Greek Romance Novels & Stories

The angry stompy steps were usual for Laura, the pack's Luna, anytime she was about to yell and lash at me for something I did wrong. Just as expected, my door burst open, and she stepped in with that malice brimming in her eyes. She stood tall and elegant, smelling so nice and alluring. She was dressed in a gown of deep crimson, the rich fabric flowing elegantly around her as she moved, highlighting her slender figure and emphasizing on her curves. Her long, flowing hair cascaded down her back in golden waves, portraying her as a woman of perfect beauty with a hint of being the woman of every man's dream, but she was far opposite from that.

Our marriage had never been filled with lies—the truth had simply never existed between us. The video was still playing. I could hear "Oohs" and "Aahs." Someone urged Hera to share more details about their love story, "Tell us about the romantic things he did for you!" Romance? These people had no idea how dull Hera truly was. I had once poured effort into creating romantic moments. Each time, she showed less and less interest. Then, she told me she hated romance. These things were distractions. Illusions, even. An Awakenist valued only sincerity.

The couple is kissing passionately; their lips move in the same sync, slowly yet passionately. I wonder how it feels to be kissed by Mr. Greek God. Will he kiss soft and slow like in this movie or be a bit rougher? I don't want it to be soft yet not so rough either. Then the realization hit me: I am dreaming about Mr. Greek God kissing me,"Oh holy moly, Latia, you need holy water to cleanse your dirty thoughts... But then how does it feel to be kissed? I asked myself.

Warren assured him with smug disdain. "Just send it," Kai offered gently. "I would be interested to know the cost of making someone." He left Warren to sit in the dark room like a reptile urgently in need of sunlight. *(In ancient Greek myth, Pygmalion was a prince of Cyprus, quiet, lonely and romantic. Pygmalion put all his soul into carving a statue of a wonderfully beautiful girl, named G*****a. Since having G*****a, Pygmalion has been happy as if he had the ideal woman in his life, the companion with whom he affectionately talked every day.Pygmalion fell deeply in love with his own work and earnestly prayed to Venus. The woman gave G*****a the breath of life. Touched by Pygmalion's talen

Their fiery encounter transcends mere pleasure, becoming a sacred communion with the goddess herself. But as dawn approaches, Callista is left to ponder whether the bond she shared with Theo is fleeting or something destined by the gods. Callista’s P.O.V. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the skies over Theros in hues of molten gold and crimson. The city-state, renowned for its devotion to Erisia, the goddess of fertility and passion, buzzed with anticipation. Tonight marked the start of the Festival of Blossoms, a sacred and secretive event held once every year. The festival was whispered about across Greece-an uninhibited celebration of pleasure, sensuality, and divine union.

“Alright, so who is the god of love? That’s who I want to thank for Katie and Kara coming into my life, and I guess your Moon Goddess lady, too.” “Let me think. It’s been a couple of years since I studied Greek history.” Zara taps her finger on her lip, trying to recall the information. “Eros. Romans call him Cupid.” “Shut up, Zara.” Jasper says in a flat tone. His face darkens as he turns his attention fully to her. Zara sits up taller at his rare change in mood. “Jas, what the fuck?” I growl at him.

It felt a perfect fit and he had slept every night holding her in that position, nestled together. Felix also taught Athena further on Roman and Greek mythology, including pointing out the different types of nymphs that were sneakily hidden in and amongst the mosaics depicting friendly woodland scenes. These were beings who lived to tease and manipulate humans and gods, sometimes falling in love with them, sometimes chasing them to the ends of the earth to capture the man they wanted.

That simple action seared him with a heated pleasure. "Don't apologize for everything." Her lashes fluttered as she looked at him, a secretive smile on her lips. "I've not wronged you by all my actions then?" He laughed. "Not all your actions." She studied the book she held, then opened the pages and sighed. "My mistake: I forgot you could not read Greek." Godric reached for the novel she held. While the title was typeset in English, the text itself was entirely in Greek. "This is one of my favorite stories. My father never cared for novels, but he loved the classics and would read this one to me often." She held it out to him. "Would you read it to me?"

’ "What did you call me?" ‘Meli mou?’ His mouth quirked as he brushed a stray red strand of hair back off her cheekbone. Her hair felt like silk against his fingers and she was much smaller than his women usually were, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder in spite of her fantastically high heels. Her diminutive stature gave him the oddest protective feeling. It’s Greek for "my honey”

“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.