British Romance Novels & Stories

"I haven't seen the woman's face yet but Dad mentioned her name, Nicole Rivera." "Ohh, her name is ugly. I'm the one telling you that you two are not suitable for each other." I shook my head. "Of course, we're going to be good, but gosh, I don't want a princess. I want a prince, like duh!" "Besides, you are not suitable either, the man I want for you is handsome, kind, respectful, with a sense of humor! But the more important thing is, you must like the man. Then I will never allow you to marry a man you don't love!" He added.

It was due to a lack of optimism in living outside of societal conventions. Hannah can’t help but be astonished by his explanations. He had certainly read the book, understanding its connotation and digging deeper into its words. Now, she can truly see a prince. A prince who wasn’t afraid of reading a feminist romance book. It's not a full romance, but still a romance. Contrary to Astrrid’s claim that Hannah hadn’t read some romance novel, she had. But books should focus on societal or political issues rather than centering on romance itself.

"Then help me to smudge your scarlet lips all over my C****" * Slow burn * Erotic * Dark romance * Mafia romance A story of lust, love, betrayal, and loyalty.

I take it from the bag I brought in my hand and open it to the page marked with a marker. I can count a maximum of ten minutes of reading until Adam brings his body close to me and sits next to me. ""Love of a Duke". "He reads on the cover of the book in my hands. "I didn't know what romanticism made the type of the young lady. "There are many things about me that you don't know. " I return without taking my attention from the book. "You're sharp"tongued today. "He comments but I don't answer.

I couldn’t remember the last time we held hands like this, but her touch was warm and surprisingly comforting. As we danced, I held her by the torso, guiding her gracefully across the floor. We moved in sync, our steps flowing as smoothly as in a Cinderella fairy tale. Our eyes locked the entire time, and for the first time, I saw the true beauty of Rachel’s eyes—eyes that conveyed every emotion, every thought. It felt as though we were drawn to each other by some unknown force, despite our mutual animosity. There was something magnetic in the way our bodies moved together, and it left me feeling strangely connected to her.

Francis' ride was on us in a flash, screeching to a halt right in front. He stormed out, his face a thundercloud. "Mr. Collins!" he roared. "Where do you think you're taking her?" Bernard stepped up, shielding me. "I won fair and square; she's mine." "She belongs to me." Francis glared at me. "Natalie, come here." I stayed put. That was when the night exploded with the sound of a gunshot. A bullet sliced through the dark, gunning for Francis. "Hit the deck!" I shoved him down hard.

'They are diabolical! "Well, Colm, what are we watching?" Celly asked. Colm smiled, "I appreciate being included." He slid his arms off the sofa and wrapped them around the girls pulling them close to his sides. "I figured, I should show you both how sophisticated and romantic I am." He smiled. "Let's watch Roman Holiday. I love Audrey Hepburn, or if you ladies prefer romance with some comedy The Princess Bride is a great classic and I'm sure you both will swoon over Wesley and his sword skills." Colm winked at Ang.

I breathed, pulling him down by his collar. The hours that followed belonged entirely to the dark and the firelight. There was only the slide of skin against skin, the climax of our self-giving, the shared breath in the stillness, and the beautiful, overwhelming reality of a love that had fought through the wreckage to finally, permanently, open its doors for the morning.

But Edwin Emerson… He had looked at her with curiosity. And it unsettled her completely. Arabella sat beside the window of her bedchamber while sunset painted the countryside gold and amber. A book rested forgotten in her lap. She had not read a single page. “You are behaving foolishly,” she whispered to herself. Yet her heart refused to listen. The truth was simple and terrifying. She had never seen a man so beautiful before. Not in London. Not in ballrooms. Not anywhere. There was something dangerously masculine about him that made her pulse quicken whenever she remembered his face.

the movie echoed. “Your kisses feel like vocalnic eruptions on my lips” he whispered to her ears. “Your caresses feel like furrows burying in deeply until I'm shivering”. “Yesss Nate,” the girl in the movie moaned. “Fuck me harder,” she responded. Belle had always been a die hard romantic. And even though she never admits it, she was a lover girl. Just as she kept watching her movie whilst she enjoyed feeling the wind in her hair and face, she suddenly heard a loud, yet familiar voice screaming at her.