Historical Love Novels Novels & Stories

Only the pages of her favorite books did portray what true love looked like. The ideology of love was written in ink and laid to rest in the warm pages of hard, leather jacket books which were found in the cold, dusty shelf of an old library. There it laid, buried and not to be exhumed. What made her think mere mortals could find love? Romeo and Juliet's love story was one hell of a kind but it would never be real. At least, not in her lifetime or anyone else's.

Yes, I felt my cheeks hot and a pulsating pressure between my thighs and a wet sensation pressed against my panties. "If i was born as a werewolf, then this hospital ward would be filled with the smell of my arousal.... Shit...shit..shit... What happened to me today....Lara.. For sure, you have to stop reading your fantasy novels and your k-dramas...." I shook my head and driven all those f*cking thoughts out of my mind. He stopped kisssing me in the middle and took a deep breath. He opened and glared me with his lust filled eyes. Then he suddenly lifted me in a bridal style and gently placed me in the near by hospital bed. He widened my legs and stood in between my thighs.

"Just keep getting closer to Lucas," said a sarcastic voice from the other end of the line that Aileen heard on her cell phone. "What the hell? I was just saying thanks for the novel, really," Aileen replied with the intention of showing off and making Mark even more angry. Who told you to do that, right? He thought to himself. "Novel?" "Yes. Lucas saw me with Hana's novel the other day, right. He thought I was a fan of this novel. It's a series of novels and he romantically gave me the rest of the series. I was bored," Aileen explained how the story really went.

Suddenly it reminded me of those two books, novels. With a new determination burning in my chest, I raced to the cozy corner of my room where the novel had lain untouched for so long. The pages held the key to the world I had once lived in, a world of intrigue, passion, and heartache. As I flipped through the worn pages, the story of Xicheng, the king, and my husband, unfolded before my eyes. My heart raced in tandem with the events that transpired on the pages. The romance that had bloomed between Xicheng and me, despite the complexities of court politics and our societal positions, was now vividly alive.

That she was just tricked by the Yamato's team. Well, though the truth transpired it was too late now, Clench never regretted to be with her in death. Well, it seems that it was already written on the book of life, where the love story they once built and was broken into pieces, reconnected again, between the tragic of Love and Death.

I had a better way in mind to tell her all about it. Our assigned text was a book titled: Better to Have Loved and Lost. It was about MaHolland, a young servant girl in 18th century England, who fell in love with her mistress' betrothed, Henry; a young, charming nobleman. When they first met, she had no idea he was a nobleman or that he was even betrothed to her mistress. They became friends, and it was he who helped her develop an interest in reading. MaHolland fell helplessly in love with him, and when she found out about his betrothal to her mistress, her feelings for him had grown so strong, it couldn't easily be vanquished. Just when she finally made the decision to tell Henry how s

My shoulders sagged and I growled softly in mortification. "I know nothing about love, Arram. I've been alone for centuries. How does one woo someone," I questioned him curiously and he snapped his fingers and handed me a stack of books. He told me to read them. I looked at the spines for titles, Romeo and Juliet, Wuthering Heights and The Notebook.

he asked, lifting one brow, clearly unconvinced. I sighed and looked away. "Because it wouldn't work. We'd get tired of each other in a week. And I know you, Jim. You say you love me, but is it really me you love? Or the money and connections I bring with every campaign, every shoot?" His face fell, the corners of his lips twitching downward. "That's a cruel thing to say, Julliane. I really do love you, you know." "I believe you—partly," I admitted. "But your kind of love feels more like possession. Like keeping your most valuable asset close. That's not the kind of love I want. It's not the kind I deserve."