Romance Books Without Spice Novels & Stories

So to get away from him, I put my job search on hold, bought a plane ticket, and flew straight to the beach. … I grew up in a landlocked city. I had never seen the ocean in person. When Ryan and I got married, we had planned to spend our honeymoon at the beach. But his work got in the way, and the plan fell apart. After that, he promised to take me a hundred times. It never happened.

But obliging my curiosity, she tilted the cover and let me read the title. “How to lose an alien prince in 30 days?” I read out loud, frowning. “Sci-fi?” I’d pegged her as more of a murder/mystery myself. “No, romance,” she replied, never taking her eyes off the page. I tried to hide my surprise. She didn’t look like the type of woman who believed in “knights in shining armor” or “love conquers all”. She looked rational, strong, and independent. But it had me wondering what she DID believe in…

I'm sitting between Kahlo's legs with my back to his front as I read the book he bought me. It's a cute small-town romance with vanilla sex scenes. Something I would have enjoyed when I started I started reading but now it's boring. Bland. Where is the bully that makes the female lead's life a living hell but she still ends up with him? Where is the stalker or psychopath who doesn't know the meaning of privacy and personal space? Give me unhinged. Even better if it's the female because I can relate with them. But since Kahlo bought this book for me, I don't mind reading it. Although, it would be a little better if she at least got together with both guys. We all need some toxicity in our liv

I was never able to bring myself to read them, though Rory and at least half the people I know love the series. “I did,” she answers with a smile. “You haven’t read them then, I’m guessing?” “I’ve, uh, intended to but haven’t found the time.” She laughs. “They’re not really your cup of tea, and I’m fine with that. Not everyone likes paranormal romance, though the books have a ton of action in them—sorry. If you get me started talking about Kellie and Marcus, I won’t shut up.” “You’re passionate, and that’s not a bad thing.”

“She’ll probably spend the whole holiday in here if you let her.” I walked the aisles slowly, trailing my fingers over the books. Classics. Thrillers. A whole section of contemporary romance—Mirabel’s doing, mostly. She’d started collecting them in high school, said they were “escapist but smart.” I’d never read them. Too many happy endings. Too much hope wrapped in pretty words. I pulled one down at random. Dark cover, brooding man in a suit, and title written in gold foil: Claimed by the Billionaire. I snorted softly, then slid it back.

“Treason, Nana. Treason." “It does not matter. We need to find where I belong or what I am.” She goes on again, rambling. I wish I could exchange her for a more understanding wolf. Pushing my hair to the back of my ear, I flip the page of the new book and read through each line. I roll my eyes and scoff. Romance. How can a character’s first interest be about a man? Doesn’t she love coins? Food? Fashion, or even education? Why must it be a man?

“I’d lie in bed, cock in my fist, imagining it was me buried inside you. Making you scream both our names.” Heat flooded my face. I shifted on the bed, the short black dress riding higher up my thighs. His eyes dropped again, hungry. “Cas… this is insane. You’re my stepbrother.” “Stepbrother,” he repeated, leaning closer. Our thighs pressed together now. “Not blood. Doesn’t change how bad I want you. Hasn’t since the day I moved in and saw you in those tiny shorts.” My nipples tightened painfully against the thin fabric of my dress. I could smell his cologne—woodsy and masculine—mixing with the faint scent of beer and party smoke clinging to both of us.

"Come to think of it, she's been talking about wanting to thank you for being her sponsor." I avoided his touch and said flatly, "I sponsored her so she could study and build a future, not so she could stay up late with my boyfriend watching the river." Jeremy's expression darkened. "Sabrina Thornton, what are you implying? Why are you talking like that? We have a normal working relationship!" "Would a normal working relationship involve 688 times of late-night shared listening sessions?" I tossed the printed report onto the coffee table. The pages scattered, and his pupils shrank.