Gentleman Novels & Stories

But for her own amusement, she decided to list a few things. “A gentleman,” she said simply. He tilted his head. “What is that?” She turned to glance at him, startled. Did he really not know? “Well…” she was speechless and the beast thing was sinking deeper into her mind. “It is a man who is courteous and honorable. He is attentive, considerate, gallant, and well-mannered.” “Hmm… Does he have to be well-mannered with his woman?” Her heart skipped to her throat. “What do you mean?” She asked, feeling hot.

he added, his voice dripping with venom, like the soft, gentle trickle of a stream that seemed to flow with poison. Arrow's voice cut through the tension, like a breeze that seemed to bring a sense of relief. "It's okay, Mr. Man," he said, his voice calm and measured, like the soft, gentle pace of a summer afternoon. "We will get going," he added, his eyes locked onto the man's, like the soft, gentle gaze of a summer moon shining brightly in the night sky.

Gemma I now knew why they called him Gentleman, and it had nothing to do with his almost old fashioned respect for women. Although I was pretty sure that had a lot to do with it. No, Gentleman was called Gentleman because he always made a woman cum, numerous times in my case. “You look lost in thought?” His voice made me jump. Turning in my seat, I let my eyes drift over him. His dark hair was still wet from the shower, his jeans gaping, but it was the bare chest that made my mouth water.

“Three weeks.” “Three weeks. Was he keeping you at home, then? Smart man. If I had a daughter who looked like you, I’d be keeping her at home as well,” the gentleman chortled. “Oh, um. Thank you…” Then I spotted him. Tall, blond, blue-eyed, Adonis of a man who graced the covers of magazines everywhere. The figurehead for his family’s corporation. Old money. Blake Harrington. “I’m sorry, I really need–” I began.

Then he said smilingly, "Don't be angry. I'll get rid of them later." Hearing Mr. White’s words, the girl who had just finished wiping the man's hands was shivering with fear. They all knew that their seemingly most gentle and kindest Sir in the world actually never took a life seriously, and in his eyes, it was easier to kill a person than to break a tea cup. Mr. White offered the tea to the man with both hands.

William was painfully aware he was being observed and that alone was enough to make him feel nervous. "No, no. Thank you." He stuttered. "Ah, I see there isn't much you want, then. Besides winning the money on the table, that is." The gentleman gestured at the four cards on the table with the pile of money and a few jewels next to it. He leaned forward then and said lazily "I know you don't have anything besides those two sevens and from what I've counted so far, those are your strongest ones." He took a sip from his glass and folded his own cards.

However, when he saw a man arriving, his expression immediately changed, and he looked down. North remained clueless. “What is it? Is this some kind of trade secret? Can’t you tell me?” “Ms. North, you can always ask me.” North heard a gentlemanly voice. Although Gerald sounded gentle, his voice was devoid of any emotions. It exuded a sense of majesty that belonged to someone superior. The manager knew well that Gerald’s gentleness was only skin-deep. He dared not offend Gerald. The manager quickly said, “Mr. G, here you are. I’ll excuse myself first.”

Every time it was like this . Could it be anything harder than losing the last person who really cared about you? The only family you ever had ... when you were meant to not have no family ... … “Hello,” an elegantly dressed gentleman, wearing a long black coat to his knees over an expensive suit, with lacquered leather shoes, as only a lord could wear greeted respectfully. The gentleman just entered a small office. Under the stylish hat, one could see how his hair, which had once been completely golden, began to get the hue of silver. His movements were so skilful that he seemed to be trained at the Queen's most famous school o

It was at the tip of my tongue. “This is your cardholder, Miss.” He gave me the cardholder using both of his hands, which made him look like a gentleman. It is easy to tell that he’s an educated person with the way he talks, acts, and dresses. “Thank you so much. I owe you a lot. What’s your name, Sir?” “Gilbhey,” he introduced. “You can call me Gilbhey.” After saying his name, the man looked at the guy sitting beside me.

They certainly don’t stoop to help someone they perceive as inferior. The young man stammered his gratitude and hurried away. Adrian stood tall, brushing off his hands with an air of composed elegance. Then he turned his gaze back to me. Conversations around us resumed as if nothing had happened. I was still trying to catch up with the fact that the Gentleman Devil had just knelt to pick up broken glass. Adrian stood and dusted off his hands, eyes drifting back to mine. “What?” he asked, soft amusement tugging at his mouth. “Did I disappoint your expectations?”