Lovers Stories Novels & Stories

If he loved me then he would be marrying me, not Wren. Did he love her then? I know that their marriage had been bound to happen. Both their fathers are business partners and they started dating when Luca took over the business. I assumed that it was just a forced marriage and they weren't in love, but they always look so happy together that it makes me feel sick.

Max was the type of man who proved his love through actions not just words. With Lebo things were different. He was all talk and no action. He would promise her heaven on earth but he wouldn't fulfill any of his promises. Nonetheless, Dinny had gotten used to him and she had still seen him as a great lover. It wasn't until she found Max that she got angry at herself for putting up with Lebo for so long. How could she have been so blind?

Whenever I visit their house now, I know exactly what’s waiting. Two men who know how to share me perfectly. Two cocks that make me scream and drip and beg for more. Pure, endless, panty-soaking passion with no end in sight.

She suggested, "Why don't you just divorce her? Then, we can be together openly, without hiding anymore." To her surprise, Reynold looked at her with disgust and shoved her away harshly. He snapped, "What are you talking about? Have you lost your mind?" He continued, "Adrianna is my wife—how could I possibly divorce her? Just leave—I don't want to see you anywhere near me or her ever again. I don't want to upset her." Monica's expression froze as she asked in disbelief, "What did you say? Reynold, didn't you tell me I was your favorite?"

We agreed that our evenings together would be our sanctuary—a space free from the prying eyes of the world and the burdens of our family legacies. As the night deepened, I recalled our earlier moments in the private chamber—the kiss that had been both tender and desperate, the unspoken promises that had passed between us in a single, intense moment. I knew that by embracing these small rituals of honesty, we were taking a risk—a risk that might unravel everything or, perhaps, mend the fractures in our hearts.

The curse was no longer their story. Their story was what came after. As the stars blinked awake above them and the music softened, John pulled her away from the gathering, back toward the old stone path leading to the orchard. There, beneath the silver-lit branches, he took her hands. “You once asked me if I’d ever be able to be more than what I was,” he said quietly. “I remember.” “I didn’t think it was possible, not until you.” Sarah’s eyes shimmered. “We found each other in the blood and ruins, John, and we still chose love.”

Together, they wove a tapestry of love, each thread intertwined with the others, strengthening their bond with every touch, every kiss, and every whispered promise. Their lovemaking was a symphony of sighs, moans, and the soft rustle of skin against skin. It was a celebration of their love, a defiant stand against the darkness that had threatened to consume Vivi. In this moment, they were invincible, their love a beacon that illuminated the shadows, rendering them powerless.

I scoffed out a small, bitter laugh at how foolish I was back then. “All the signs were all in my face, but I was too blinded by love and the gifts he gave me to see them,” I continued, tears pricking my eyes as my throat went dry. “That was until I learnt he was married and his wife was in a different country.” Tears made to escape my eyes but I quickly blinked them back, a dull, throbbing familiar ache in my chest making it hard for me to breath.

“We’ll write down possible questions and make sure our answers match. That way, no one can poke holes in our story.” They both grabbed a pen and paper after dinner, sitting together on the couch as they brainstormed. “Okay, first question,” Ryan started, his tone mock-serious. “Where was our first date?” Emma smirked, scribbling something down. “Blue Staples Steakhouse. We’ll say you ordered a steak, and I had the chicken salad.” “Sounds believable,” Ryan said, nodding. “Next up, where was our first kiss?” “Disneyland,” Emma said without hesitation, laughing as she wrote it down. “Cliché, but people love that kind of thing.”

The Provençal sun might have set, but their love story was just beginning to shine. As the crickets sang outside the window, and the moon cast a silver glow on their intertwined bodies, Vincent whispered, "Je t'aime, Abigail." I love you. The words hung in the air, a testament to a love story that transcended time itself. And so they slept, dreaming of lavender fields, shared kisses under the olive tree, and endless days under the Provençal sun. Their love, like the lavender fields, was in full bloom, painting their world in shades of purple and gold.