Books Without Smut Novels & Stories

Intimate. “Shh.” One finger pressed against my lips. “No more talking unless I tell you to. We wouldn’t want security to hear the prim little library assistant moaning like a whore when they finally check the building.” The crude word sent a shameful thrill straight to my core. I was already wet, embarrassingly so, just from one kiss and the way he was looking at me like he planned to devour me slowly. He stepped back slightly, eyes never leaving mine, and reached for one of the leather-bound books on the nearby table. It was an old edition of The Decameron, Boccaccio’s tales of lust and sin during the plague. One of the restricted volumes he’d borrowed before.

He leaned down, lips brushing my ear. "I've been reading a lot of adult books... Smut... my research tells me women love the things men do to them there. Can I try something out? I've been learning about how to pleasure you for so long. Reading helps me imagine you... p**n videos don't do that for me." What the hell were smut and p**n? I swallowed tightly, heart hammering, thighs pressing together uselessly around nothing. "Yes," I whispered, voice already wrecked. "Do whatever you want to me." My thighs trembled and parted invitingly. A dark, satisfied smile curved his lips.

Oh my sweet Lord, those eyes. Getting lost in them meant he could order me to strip and I might just do it. Eagerly. I could only imagine how those eyes would burn in the heat of passion. Dark and stormy. Consuming. I have to stop reading those smut books. Maybe switch to horror, mystery, history. Anything but books full of sex. Lowering myself down in the chair opposite his, I crossed one leg over the other and waited. My heart drummed against my ribs while I held his gaze, hiding the effect he had on me.

, it can be found on any book platform and unlike this book, Burning passion is a novella, so just sit back and enjoy a long blissful erotic stories THANK YOU AGAIN❤️!!

“Always reading smut, huh? I didn’t take you for the type, but I guess I should’ve known better.” I scowled at him, crossing my arms over my chest defensively. “I haven’t always read smut. The books I used to read before were never like this,” I shot back, my voice laced with irritation. “It’s just…different genres. That’s all.” He chuckled, low and deep, the sound reverberating through me. “Sure, different genres,” he mocked lightly, waving the book in front of me. “You know, these scenes are pretty explicit. I didn’t know you had such a vivid imagination.”

Absolutely not. Furious that I left my phone, laptop, and speaker downstairs, I find myself with nothing to do. Do I have the patience for reading? No. Am I in the mood to read? Also no. Do I have anything else to do? Another no. Sighing deeply, I grab a book, plop down on the bed, and start reading my smutty novel. Smut is probably the last thing I should be reading right now, but it's the only thing available. And honestly, who doesn’t like smut?

Keeping the previous book on the shelf I glanced for another book. "What is it amore, didn't like your book?" Alesso asked with a smug look making me narrow my eyes at him. "No, it was fine but I am in no mood to read that type of book right now." I looked back at the shelf and he hummed in response. While glancing I looked that all books were filled with only smut. I was confused, who only has smut books on their shelf. Looking back at Alesso I see him trying to keep a straight face.

I sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “Alright, alright, mister uptight. I won’t talk about smut and p**n since it bothers you so much.” Surprisingly, he was quiet after that. So, when I picked up a rom-com book, I stared at the pink cover and said, “It doesn’t bother me.” “Whatever you say, mister uptight.”

He shook her from his mind and pushed open the doors to the study. The rug-lined room was bigger than B’s above-garage apartment. Floor to ceiling bookshelves dampened any noise B might made in his whiskey search. There didn’t seem to be a single inch of space on any one of the shelves. Books of all colors, textures, and sizes were packed together. In front of the book spines sat hundreds of little treasures–seashells, pocket watches, glass figurines, and carvings of creatures. So many creatures. B let his fingers drift over the book spines: The Picture of Dorian Gray. The Catcher in the Rye. The Odyssey. Brave New World. The Call of the Wild. White Noise. So many stories he’d never read and

When I'm done in the kitchen, I pour myself a glass of white wine, savoring the tangy scent that rises from the glass. My eyes drift over to my bookcase in the living room, and I pad towards it. I let my hand caress the spines of several books before I halt at the one I am currently reading. It's a dark romance with heavy smut, gory violence and a male lead so morally grey you could call it pitch black. Love it!