Best Medieval Romance Novels Novels & Stories

Most of them were what I expected—books on strategy, history, a few on Italian mafia politics. And then, tucked on the bottom shelf, almost hidden— "You weren't kidding about these?" I pulled one out, raising an eyebrow. "Really?" "Put that back." "The Duke's Dangerous Desire," I read aloud, grinning. "A Rake's Redemption. The Highlander's Captive Bride—" "Jameson." Her voice was sharp, but I could hear the embarrassment underneath. "Put them back." "I'm not judging," I said, turning to face her. "I'm just surprised. You kill people for a living, but you read romance novels?"

I barely even came. My second boyfriend tried to “fix me” like I was a problem to solve. He lasted five days before I got tired of pretending I was normal. But even in those five days, I was already craving something deeper than what he could give. And I hate to say this, but hell no, he has the tiniest dick I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Believe me, his dick was about the same size as my nipples when they’re aroused. My third boyfriend said I was draining him. I told him I wasn’t the one begging for distance every time things got real.

I asked. “Another one of his historical smuts.” Henry replied, raising his voice to grab Ron’s attention. “This is fine historical literature not smut.” I snorted at that. “Fine historical literature my ass.” Henry said. Hen was right. I had once searched for a book in Ron’s vast library that did not involve a Duke being wickedly seduced by a temptress or a Highlander spilling his seeds into a moaning fair maiden and had not found any. Not that I was complaining, they were quite educative.

Two Days Later: After what happened at the hotel, Addison couldn't come out of her room again, the news was everywhere already. She was now tagged as the blood-stained virgin girl. The Lannister's name and hers were the trending news all over social media. Some supported her but some called her a harlot. She found it strange that they called her that type of person when she had never slept with a man. A harlot is someone that slept with so many men, not the other way around.

“One thing, to write a romance novel.” “Me too. Never liked those types of novels.” “There is one more type that I don't like.” “What type is that?” “Where the husband cheats his wife, and she faithfully prays that he will return to her and that they will live happily ever after.” “Just, look at our Lady Vertina.” “What's with her?” “The last time, I heard about her, she had three lovers and two husbands.” “Three lovers and two husbands? ” “Yes. Do you know, what's the best part?”

“The title was Taming Sunrise. The story is about twins whose bond was tested when a man named Caleb entered the picture. Dawn, the heroine was a man-hater while Caleb was a girl magnet. These two who has an opposite personality has to cease fire to help the other twin – Dusk with her role. This book is filled with humor, romance and… spicy scenes so I do not recommend it to our young readers.” “I think I have a new book to hunt.” She chuckled. “Now, you mentioned the High School Love Affair earlier which was released last month, it was astonishing to see the progress of your book. It was immediately labeled as sold out in bookstores and was announced as bestseller worldwide. What do you fee

Dom is quick to move, letting the rogues hit one another. Dazed, the wolves stand and shake their heads. This time Dom lunges. He lands on the larger of the two and sinks his teeth into his leg. The rogue howls in pain. Dom lets go, unable to stomach the trashy taste of blood. The other rogue pounces on him, dragging his claws across his chest. Blood oozes out over Dom’s midnight fur. The gray rogue hovers, snapping and clawing. He never relents, making it hard for Dom to regain control. Red fur comes flying through the trees, tackling the rogue. He never stood a chance against my red-headed beauty. She wraps her jaws around his throat, snapping them shut until she hears the bone break.

Even Antonio and Benigno seem more human than her,’ Enrique grumbles. I smile, stifling a giggle. Now’s not the time to laugh, but he is so adorable. He jumps down first, and I jump after. He catches me, although I would have been fine, and places me down as we look around at what appears to be a dirty, small room. It’s extremely dusty, yet it holds countless books and boxes. I recognise the symbols on one of the books, my eyes widening. These are grimoires! What is this place?

The fire in the grand hearth spat and hissed, throwing its light against dark-paneled walls in patterns that shifted with each breath the flame took, shadows reaching and retreating across surfaces that had been accumulating the history of this house for longer than I had been alive. The bed was massive. Canopied, draped in fabrics that belonged to another century, the century of the portraits downstairs, the century of passion and consequence and the particular understanding that beauty and destruction were not opposites but close neighbors. I looked at it and felt the vertigo of the moment press against my sternum. The surfaces told me things.

His warm hands on my face and his closeness set my body ablaze with my feelings for him, coupled with the soft words he was uttering. “Sandy,” he said softly and rubbed my cheekbones with his thumb. “I… After understanding what my heart is feeling… Sandy… I…” My heart hammered faster every second. Blood rushed through my body at a speed that my head started to get light. I was anxious to hear what he had to say. A part of me dreaded separation and the other part of me remained positive. “I know I’m the worst at romance, but this is me pouring my heart out.” He gulped. “Sandy… I… I love you.”