Novel & Cerita Books By Emile Zola

Maybe this was a side he’d kept hidden from her, a side that only came out when he was alone? The bookshelf too, was full of clues to Jacob’s secret. The Story of O . Billionaire Blackmail . Fifty Shades of Grey . Delta of Venus . Books by the Marquis de Sade and Leopold von Sacher Masoch. The Marketplace . Every book Emily selected was erotica. She wished she’d found this stash years ago. How exciting would those evenings alone have been then?

But she hoped that even Scar wouldn't sink so low as to ruin their wedding day. After everything ws organized and put away, Lacey headed out to the living room and poured herself a glass of wine. Then she eyed the wall of books on the far wall. John Grisham... Tom Clancy.... Then there were classics such as The Three Musketeers, The Man in the Iron Mask, both by Alexandre Dumas; as well as Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea and From the Earth to the Moon, both by Jules Verne; and much more. It was an impressive collection. She chose From the Earth to the Moon and then sat on the couch to wait for Julien.

"But when I'm feeling lazy and indulgent, I much prefer curling up with a good, engrossing book." "Is that so?" Zavian murmured. "And what sort of...engrossing...book do you prefer?" Emmeline quickly averted her gaze, not wanting him to see the truth burning there. She was an avid consumer of erotic novels, especially the kind involving dark, powerful men who took what they wanted. "Oh, you know...scientific books, mostly," she lied unconvincingly with a dismissive wave of her hand. Noting her bare shapely legs, Zavian frowned and quickly shrugged out of his jacket.

Already much more soothing than sad songs and the sound of explosions. Tall shelves lined the walls, crammed with books. Of course this man had a library that looked like it belonged in an interior magazine spread. A low chandelier hung in the middle of the room above a long solid wood table, a few chairs, one couch in the corner with a folded throw. I walked along the first shelf, letting my fingertips brush the spines. Gold lettering, embossed titles, lettering already faded. The first row was full of classics. Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy, Dumas. Of course Zane owned a collection of depressed men who liked to write about sin and consequences. Fitting.

That caused my eyebrows to raise and my cheeks to blush. "Well... If you like that mix, maybe 'Story of O' by Pauline Réage, 'The Lover' by Marguerite Duras, 'Tropic of Cancer' by Henry Miller, or 'Delta of Venus' by Anaïs Nin could be recommended," I suggested, my face burning. These were considered significant works of erotic literature, but at the same time, they were quite scandalous. "Did you enjoy them?" he asked with a slightly huskier voice. "I like forming my own opinions."