Romantic Excerpts From Novels Novels & Stories

those words rolled out of his tongue as everyone stilled. …. Hello my lovely readers, hope you've been enjoying this book so far, feel free to drop your comments and thoughts about this book and don't forget to vote please. DO CHECK OR ADD OTHER BOOKS OF THE AUTHOR… *REVENGE ON THE MAFIA LORD *JUST ONE MONTH *THE FORBIDDEN ROMANCE YOU CAN ALSO CHECK MY I*******M PAGE, TO SEE THE APPEARANCE OF YOUR FAVORITE CHARACTERS,TO MAKE READING MORE FUN, PLEASE FOLLOW ME ALSO, IT'S A NEW ACCOUNT…

“Teenage Ella seemed cool. Truthfully, I didn’t have an answer for him. I watched as he picked up a book from one of the stacks, a girly teenage romance novel that I had devoured years ago. “Ah, teenage love at its finest.” He flipped it open to a random page and began reading aloud, his voice dramatically husky. “‘His eyes met mine, a blaze of untamed desire. The magnetic pull was irresistible. ‘Melissa, you are the moonlight to my darkness.’’”

“What kind of romance novels?” I swallowed thickly, feeling the warmth pooling in the pit of my belly. “I like… explicit… romance novels,” I admitted, overtaken by the sudden haze of desire. Some distant part of me burned in embarrassment, but in the moment, it was as if there was energy crackling in the blank space between our bodies. I was powerless to resist. Alec let out a low chuckle that seemed to rumble through me like thunder. “Oh, well, that’s a little different,” he murmured, his lips barely grazing the shell of my ear.

The rest of the days were beautiful; the nights, more beautiful and magical. Roxanne waltzed through them in a beautiful halo of happiness. When she wasn't with Jaxon, she thought about him as she read with Grace and Martha, Especially when they read erotic books. It felt like a song, a siren song, pulling her body to his. When she was with him, he was making love to her body in one way or another, with his body, with his words, with his eyes, Or he was f*cking her hard.

she said with a wink, settling beside me on the couch and pulling a fuzzy blanket over us both. She queued up the movie on her TV, the opening credits filling the room with upbeat music. As the story unfolded lighthearted banter, stolen glances, the kind of sweet romance that made your heart flutter—I tried to lose myself in it. Mira laughed at the jokes, nudging me with her elbow, but I could only manage faint smiles. My mind wandered back to Zayden, to the way his touch had once felt like safety, now tainted by blood.

Dante said. Elian looked at him. "Possibly," he said. "Or because the direct approach to love in fiction is almost always the wrong one." He paused. "The best love in novels is in the corners. In the incidental things. Not the declarations — the coffee handed over without being asked." "The coffee handed over without being asked," Dante said. "You've noticed I do that," Elian said. "I noticed it the first morning," Dante said. "In the Budapest safehouse. You guessed correctly."

I leaned in a fraction of an inch, a teasing glint in my eyes, "I prefer classic literature. Russian realism, psychological thrillers. Dostoyevsky, Fitzgerald, Hemingway. I like substance." "Substance?!" Ruby mocked, completely offended. "Are you implying my romance novels don't have substance? Excuse you, but enemies-to-lovers tropes require intense psychological maneuvering! The angst! The tension! It's art, Alexander. Your little Russian thrillers have nothing on a slow-burn romance."

The whole house was boring and the atmosphere was gloomy, I decided to go into the study, when I was in there with Damon I could recall seeing romance novels on the bookshelf. I am a true lover of romantic novels, they get your spirit high with the sexiness of the male lead and gracefulness of the female but one thing that lacks in all romantic plot is that all are the same, there hasn't been anything new but who cares...... While I checked the bookshelf I notice a couple of erotic novels in there, you should know that I am very happy.

Or a library on steroids. When she reached the romance section, she had to restrain a squeal of delight when she found an array of old-school romances from the seventies and eighties in their bodice-ripping glory: in rainbow hues, the covers depicted men with bulging arms, their shirts open to the wind as women swooned in their arms. Some of the women stood in the strangest poses; Lucy had to cover her mouth to keep from giggling like an idiot.

On its touch to something, it dries. “Was it wrong to follow my desire? No.” She question herself. A vivid picture of her and Adrian as they always sat under the shade of the tree exhilarated by their love. In romanticism, they were the love birds after Romeo and Juliet. Christine would always hold him by his waist as she laid her bosom on his chest and raised her head at an angle of fixed degrees. A white eyes with black spots at the centre and always immobile. They swallowed each other's tongues as their heart delved to nourish their satisfaction. Adrian was a despot for her. His hand on a shoulder and the other on her thighs. They seemed in their world. They felt themselves on a beach. On