Romantic Era Books Novels & Stories

and worst of all, he was my stepbrother. My name is Elena Romero, and I have always been the good girl that could do no wrong. Just a girl and her books they say, but what they didn't know was that those books housed my dark fantasies, dragging me into a world so forbidden that it left me craving for what I shouldn't have. And I would have gotten away with it, my fantasies would have remained fantasies, but everything changed when mother forced me to pack up and leave Italy with her. She had fallen in love with Butch, a handsome man in his sixties, and he lived in Chicago with his son, Frederick.

The robe slid from my shoulders with a whisper and pooled at my feet, leaving me bare beneath his hungry gaze. “You just didn’t see me,” I whispered, pulling him into another heated kiss, unwilling to let a single second slip away. His lips claimed mine with urgency. He sucked gently on my lower lip while I nipped at his upper, parting for him. Our tongues tangled, hot and reckless, igniting sparks that raced through my veins. His hand slid firmly around my waist, drawing me flush against his body until there was no space left between us. The kiss deepened, consuming, as if neither of us could get enough.

“I’ve loved you since I was eighteen years old, watching you bite your pen in that library. I’m never letting you go. Not in three months. Not ever.” Elena kissed his chest, right over his heart, tears of pure happiness in her eyes. “I’m yours, Sir. Forever.” Epilogue Six months later, Elena walked down the aisle in a breathtaking white gown, the elegant day collar — now a permanent part of her — hidden beautifully beneath delicate lace at her throat. Damien waited for her at the altar, looking like sin and salvation in his black tuxedo. His eyes never left hers, filled with dark possession and profound love.

I watch intently with my brows raised as he removes a sizable oil painting from its place on the wall, unveiling a hidden safe that had been seamlessly integrated into the structure. I pivot on my heel and survey the colossal collection of books that had escaped my memory until now. The tips of my fingers delicately graze the uppermost edges of the book spines as my eyes glide over the titles. My fingers hover over one book in particular. It's a book that is very improper in Alessandros’ collection. This book is a historical romance novel written by Sylvia Day. One of Roses’ all-time favourite authors. Curiosity gets the better of me and I start to slide the book out, “come here, tesoro.” I

I said and pull him in the counter bar. After one hour the crowd is already wild and my head is like spinning I can feel Henry's hand on my legs and caress it seductively and kiss me on my neck and suck it gently. A moan scape to my mouth when he sucks my neck. My body starts to feel the heat and my pussy is starting to get wet. "Come on Ria," He said and carried me. He pinned me on the door and kissed me aggressively. He keeps sucking my neck down to my breast and suck my tits also.

She should have been declared an angel for her commendable feat. She walked around the counter throwing a pile of romance books to Cain that she watched the girls in her pack read, she wasn’t going to help him choose because she wasn’t one to waste her time reading fantasies when she had more important things to think about, like how to find her parents and save them. Bet an erotic romance wasn’t going to help her in easing the swirl of emotions that she was going through at the moment. Walking past the aisles, she browsed through several historical and poetry books before her gaze fell on the aisle that was stacked with cooking books.

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“It's okay, I also just walked straight, didn't look to the right or left.” “It's Jane Eyre.” Diana couldn't help herself when she saw the cover of one of the books on the front in her arms. “I also have one at home.” “Oh yeah?” the woman glanced at her book and smiled shyly. “I was on vacation in Bandung and purposely bought a lot of books as a friend of my boredom. From the synopsis at the back of the book, it seems like an interesting book.” “It is very interesting. This is a romance book from old English literary writings, first published in 1847 and the love story still survives today.” Diana rolled her eyes. “When Charlotte Brontte published it that year, it generated a lot of controve

book to a specific page I had marked and handed it to him. "Just read." I watched Lorenzo's reaction, which went from a frown to eyes wide in shock. "What?... is this a p**n book?" "It's not a p**n book," Andrea said in a reprimanding tone. "It's The Señorita!" I said in an admiring sigh followed by Andrea. "This book is about a romance between a Spanish cook and a lady of the aristocracy! A forbidden romance between a rich lady and a commoner! Ahhh..." I sighed. "The writer who wrote this book is anonymous, her pseudonym is Madame Louis. The cover, based on a recipe book, is discreet and is a hit with women!"

I lifted my hands to his chest, pressed against the warmth of him, and whispered, “I love you, Ethan. I’ve always—” He quieted me with his lips. A slow, sensual kiss that was full of morning, full of sunlight, full of home. The way he kissed me now wasn’t rushed or needy. It was almost...sacred. The kind of kiss that seeps into your very soul and stays there. I wrapped my arms around him, pressing against him as if I could never get close enough. “I’ve been dreaming of this,” he whispered between kisses. “Of you in my arms like this. No walls. No fear. Just us.”