Devil Romance Books Novels & Stories

And for a minute, I just sit there, glaring at the ceiling like it owes me rent. Then, I glance to my right. And there it is. The only good thing about today. Devil’s Muse. A thick, absolutely sinful romance novel I pulled from the stack of books Janet got from the hospital library. The kind that has zero shame and maximum plot twists. The kind that doesn’t ask me to heal or forgive myself or do the inner work. No. This book asks me to shut up and watch the enemies-to-lovers pair absolutely ruin each other emotionally and then physically—with very vivid, very illegal levels of detail.

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He chuckles grimly, his lips stretching diabolically to release a dark grin as he leers in, “You? Do you dare dream of getting rid of me after the vow that binds us? I flush with embarrassment and he rescinds to relish in my pensive state. Shoving his elbow into the top of Mortiz’s seat and fisting his hand against his jaw, he assumes a tilt of his head and cunningly smiles at me. It’s not particularly a beautiful expression a Vampire should make. But…I gulp with turmoil. It’s a whole world different when it’s an undisputed beauty like this doing the staring. It should make anyone wring with dread as those fiery eyes are predatory and nightmarish. Devon’s eyes are very beautifully brimmed wi

I stay awake a little longer, watching her face in the dim light, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breathing against me. Maybe I really am worse than the devil. But right now, with her warm and trusting in my arms, I don’t feel like the devil at all. I just feel like a man who doesn’t want to lose the only good thing he has ever let close.

“Give me everything, little moon. Ruin me.” She laughed—low, filthy, triumphant—and rolled her hips in a slow, grinding circle that dragged my swollen knot against her rim from the inside. The sensation was pure torture; pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain. The Devil Alpha—three-hundred-and-fifty-year-old firstborn of Lucifer himself—was getting thoroughly, shamelessly fucked by his Luna.

“Now we're gonna fuck you one after the other. We're gonna make the sweet cunt of yours drip all over our dicks and we're gonna suck you dry. Hope you're ready for that.” “Mmhmm…” I hummed, nodding frantically. “Good,” Devon said, wrapping his hand around my throat. “Now, whose name will you scream first sister?” He stepped closer, stroking his cock over my face. The tip brushed my lips, smearing the salty pre-cum on my face. “Choose.” “Hans,” I breathed, and Hans rewarded me by biting down gently on my nipple, sending a spike of pleasure straight to my clit.

Lucien slowly raised his cane. Pointing… Not at Daniel. Not at Elena. Not at Noah. Not at Grace. Not at Lily. He pointed directly at Damien. The world stopped. “No…” Damien said quietly. Lucien smiled. “Oh yes.” “You were never just the Devil…” “You were Sophia’s greatest secret.”

Another source, a digitized letter from a Florentine priest, speaks of “the merchant Francesco, who was never quite the same after his beloved Lisa died, and who some say sold his soul to the devil in his grief.” Devil's bargain. The expression made the little hairs on my neck stand up. So I started going underground, poking around in the recesses of the internet most people never knew were there. Historical anomaly forums. Genealogy sites missing data. Digitized newspapers from cities in Europe and America. And I found him. Not Francesco del Giocondo. That name vanishes from the records after 1506. But other names appeared! Similar names. Suspiciously similar names.

His voice in my dream was a whisper but this was a damn earthquake. His dark gaze pinned me in place like he already knew I was playing dress-up to get his attention. Like he could see past the lace and rhinestones, past the mask I painted on every night and straight into the inferno I tried so fucking hard to keep buried. For the first time, I understood why even saying his name made men shudder. He was terrifying up close. It finally made sense why everyone called him the Devil. I forced my voice to stay steady, layering it with a husky tease I didn’t feel. "Maybe I’m mourning the death of good taste in this city."

My thighs shook, torn between clamping shut and kicking him into hell. I whimpered, biting my lip until I tasted copper. His thumb found my clit, circling it slowly, tauntingly. A low hiss escaped my lips, my eyelids fluttering shut against the pleasure he forced into me. “Devil.” He chuckled, low and wicked. “You keep saying that.” His fingers slid lower, through my slick, and my breath hitched. “Yet here you are,” he murmured, “dripping for the devil.” His fingers thrust deeper, harder, and my back arched off the bed, helpless.