Booktok Books With No Spice Novels & Stories

She was never a reader, particularly because her father never had any money to afford the books. Erica wiped her tears and walked close to the shelves, she picked up a book that attracted her eyes the most, it had velvet cover and it was labeled as ‘History of Flowers’, there was no author name on it. She opened the book, there were no contents either, just a blank page. She turned the page and immediately she was hit by a very sweet smell. The page was labeled as ‘redoca’, she turned the page and she smelled a different smell, more spicy and stinging, that page was labeled as ‘geory’.

He smiles, and starts an email, as she flips through the book looking for the next section that isn’t on fashion. A short while later, and that book is done too. George had also pointed out a couple of other chapters that aren’t relevant anymore. Dinner starts appearing as she dives into the last book, ‘What is this piece of cutlery, and when should I use it?’. It was a glorified picture book. Picture of the cutlery, the use of said cutlery, it’s position on the table, and what it shouldn’t ever be used for as it would be the height of rudeness to do so. Most of it was fairly simple, but the spoon section had her eyes going crossed, and her head starting to ache. She slams the book down on t

My gaze wandered over the spines, and my heart skipped a beat as I spotted a familiar title nestled between two larger books - my own book, its silver spine glinting in the soft light of the room. As Roxy disappeared into her room, I took the opportunity to explore the rest of the apartment. I wandered into the kitchen area, and my eyes widened in surprise. The kitchen was a culinary paradise, fully stocked with an impressive array of cookware, utensils, and gadgets. Every available surface was adorned with jars of spices, baskets of fresh ingredients, and cookbooks that seemed to span every cuisine imaginable. It was clear that Roxy had a passion for cooking, and that this kitchen was her h

If my handjob sucked, then I had to make it better, learn the best way to treat a cock, and whip him up with something he’ll never forget. “Noah”—his moans played in my head as I searched the shelf for something helpful. [The Faith of the Dragon Lair] [How to kill a dragon] [The Art of Fireflies] [An Omega’s Journal] My finger paused at the last book, “An Omega’s Journal.” It sounded intriguing and also felt like it was written from experience. I pulled the book out of the shelf, dusting it off and removing the particles in search of the author’s name. No name, no copyright claims… Who would leave something this private in a library?

God, she tasted like sin coated with deliciousness. “S-sir…” Her moans were broken as she started to move her hips, riding my tongue like she couldn't get enough, and fuck I loved it. I slid a finger in along with my tongue, teasing her g-spot and she cried out in pleasure as she arched her back.

This book is part of a series called The Forbidden Series. Book 1: His Forbidden Goddaughter (Complete) Book 2: Her Forbidden Desire (Complete) *** Hello my beautiful readers! For those of you that don't know, my books are considered ‘steamy’. This means that they will be filled with lots of detailed steamy scenes. This book specifically will have lots of sėx scenes, some bdšm, violence, drugs, profane language, the whole nine yards, so if you don’t feel comfortable with that, please skip those chapters or the book altogether. This is a mafia book, so without the violence, drugs, and alcohol, it wouldn’t really be a mafia book. LOL. I will try to have trigger warnings as much as possible, bu

If there was an answer anywhere… It would be here. I searched through the oldest section first, carefully running my fingers across cracked leather bindings faded by time. One book after another came off the shelf. None of them mentioned curses. I kept looking. Finally… One worn spine caught my attention. Across the faded cover, a single word had been pressed into the leather. Curses. I carefully pulled the heavy book free. Dust drifted into the air as I carried it to a nearby table and sat down. Taking a steady breath, I opened the first page. “Well…” I whispered to myself. “Here we go.”

She pushed that down deep, sipping from stored bags in the fridge. Rain hammered the windows that Tuesday night. Lydia sat at her desk, sorting through a box of new books. One caught her eye: Spirits of the Wild: Bindings and Releases. The cover was cracked leather, smelling like dirt and old forests. She flipped it open, her fingers brushing over faded words in some ancient tongue. "Just a peek," she told herself. Curiosity burned in her chest. She read the spell aloud, soft and quick, like testing a locked door. The air changed. It got heavy, like before a storm. Candles on the shelves flickered wild, shadows dancing on the walls. A rumble started low, from the book itself. Lydia's hands s

I missed my mate, my freedom, my friends, Kailin, and everyone at the vineyards. I watched a series about a group of delinquent kids born in space and dropped to Earth to see if the air was already breathable. I finished Episode twelve, and when a particular character pissed me off, I turned it off and went to read something in the study. There were some fiction books, but primarily old books from Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, and Herman Melville. There were self-help and meditation books and a book about mystical creatures. I walked out of the study. If she allowed me to read a book about witchcraft, it might interest me, but that would be as dangerous as walking into the darkness without

“Because it’s exactly that, Dr. Black. The character isn’t surrendering out of love. She’s wet for the control, the way he pins her down with words and authority before he even touches her. It’s raw. It’s filthy. And pretending it’s just intellectual is bullshit. Don’t you think?” A few gasps rippled through the room. Some guy in the back chuckled nervously. Dr. Black’s expression didn’t change much, but I caught the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, the way his gaze dropped for a second to my chest before snapping back up. “Interesting take,” he replied, his voice low and measured, but there was an edge to it now. “Though I’d argue you’re projecting your own… impulses onto the text.