African Romance Novels & Stories

I start hammering you hard — savage, deep, relentless strokes that slam my heavy balls against your ass and batter your cervix with every thrust. The wet, filthy sound of my thick cock destroying your soaked cunt fills the room. Your creamy juices coat my veined shaft, dripping down to soak the sheets beneath you. “Feel that, baby?” I growl against your ear, pounding you mercilessly. “This big African cock is stretching your tight little cunt wide open. I’m battering your cervix, forcing it open so I can flood your womb.” I love giving it rough. Savage. I tear you up.

My best friend liked it instantly. [Congrats, Director Thornton. Welcome to freedom!] I was promoted to the position of finance director in my company. I bought my own home, and I had a cat. After everything I had been through, I finally understood that loving myself was where lifelong romance would truly begin.

Every thick vein and ridge scraped harshly against her sensitive inner walls as he buried himself to the hilt. Tafari fucked her with raw, unrelenting power. Each punishing thrust slammed her against the wooden daybed, the rough surface biting into her skin. The wet, violent squelching of her drenched cunt mixed with her broken screams and the primal sounds of the African bush — lions roaring, insects chirping, distant animal calls. Sweat poured down his muscular chest, dripping onto her bouncing breasts in hot rivulets, their bodies sliding together slickly in the cool night air.

Not with her, but with Africa, as pussycat’s fiancé joined op with them, on their way to the Serengeti. Sergio turned around and took a short vacation by his parent’s place, near Beira. By then he was totally convinced by the fact that all women are trouble. Especially to a man working in the wilderness. He saw that happening to many of his naturalist friends as well. Women somehow want to get married to a rugged man living in the African bush. Even call amans like that her own Africanbeast. Call him whatever. Fact is, they see the father of her babies in such a guys eyes whenever he makes love to her.

The stretch burned, but it was good, a kind of ache I couldn’t resist. “That’s it,” he coaxed, kissing my throat as he moved his finger. “Take me in, pretty girl.” Another whimper escaped me as he added a second finger, stretching me further. My hands clawed at the sheets, my hips moving helplessly against him. “Relax,” he whispered, his thumb brushing my cheek as his fingers worked me open. “I’ve got you. I just need to make sure you’re ready.” I dug my nails into his back, dragging them down, and he hissed at the sting but never slowed. His mouth found mine again, swallowing my cries, and when he finally pulled his hand away, I was panting, my body trembling.

“The new Don of that mafia family seems even more ruthless than his father. He'd swallowed up quite a few old-school clans in the past year.” “He wants their power,” I replied calmly and emotionlessly. When I met Luke's worried gaze, I smiled at him. “Let's not talk about him. It's all in the past now.” Luke did not say anything more. He just held my hand, gently and firmly. The sun shone on his body and the blueprint before me. This was our new hotel and our future together — a life no longer built on lies and betrayal, but a bright future completely within my grasp.

"This isn’t a romance novel, Nanny. This is my life, and I’m just trying to do my job without embarrassing myself." Nanny laughs, clearly enjoying this way too much. "Oh, Isa. You’re making it sound like it’s the worst thing in the world. Just imagine it—a forbidden workplace romance, secret glances, and the tension! Oh, how thrilling! The babysitter and the boss. You’ve already got the perfect setup." I glare at her. "Nanny, stop. He’s my boss, and he has a child. A cute child, by the way, who is clearly going through something. I’m not about to entertain any fantasies about him."

He ran his fingers through her hair and jerked it back, forcing her to look up. “Forgive me, Angel,” Ricardo reluctantly pleaded. His gaze swept over her beautiful face with a hint of regret. “I have other urgent matters to attend to.” Ricardo sealed his apology with a deep kiss on Angel's red lips. He groaned. Pleasure echoed in Ricardo's chest, especially when Angel's fingers caressed his flaccid masculinity. “I will be leaving for a while. Did I already pay for the entire night?” Ricardo grinned. “No worries. Consider it a bonus for this,” he said, patting Angel's buttocks. “Next week, I'll be back.”

“It sounds… like it should be yours, only yours. ‘Mon amour.’ My love.” I blushed, my heart pounding in my chest. “You know I don’t speak French.” He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “Then I will teach you… one kiss at a time.” I laughed, a trembling, delicate sound. He pulled me into his arms, holding me so close I could feel the strength of his desire, the depth of his longing that he had never released. His fingers drifted over my skin, tracing patterns I had never known I knew. Every caress was a poem. Every caress was a confession.

His eyes scanned Diane's sexy curves that the gown had helped accentuate. He rushed up to Diane and kissed her on the lips; his pungent breath irked her. She tried to pull away, but she couldn't; the African man kept fondling her perky breasts, and her nipples surged up at the first sign of sex. He turned her back and tried to penetrate into her anus, which she vehemently refused, but he held her in place, ready to defy nature. Diane felt helpless; was this another price to pay for being alive?