Romances Written By Men Novels & Stories

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.

“It was adorable. He used to hide them behind law textbooks. Thought no one would notice.” Lu turned to me, slowly, disbelief dawning in his expression. “Romance novels?” I kept my face perfectly composed. “It’s called studying character psychology. I was curious how emotional arcs were structured.” Christopher leaned closer to Lu and stage-whispered, “Some of them were very emotionally structured. Especially the ones with the shirtless men on the covers.” I tilted my head, deadpan. “At least they weren’t about knights and dragons like yours.” “Oh they were! But mine had duels. Yours had duels of passion.”

"You like mysteries?" "Sometimes." "Better than romance novels?" My face heated. Had he seen me looking at that shelf? Had he been watching? "Much better," I said firmly. "Romance novels are... unrealistic." Something flickered in his eyes. Amusement maybe. "Are they?" "Yes. All that instant attraction and forbidden desire and enemies becoming lovers. It doesn't work like that in real life." "Doesn't it?" The way he said it—the slight emphasis, the look in his eyes—made my stomach flip.

Every time I read romance novels, I've always thought what a bunch of liars those authors are, to put shitty smut that the majority of us women, don't even experience. Like seriously, getting wet just by his presence in the room? Or at the sound of his voice? Bullshit, that's what it is!

FICTION COME TRUE BOOK 2 Intro; Alessia Bellandi is a best seller dark romance author who has built her success writing about men who consume women whole. She writes about obsessive, dominant alpha males who are not just dangerous but attentive. Our reclusive writer lives a quiet life and she’s a socially awkward girl who lives in a quiet apartment that smells faintly of paper, ink, and the vanilla candles she forgets to blow out properly when writing. She writes about book men like a woman full and wild with experience which is quite the opposite of this dear author for she has never actually experienced life quite yet!

“I haven’t even met him.” “Exactly!” she shouted. “That’s worse! Falling for someone you’ve never seen is peak disaster energy.” “I’m not falling for anyone.” “Good.” She pointed at me again. “Because emotional damage is expensive. And I know you. You fall for men with mystery, danger, and cheekbones sharp enough to stab you.” “I do not!” “You SO do.” Mira narrowed her eyes. “And this man sounds like he invented cheekbones.” I let out a breath and slung my bag over my shoulder. “I’ll be okay. I promise.”

"What's that, Sir?" "Now, I'm not trying to mean this offensively," he started cautiously. I was a little surprised. What could be so bad that it made Arthur preemptively apologize? He was usually an ask first, apologize second kind of guy. "It’s just… from what I’ve heard, a lot of women seem to be attracted to these ‘classic romances’,” he explained. “The idea of a slightly flawed, but ultimately good man who’s willing to do almost anything for the sake of the woman he loves. The kind of man who protects her, and takes care of her, and comforts her. A man who sweeps her off her feet and leaves her breathless.

"Like when the guy is dominant or possessive. At least, that's what I get out of it when I read." "What do you like to read?" "Romance." "Yeah? Does that mean that I'm going to have to live up to some crazy high expectations?" "Possibly," she admits on a laugh, reaching out, lifting her water to her lips. She takes a sip. "I mean, it's not like authors typically write men who make readers cringe, but some of them are a bit over the top and unrealistic. Most, though, just, yum." "Make you horny when you read?" I guess. I've heard enough from Penny when she talks about the books she reads with Olivia to know that they fall into that category often after reading.

I'm not trying to avoid responsibility; I'm just trying to figure out what went wrong. Mindy stayed quiet. She admitted she wrote slowly and wasn't good at the genre Edith was suggesting. Her ideas often felt all over the place, making it hard to write faster. Seeing Mindy's hesitation, Edith continued, "This time is different. Urban romance and rich-guy dramas are always popular online. It doesn't matter if you write fast or slow. I promise we won't have the same problems as before." Mindy frowned more. "I read the web novels you gave me. They're fast-paced and exciting but sometimes too exaggerated. The start is interesting, but the story gets weaker as it goes on, and sometimes the charac

The man carried himself with an air of superiority, casting me an annoyed glance. "Ximena, come here at once. What do you think you're doing, standing with another man? And what's with those shoes? Didn't I tell you not to wear any? A woman who wears shoes is a woman with schemes. Trying to run off with a lover, aren't you? Take them off immediately." Just like that, Ximena started to walk toward him. I grabbed her arm and lifted my chin. "Who do you think you are? What gives you the right to order Ximena around?"