Novel & Cerita Fiction Books Romance

He would have, right? I shook my head again and concentrated on the book placed on my lap. It was one of the British, historical romance fictions set during the World War Two. I had randomly picked it up at the bookstore and somehow felt myself drawn towards it. Sappy novel with mopey dialogues and dragged out bits, it still provided me with much needed solace.

The novel lay open under her hands-wet, crumpled, dog‑eared. He looked at it, then at her. He pulled the book free with one hand, and his own wet fingers brushed between her thighs again, smart with urgency. "One more time?" he rasped. Claire stared at him-ache behind her eyes, voice hoarse. "Yes," she finally breathed. "One more time." He kissed her, deep and rough. Closed the book with his other hand-cover snapping shut with authority. She rode him one more time, skin slick, body trembling, pulses crashing as she came again-slow, powerful, echoing under the hush of books. Rowan groaned and came with her, feeding her tight until he fell forward, forearm over her back, his breath ragged.

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My thoughts quickly drift back to the stack of novels, and I reach for my tote bag, pulling out the first book my hand touches. Reading romance novels is not exactly good for my mental health, but I cannot seem to stop myself. They make me laugh, they make me cry, and sometimes they make me wish for something similar in my own life. But deep down, I know that is just a fantasy. I know I cannot have it, not now, maybe not ever.

“She’ll probably spend the whole holiday in here if you let her.” I walked the aisles slowly, trailing my fingers over the books. Classics. Thrillers. A whole section of contemporary romance—Mirabel’s doing, mostly. She’d started collecting them in high school, said they were “escapist but smart.” I’d never read them. Too many happy endings. Too much hope wrapped in pretty words. I pulled one down at random. Dark cover, brooding man in a suit, and title written in gold foil: Claimed by the Billionaire. I snorted softly, then slid it back.

What differentiates us is that I was not born or turned, I'm good with sunlight and I could stay long without thirst for blood. I love getting involved with human businesses because they at least changed my boring life. A human even led me to meet the most exciting thing ever in my life, and that thing is.... Romance novels. I accidentally got it from a boy one day and now am obsessed with them. I enjoy reading them, especially the ones authorized by Jenny Alfred. I always wish to get the kinds of love she portrays in her novels. I fell in love with her books and now I really want to meet her.

I sucked in my breath just by the mention of the book. I never read dark romance novels, it always grosses me out, the male lead is a pure shitty devil while female lead is always a pure kind hearted angel. The book I love to read is in which there is a bubbly bakery characters. Those kinds of books make me reach my dreamland. Dylan and me.. Oh god!! I sighed. Concentrate Naomi. I kept the statue back on its place and plopped down on the couch and rested my long legs up on the coffee table.

Noah says with a sheepish smile. “You helping out a friend?” I ask him, discreetly hoping and not sure why I would want to know who he was getting the books for. “You could call her that.” Noah says with a shrug. A girlfriend. It's a good thing it's none of my business. “What kind of novels has she been reading in the past?” I ask, allowing my feet to lead me subconsciously to the romance aisle. “Romance.” Noah says and after further thinking, he adds, “with lots of smut scenes.”

I replied. He nodded, “sure. I love reading books, fictional ones to be specific.” He simply replied. "Oh. I see. Me too. Romance, right?" I asked, grinning. He laughed, "I knew that was your expectation when I said fiction novels, a lot of people expect that but how on earth do you expect ME to read romance. How do you expect a mafia who is thirsty for revenge, to sit his ass down only for 'i love you's and 'i love you to the moon and back's. You must be shitting me.”.

But obliging my curiosity, she tilted the cover and let me read the title. “How to lose an alien prince in 30 days?” I read out loud, frowning. “Sci-fi?” I’d pegged her as more of a murder/mystery myself. “No, romance,” she replied, never taking her eyes off the page. I tried to hide my surprise. She didn’t look like the type of woman who believed in “knights in shining armor” or “love conquers all”. She looked rational, strong, and independent. But it had me wondering what she DID believe in…