Novelas y relatos de Dao Romances

I applied my night cream to my face. "Darling, I'm glad we're back together. I'll do anything to win your love back." Roma assured. "I'm glad too, I'll also do anything to make this work." "Thanks for another chance, it means a lot to me. And Diana will come back, she always does." He said, balancing the tears that almost fell. Roma's POV - Diana was the best gift God has ever given to me. She was my addiction, a drug I couldn't live without.

But Damon had never shown interest in any girl before. Riya Reymond was one of the closest friends of Damon, having known them since they were in kindergarten. They were always together as their parents were close associates. Damon had always been protective of Riya and she fell in love with him, his kindness, his thoughtfulness and his devastatingly beautiful features.

“It was a drunken joke—I don’t even remember most of it!” “And yet,” he murmured, stepping toward her, “you remember me.” Rhian opened her mouth—but nothing came. The scent of his cologne hit her again, rich and dark, like midnight. Like temptation. Like danger wrapped in silk. She took a step back. “You’re twisting everything. I don’t love you. I don’t even know you.” Damon’s gaze darkened. “Love doesn’t interest me, Rhian. Not yet. Loyalty does. Vows do. And you gave me both.”

"As you said. There is nothing…" I kissed him again. Then the door swung open. I broke away sharply. Roman stood in the doorway, red roses in hand, his eyes moving slowly from my face to Damien's. "Damien Douglas." Roman said coldly. "Roman Douglas." Damien said even colder. I looked between them. Their eyes locked on each other like two men who shared. Wait ..’Douglas? The same name. The same blood? "What the hell are you doing here?" Damien's voice was low. Dangerously low.

“If…If today’s any indication, I’m not scared of a little heat. The question is… are you?” Romero gave a sharp laugh, a delicious sound that did weird things to her nipples. “I’m a mafia lord. I have a garden of body parts. I’m not scared of anything.” His hand strayed from her face around to the back of her head. Anateya sighed, leaning into his touch as his fingers delved into her hair. She’d sell her soul to this devil to have him take her, right here on the hood of his car. Romero’s conflicted expression faded, replaced by something that made blood rush to her cheeks. His stare bore into her as if he was peeling back her layers to see inside. The next moment, his lips crashed to hers.

Chiseled abs, arms that show that he never skipped arm days, and the most prominent bulge she’d ever seen. She swallowed hard when his hands found her body once again. He ripped her pants off, tossing them behind him. Thank God she had shaved just a few days before, things weren’t that bad down there. “Damn, you’re so wet already,” Damon muttered as he settled between her legs. Rosa moaned at the first flick of his tongue against her love bud. Her eye rolled back as he sniffed light and buried his head into her wetness. Damon loved how his name rolled off her tongue so smoothly along with other quite incoherent words.

Romero’s warning: He’s not someone you fall for. She walked back to her cubicle, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Humiliation, at having her private connection with Damian exposed and judged. Anger, at Ms. Romero for interfering, for assuming. And a deep, unsettling fear. The warning stayed with her. It burrowed deep into her consciousness, a cold, persistent ache. She tried to brush it off, to tell herself that Ms. Romero didn’t understand, that her bond with Damian was unique. But the words, “He’s not someone you fall for,” played on an endless loop in her mind. She thought of Damian’s intense focus, his occasional obliviousness to social cues, his almost childlike vulnerabili

"Bring it on, vampire. I'm ready for anything." With a playful gleam in his eyes, Jonathan leaned in and captured my lips once again, this time with a mix of tenderness and mischief. Our laughter dissolved into a passionate embrace. At that moment, surrounded by the aroma of breakfast cooking and the warmth of our connection, I realized that our love was not just about the serious moments or the battles we faced. It was also about finding joy and laughter in the simplest of moments, cherishing the lightheartedness that kept our spirits alive.

“It sounds… like it should be yours, only yours. ‘Mon amour.’ My love.” I blushed, my heart pounding in my chest. “You know I don’t speak French.” He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “Then I will teach you… one kiss at a time.” I laughed, a trembling, delicate sound. He pulled me into his arms, holding me so close I could feel the strength of his desire, the depth of his longing that he had never released. His fingers drifted over my skin, tracing patterns I had never known I knew. Every caress was a poem. Every caress was a confession.

Romero smirked as something crossed his mind, he leaned in and whispered in the most seductive voice ever “Or would you be my mommy?” Aliyah's eyes widened, the thought of what he said sent a wave of sweet sensation through her body, a quick scene of her and Romero in the bedroom with her being dominant against him flashed before her eyes. Somewhere in her grew wet, her legs buckled. Romero felt his little wife grow weak against him, her face glittered bright in crimson. Oh his little wife seems kinky. “You like that, don't you?” He asked again, this time his lips slightly touched her ear, sending this cool and sweet sensation through her.