautiful, his baby-face adding to his attractiveness, rather than being off-putting as she would assume. His fine hair fell to his shoulders, and the skin that was a reddish tint only added to his appeal. He towered over her, dwarfing her five foot two frame. Though she hadn’t seen him naked, their many nights sitting on the couch with him embracing her to his chest as she fell asleep, she couldn’t help but feel his muscles firm beneath his shirts.
She knew that he wanted her, his erection was ever present pressing into her backside as she sat with him or on his lap. He was kind and patient. Sometimes she could sense his anger stirring, but she didn’t always know what caused it. If Landon was brought up, his anger made his eyes almost glow with the rage that he suppressed. She trusted him. Even though it was stupid, she trusted him explicitly. She wanted him so bad she could almost taste him on her lips. The orgasm he gave her while she was pressed against the wall, even without fully being skin to skin only whetted her appetite, an appetite she wasn’t sure she had. Years of being forced to have sex with her cruel husband had only convinced her that she didn’t like sex, but she now knew that sex with Ceylon would be anything but unpleasant.
Earthshattering.
Mind-numbing.
Those were words she would bet describe sex with Ceylon. But maybe it wasn’t the prospect of sex with a man who wouldn’t force
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