Large Print Books Romance Novels & Stories

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Curiosity was eating at her. With an effort, she made herself focus on the other titles. He had books on negotiating, battle tactics, history, agriculture…boring. Didn’t the man read any fiction? There was a book on stained glass that looked mildly interesting, but she kept scanning the shelves, hoping for something more enticing. Her search was rewarded. There, right in the middle of his shelves at eye level, was an entire shelf of books devoted to lovemaking. Wiley’s eyes boggled as she read the titles: An Illustrated Guide to the Sensual Arts. A Woman’s Climax. Emotional Need and the Sensual Virgin. There were dozens of titles.

data-p-id=82eca71f7ac217849f3ba1383a595493,style=text-align:left;,"Whatever for?" data-p-id=d7e46828d3303f4c88e9ca7ef6cf5b82,style=text-align:left;,"For changing my life. For loving me. For being the kind of wife and mother any man could only dream about. For filling all the holes in my heart and making it feel so full that I fear it might burst of happiness."

Crystal asked, a hint of amusement in her tone as she noticed Arielle stepping closer to her. Arielle leaned in slightly and whispered, “Grandmother has a… unique taste in horror movies.” Crystal chuckled softly, nodding in agreement. “That she does,” she replied. As Arielle’s gaze fell on the book in Crystal’s hands, her face lit up with rare excitement. “Maa, do you like historical romance?” she asked, her voice brimming with curiosity. Crystal tilted the book to show the cover and replied, “I like anything by this author.” She paused, taken aback by Arielle’s sudden enthusiasm.

You must read, so you'll know what we know. Loving books as she did, Madeleine had soon forgotten her disappointment. The private library was a wondrous hoard of knowledge, and as arousing in its way as the long, shared hours of yesterday. Each book was a classic of pornography. As she read — and read and read and read - Madeleine soon grew both learned and fevered. Every picture seemed to remind her of the touch of Delrina’s lips, or the way Laurelina’s fingertips could seek out, and find, the most discreet and receptive of pleasure-nodes, then tantalise them to the very edge of madness. Every line or paragraph of uncensored prose seemed to conjure up the taste of Nadia’s sweat.

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He started to help her unpack her books, glancing at the spines as they started to shelve them in a tiny bookshelf that wouldn’t hold even half of her collection. Jane Austen, Charlotte Brontë, Elizabeth Gaskell, John Keats, Shakespeare, Virginia Woolf, Charles Dickens—so many books, most of which had clearly been read over and over again. Some were falling apart, barely glued together. When he took out a copy of Frankenstein, the cover fell off entirely. “Oh, poor guy. This one has been through a lot.” Rose took the book from him, smiling. That smile burst something inside him. Something hot, something dangerous. Something that felt exactly like longing. He caught his breath and forced hims

“There are blankets downstairs. And extra pillows. So you can make yourself comfortable.” “I will. And I plan to borrow a book or two from your interesting collection.” His eyes are on the bookshelf in my room, which is full of romance novels. “T.L. Smith seems to be one of your favorite authors.” “She is. Her books are dark, sexy, and a little fucked-up. Kind of like you,” I tease, lazily rolling over in his arms. “I am so fucking glad you are mine,” he whispers, holding me tight. “I love you, Callie.”

"What do I need to do, sir?" His expression grew even darker. "Are you in for this bet?" "I'll leave it to your discretion," I answered. That response seemed to infuriate him. I could see his grip on his wine glass tighten, his knuckles turning white. "Fine, let's bet." The cards were dealt, and the game was on. I did not get the rules of the game, but the vibe? That I could read like an open book. Everyone was as still as statues, barely breathing.