His Little Ametrine – Eleadian Mates Read Online Paige Michaels

Categories Genre: Alien, Alpha Male, Erotic, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Insta-Love, Novella, Paranormal Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 43818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
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It’s Sara’s turn to find out what it means to have a Papi of her own.

Sara is a starving artist. She waitresses during the day and sings in local bars at night. She’s been begging the manager of Club Zoom to give her a chance on his stage for months, but he’s reluctant and for a good reason. If he hires women to work in his club, they risk being chosen by an Eleadian male.

When Raevion steps into the control room on his fifth night on Earth, he hears the voice of an angel singing. There is not doubt she’s his, but he takes his time approaching the stage, knowing as soon as he does, the evening’s live entertainment will come to an end. Her entire focus will shift to their bond.

In a shocking twist, Sara finds herself so drawn to Raevion that she easily accepts the long list of changes she is about to face. But singing is her life. Will she have to give it up?

Prepare to travel through the stars only if you’re brave enough to learn about oversized Papis and survive their very intimate care.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One

Sara

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’ve heard all of this a dozen times. Trust me. It’s fine. I don’t care,” I tell the manager of Club Zoom as I pace his office. I know I’m fidgeting. I’m also chewing a wad of gum, which I know is unattractive, but it calms me a bit.

Zack is sitting at his desk, leaning back casually in his chair. His brow is furrowed. He’s going to turn me down. Again. He’s even tapping a pen against the edge of his desk. He does this every time I come in and beg for this gig.

“Look, Sara⁠—”

I shake my head, wincing. “Please don’t call me that. My mother gave me that name. It’s so…boring. Soft. Prissy. Innocent.” I shudder. “Do I look boring, soft, prissy, or innocent?” I glance down at myself and swoop a hand through the air alongside my torso.

Zack chuckles. “No.”

I know what he sees. He sees what I want him to see. I’m a starving artist. A singer without enough gigs. A waitress by day so I can work for pennies singing in bars at night, trying to get a break. If I could just be “seen” by the right person. I keep hoping.

I’m skinny and small, which I hate. I do, however, like the fact that I have tanned skin and huge brown eyes. Those are the parts of me I can’t control. The rest of my appearance is completely manipulated by me.

I wear my dirty blond hair in long narrow braids haphazardly placed around my head. I wear thick makeup, smokey eyes, and dark eyeshadow. I paint my full lips black. I have a dozen tattoos, several of which are visible on my arms and legs. If I could afford them, I would have more. I’m wearing my standard stage outfit even for this interview: black combat boots, a black leather skirt that barely covers my assets, a black, skintight tank top, and a multi-color scandalous T-shirt, which I’ve cut up in a dozen places so that it’s hardly anything at all and hangs loosely on my shoulders. I never wear a bra. I don’t need one, and I personally abhor their invention.

I pop my gum as I turn to face Zack, putting my hands on my hips and cocking one hip out to the side. I refuse to sit because I’m short enough when I’m standing. I feel ridiculous when I sit on a standard chair. I’m barely five feet tall. With my combat boots, maybe five one.

“Look, Zack…” I try to tuck my gum into one of my cheeks so I’m not chomping it while I talk. For me, the gum is like what a fidget spinner is for other people. But it’s not professional. “I’m not asking for money. I’m only asking for an opportunity.” This is my standard line when I’m trying to convince someone to give me a chance.

“Sara…”

“Simone. That’s my stage name.” I’d love it if the entire world eventually thought of me as Simone. It would be super cool if it became a household name. No last name. Just Simone. It’s sexy, sultry, and mysterious. It’s not Sara.

“Simone, you understand why I can’t let you sing in Club Zoom. We’ve been over this a dozen times.”

I roll my eyes. I can’t help it. I’m probably too cocky with Zack, but I want to appear to have a spine. I’d like it to seem like he needs me more than I need him.

The truth is hundreds of women come to this club every night of the week. I need to be seen in front of more women. Most of the bars I play in have more of a male clientele than female, which means I’m missing out on an entire segment of the population. I need to hit this group: classy women who come to Club Zoom.

“I know the risks, Zack. I get it. You’re worried I might be selected by one of these mythical alien giants and whisked off the planet never to be seen or heard from again.”

Zack chuckles again. “Sara… Sorry, Simone, trust me. They are not mythical. The men who come here to find a mate are seven and a half feet tall. They are proportionally large all over. Nearly twice your height. If you saw one, your jaw would drop.”

“Fine. Whatever.” I look down at myself and sweep both hands through the air up and down my frame again. “Do I look like the sort of woman these alien giants are attracted to?”

Zack smirks. “S…Simone, these men do not have a type. I know it’s hard to believe, but they tell me when they meet the right woman, the match is Fated.”

I laugh hard. “Fated? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

Zack lifts both brows. “Might sound ridiculous, but it appears to be true. If I let you sing in this club, you could just as easily be claimed by one of the Eleadian men as anyone else in the club. Trust me. I’ve seen every sort of woman leave this planet since we opened. Rich or poor, tall or short, skinny or not so skinny. Every ethnic group. Every body type. Every attitude. Sweet women, snarky women, sexy, frumpy, drunk, sober, with or without college degrees, with or without makeup. You are not immune.”



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