French Romantic Books Novels & Stories

Hart shrugged off his tweed jacket and loosened his tie, casual in a way that made her heart thrum. “I suppose we’ll have to wait it out.” Fallon sat across from him, legs crossed tightly as the firelight danced shadows across the Persian rug. She shouldn’t have noticed the way his gaze flicked down to her thighs. She shouldn’t have noticed the row of books tucked behind the encyclopedias leather bound, aged spines, titles in French. Erotica. Hart followed her gaze. Said nothing. But when she rose to touch the spines, tracing one book titled La Petite Mort, he spoke low and commanding.

Over the past two weeks, Jane had found herself thinking of Lucie Manette as Grace Anderson, and every once in a while she was Darnay, but mostly she was Sydney Carton. "This is an excellent book," Jane finished reading. "It teaches you about the French Revolution, which took place in the seventeen-nineties in the country of France. It is a good book if you like history or violence or exciting suspense. It is a love story, too. All in all, it is an excellent book."

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Anthony’s POV My body needed her. Something hot and primal in me needed to claim her as mine at her words. She wanted me to make love to her and I was going to. My heart was on fire with so much emotion that my stomach felt funny. What was she doing to me that had me feeling this way? Every other woman I have brought to my bed never made me feel this way and as foreign as the feeling was, I loved it and craved more. “Please, Anthony… Make love to me,” she said breathlessly against my mouth.

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The warmth of her skin against mine ignited a fervent desire, fueling my desire for her. Her breath quickened, matching the rhythm of my own heartbeat. With each thrust, she gasped as my hands traced the delicate arch of her back, the curve of her waist, and the contours of her hips. I explored the landscape of her body, committing it to memory with an insatiable hunger. My fingers danced along the curves of her body, tracing invisible patterns that ignited her senses. Her skin, warm and inviting, begged for my touch. I obliged, leaving a trail of fiery kisses along her neck, her collarbone, and down to the swell of her breasts.

“Brittany, do you like to read?” “I do. I have a massive collection. Why? Do you?” “I do, but I don’t have any books with me.” “You can borrow mine. What do you like?” “Oh, dark romance, really. As long as it isn’t too cheesy.”

Faustus' " Yeah , I know . Alice said the same thing " said Roxanne as she placed the books at their correct sequential order . For most of the morning , they didn't spoke much which was given , now that they were working in a library but now that it was finally evening and the rush hour was gone , Rosalie and Roxanne could finally relax " She laughed when I told her that this was my favourite books " she added as she tapped on ' Dr Faustus ' and 'Rape of a lock ' . Neither of them matched with Roxanne 's cheerful outgoing personality . One preached tragedy following arrogance while the other preached moral behaviour that was fit for woman in eighties or fifties .

Nothing beat that feeling of reading a French book. I wasn’t much of a reader. I got bored easily. But if I had to choose between books and movies, I would pick books. At least books let me imagine things my own way. I walked into a small bookstore near the hotel. The bell above the door rang softly. “Bonjour,” the woman behind the counter smiled. “Hi,” I smiled back awkwardly. I walked around slowly, running my fingers over the spines of the books. Romance. Crime. Fantasy. Self-help. I picked up three random ones. All about love.

She caught herself smiling the more she thought about Xavier sitting on the reading chair and a romance novel placed under the antique lamp. So he loved romance. Yet he was so terrible at it! Is he though? She asked herself again as she picked an old book with an eye-catching title. She could tell the book was at least sixty to seventy years old but well preserved. It only had a title on it but Halle could tell it would be good. She sat down on the reading table and even though she didn’t need the lamp, she turned it on, a relaxed smile on her face as she began to read, lost in the world that the book pulled her into.