Romance Artist Novels & Stories

Paige questioned, "Why aren’t you saying anything? Is it because the woman who admired you is now with someone else, and you're feeling uneasy? Isn't that how it's portrayed in TV dramas? When a woman pursues you relentlessly, you find it annoying. When she finally turns to someone else, you feel uncomfortable. "In reality, you've long grown accustomed to her pursuit, unwittingly falling in love with her. It's just that you never realize your feelings until she's gone. This is a classic case of not appreciating what you have until it's lost." "This is why it’s best you avoid those cheesy romance dramas," Chris casually remarked. "They lack substance and only lead to overthinking. Whatnots wi

She didn't know who it was but the voice showed that the person she had just bumped into was a wealthy, domineering, and power-filled man. She disengaged quickly and her face met with an extremely handsome man. His eyes were so blue, that he would be contesting with the sea. His hair was dark and wavy. His nose was pointy and beautiful. His lips were pink and full. And his body was well built, slender, and beautiful. It was Warren Lannister. She had seen him a couple of times on social media but she had never met him in real life until now. Looking at him, she felt like backing away. She wished the floor would just open and swallow her up because it was better than the intimidating aura that

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.

, he groaned. I puffed out a laugh, offering my hand out, "Arte. You are...?" he took my hand, shaking it "As it happens, since your neck is bare, I would be your Fiancé - Enzo Di Santoro", he said and I blinked for a moment, staring at him, our hands still clasped together.

He tells me while he sees his ties. “Ouch!” I say angrily. “What nonsense.” I said, very upset by what he just told me. “The best thing you can give to a dead person is to always remember them for what they were. “This is not a movie, Miss Jefferson.” He tells me, looking at me seriously. “It could be a movie, don't you believe in what happens in romantic movies?” I asked him, confident that the world is not so bad and maybe it can be as beautiful as movies.

His eyes sparkled with a mix of tenderness and admiration. “I am grateful for you, Jonathan.” I confessed, my voice carrying my love and appreciation. Jonathan’s gaze never wavered from mine, his voice resonating with deep sincerity. “And I am grateful for you, my Angel. You’ve brought light and purpose into my immortal existence.“ Our words hung in the air, intertwining with the rustle of leaves and the gentle sway of the swing. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a soft glow across the landscape, Jonathan leaned in and captured my lips in a tender kiss. It was a kiss that spoke volumes, conveying our deepest emotions and the unbreakable bond we shared.

Seeing her. “And you strike me as a collector who loves Caravaggio not for the artistry,” Elena replied, her voice cool, “but for the way he rendered violence with such breathtaking aesthetics.” Dante let out a quiet laugh. “Touché. I’m Dante Salvatore.” “I know who you are.” She didn’t extend her hand. “Elena Lafayette.” They moved through the pleasantries like fencers circling. Paris. New York. Art consulting. His research. Aria’s paranoidly thorough fictional past. Elena throwing truths at his face like knives.

His words are smooth and captivating. “Who’s this?” I’m not sure I know the artist. “Leonard Cohen.” She says as she moves around me to pour us some wine. “They call him the Rabbi. One of the best writers in my opinion and his voice is hauntingly sexy.” She places my glass on the table and sits at the barstool across from me. “If you ever wish to truly romance a lady, play his music. You can’t go wrong.” She adds and smiles. Taking a sip of wine.

She leans against the railing, unaware she isn’t alone. My chest tightens. Sin in a dress. “Who is this dark nymph gracing me with her presence?” My voice slices through the night. She startles, turning. And my breath catches. Her. “My name is Luca Rossi,” I say, extending a hand. “May I have yours?” She takes it, her touch electric. “Yasmine Fernandez.” “The artist?” “Yes.” A slow smile curls my lips. “I’m a great admirer of your work. I own nearly all of your collections.”

"I haven't seen the woman's face yet but Dad mentioned her name, Nicole Rivera." "Ohh, her name is ugly. I'm the one telling you that you two are not suitable for each other." I shook my head. "Of course, we're going to be good, but gosh, I don't want a princess. I want a prince, like duh!" "Besides, you are not suitable either, the man I want for you is handsome, kind, respectful, with a sense of humor! But the more important thing is, you must like the man. Then I will never allow you to marry a man you don't love!" He added.