Morana Ambrose."Now, if we may have the rings." Frederick called out and Mike, Sullivan’s younger son walked slowly forward, a broad smile on his face."Thank you." Adrian smiled as he patted Mike on the top of his head. Adrian took the ring meant for me, and I took the ring meant for him."Now, Ad
I smiled up at him, my heart swelling with love. “And you, my love, look incredibly handsome.”We made our way to the center of the room, where the first dance awaited us. The lights dimmed, and the soft melody of our song began to play. Adrian took me into his arms, and we started to dance, moving
Morana Ambrose. The group of men, their presence as unwelcome as a storm on a clear day, stood quite opposite to the happiness that had filled the air just moments ago. They were clearly out of place, and the mood had shifted from one of pure celebration to one of anxiety and fear.Adrian’s grip
“I don’t think we have a choice,” I replied quietly, my heart aching at the thought of leaving him. “Those children’s lives are at stake. We can’t just ignore that.” I said. “They’ll kill you,” he argued, his voice tight with emotion. “I can’t lose you, Morana. Not now, not ever.”My heart ached at
Morana Ambrose. Adrian and I made our way to our room. No longer was it his room or mine, but ours—a place where we could shut out the world, at least for a while. The reality of our situation loomed over us, dark and menacing, but I was determined to find some peace and to cling to the happiness
Adrian Blackthrone. Her moans of pleasure were like barbs in my flesh, pulling me closer to the limits and egging my desire for more."Adrian." She called my name and slightly lifted her hips to urge me on.Abandoning her beautifully perfect breasts, I continued to move lower. Down across the bell
Morana Ambrose. I woke up in the morning with every muscle in my body aching, a lingering reminder of the passion Adrian and I had shared through the whole night. Despite the soreness, a smile tugged at my lips as I recalled the way we had clung to each other. But now, as reality slowly settled in
Morana Ambrose. He was bound, his wrists tied with thick ropes that dug into his skin, leaving angry red marks. His shirt was torn, and blood dripped from a gash on his forehead, staining the floor beneath him. His face was contorted with pain and fury, but his eyes—those familiar, piercing eyes—we