Historical Romance Fiction Authors Novels & Stories

The Nouveau-Riche Romance Chapter twenty-nine The brightness of the day filtered into the room. Illuminating it with its soft glow. The illumination was just enough to rouse Joan from sleep. Her body felt relaxed, she felt mellow really. It felt like she was coming down from a drug high. No, it was a sex high. Sex? Sex... Joan abruptly opens her eyes as she remembered the events of the previous night. She had sex with Asher. Now that she thought about it it was a crazy night and she wouldn't believe it if she hadn't experienced it.

The mansion loomed silent under the moonlit night. Henry was miles away on yet another business trip, leaving his young wife, Jennifer alone with her frustrations. Jennifer's curvaceous figure had always turned heads, but her recent marriage to Henry had left her body aching for real passion. Her hazel eyes often lingered too long on Alex whose towering frame exuded raw masculinity. Alex had been hooked from the moment he laid eyes on her two weeks ago. The sexual tension simmered like a pot ready to boil over. Jennifer, unsatisfied by Henry's perfunctory attentions, felt her pussy throb whenever Alex's head turned her way.

It was my first time visiting a library, but I was extremely bored, and in the past, reading had cured my boredom. When I was younger, around the age of fifteen, I was housed with a couple who loved reading. They had a room in their home that was solely dedicated to their books. Three out of the four walls were lined corner-to-corner with built-in bookshelves, and one of the walls was solely for my foster mother. On her shelves was where I found my favorite genre, historical romance. The fourth wall was a reading nook, and I found myself sitting on the nook, my legs tucked underneath me, encaptured by novels written by Johanna Lindsey, Lisa Kleypas, Julia Quinn, and Julia Garwood, just to na

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.

25 March 1820 Rome, Italy Jacob was lounging on a chair and Mrs. Valentina Lombardi, the most sought after courtesan in Rome was sprawled on his lap, her lush body pressed to his as she tried to coax a reaction out of him. He knew all the other men watching him envied him. But for the life of him, he couldn't muster any enthusiasm for the act. Instead of finding her perfume enticing, he found it cloying. The smoke from the cigars made him feel suffocated.

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I leaned in a fraction of an inch, a teasing glint in my eyes, "I prefer classic literature. Russian realism, psychological thrillers. Dostoyevsky, Fitzgerald, Hemingway. I like substance." "Substance?!" Ruby mocked, completely offended. "Are you implying my romance novels don't have substance? Excuse you, but enemies-to-lovers tropes require intense psychological maneuvering! The angst! The tension! It's art, Alexander. Your little Russian thrillers have nothing on a slow-burn romance."