Novel & Cerita Historic Romance Novels

Penelope asked and the woman bobbed her head again. “It started a long time ago when your great-great-grandfather was in love with a werewolf girl, Liam. They were not mates, but lovers. It was a time when werewolves and Lycans lived together in peace. Their love bloomed so greatly that everybody was jealous of how beautiful their love was and they all took them as their role models. They wanted to get married and live happily together but everything changed when the werewolf girl found her mate, as destined by the Moon Goddess."

Something inside her fractured as she read those words. She barely recalled the hours that passed a haze of wine, the sound of a wineglass shattering against the kitchen floor, and humiliation rising in her like an unwelcome guest. To be discarded was one pain, but to be publicly replaced was another agony altogether. Her apartment suffocated her with its memories- Aidan's scent lingering in the air, his books haunting her shelves. She did what any heartbroken woman would do. She go dress to kill. A black satin gown that draped to the floor, a daring slit grazing her thigh.

The smell of new books has kept enticing a chunk of the population, albeit a smaller percentage, and mostly, people who buy from us are collectors, those who are too rich to spend money on things of the past–and that's what we offer: old, tanning books with worn out spines; a remnant of the past, a time when HarmonyMatch was never a thing. I man the register for a couple of old folks who got a stack of magazines. I smiled as they walked out the store, his hands on her shoulder, both smiling as they talked about their purchase. I thought about how they were Matched, whether they knew each other before the ceremony, if they were childhood sweethearts, or if they were familiar faces you see on

Arabella’s pulse skipped instantly. Lord Emerson sent flowers? Mrs. Whitmore placed them gently inside a vase near the window. “There was no note, my lady.” Of course, there was not. Still… Arabella could not stop staring at the roses after the housekeeper left. No man had ever sent her flowers before. Not even her husband. Especially not her husband. Slowly, she rose from bed and walked toward the arrangement. They were deep crimson roses, soft and rich in color. Beautiful. Her fingertips brushed the petals gently.

"I know you would jump in that situation. I could see you're getting restless and that expression...It's scary and funny at the same time. Don't worry, I won't let you change your mind. You have no idea how long I've waited for this." He gently took my hand and then kissed it. I was startled but gave him a nervous smile. We have been best friends so long, I wasn't sure if what I felt for him was romantic. However, looking at his handsome face erased any doubts. It all seemed surreal. I knew that I've always liked Lance. That's why I was jealous of those pretty girls and Kristine. I just realized I've always nursed an affection for him. We spent the rest of the afternoon in the library stud

“One thing, to write a romance novel.” “Me too. Never liked those types of novels.” “There is one more type that I don't like.” “What type is that?” “Where the husband cheats his wife, and she faithfully prays that he will return to her and that they will live happily ever after.” “Just, look at our Lady Vertina.” “What's with her?” “The last time, I heard about her, she had three lovers and two husbands.” “Three lovers and two husbands? ” “Yes. Do you know, what's the best part?”

The characters, their decisions, and their actions exist solely within the context of this fictional world and should not be viewed as reflections of healthy conduct or moral ideals. Readers should understand that dark romance as a genre often explores the darker aspects of human emotions, trauma, obsession, power, and redemption. The presence of such themes within this story does not indicate approval of them. Rather, these elements are used to develop the plot, challenge the characters, and create a compelling fictional narrative. The author recognizes the distinction between fiction and reality and encourages readers to do the same.

"why do you always talk about it? Hey, being single means we're preparing for the arrival of a better love. Positive thinking, Ra!" "I hate Adam!" Yara's words that suddenly carried the name 'Adam' succeeded in making Rian choke. "Why suddenly bring Adam's name?" "This must be because of his curse on me when we were at senior high school. That damn person! He's the one who asked to break up, he's the one who accused me of various things, but instead left a curse that made my life miserable." "There is no such thing as a curse in this world, Ra." "There is," she argued. "That, Adam's words prove to be a curse for me until now."

I was pretty good at it and at the urging of my then girlfriend Julie, had submitted a few to a story site named Erotic escapes where under the pen name hotforteacher I'd gotten some pretty good reviews. Most of my stories were about older women with guys my age and Miss Ross had been the inspiration for many of them. Most of my female leads had the same long dark hair, big brown eyes and perfect full lips as my favorite English teacher. Yes Miss Ross had been the nasty little cougar in my mind and in print many times over the last few months. Shit, I'd even joined her writing discussion group because it met every other Sunday at her house.

Fortunately, the music wasn't that loud on this side of the VIP and we could talk without yelling at each other. “Well, at first I felt mocked by that woman, but then I opened that book, and I was impressed. There was everything I needed! How to treat her, how to talk to her, how to turn her on and of course, how to make her come. Everything is there, why do you think they are so popular?” “Because they are bored?” Pierre asked, earning a look of hatred from his girlfriend. "Because fiction is better than reality,” Louis corrected, putting an arm around my shoulders. "A woman who reads is dangerous because she knows what she wants and how she wants it. Perhaps if there were more men reading