Romantic Excerpts From Novels Novels & Stories

Then he kissed his wife, who answered with a sweet smile and came out like a knight of the Holy Order at the door of the salon, from darkness to light, from sadness to joy, like a true nobleman full of parental love to his scent, the heir to the titles parents, a knight, strong in his father's court or among the great ladies who were ashamed of the brilliance of this demigod, but a vulnerable spider on the field of honor, crushed in his great duels by the great trumpets of the show, amazed by the swords that fluttering in flashes and a baltag like a mad cyclops hitting his chest, so well ends a volume of romantic stories in blood and death, but only now reveal the actors and the beautiful ar

Flowers were placed on every table as well as candles, the floor was also covered with petals which swarmed around us with the wind giving it a magical aroma. “This, my beauty, is one of the best romantic spots here at New York. I figured since I ruined the night at the gala, might as well make use of it since the night is still young, and the two of us just got married; I believe that a night alone would be better” I said taking her hand in mine. I ran my thumb over her fingers, and slowly brought it to my lips, kissing her knuckle. Natalia smiled and bit her bottom lip, the action alone made her look innocently cute as it came out looking natural.

My soul was a desert and you, my love, is an ocean I was searching so hard for. You is all I need to live..... Murmuring the last line, I closed down the last page of my novel and exhaled a gentle sigh. I never feel lonelier then I do after finishing a romantic novel. I swear they make love sound so dreamy in these books that my craving for a companion shoots up by like thousand times. I wonder if I would ever get to feel this "magical feeling." Men in these novels are so fanciful though- sweet, caring, understanding and so romantic. If only we could order men too on shopping sites. If it was possible, I would have got me a gentleman who is considerate, soft-spoken and chivalrous. Nothing li

She was fully expecting him to give it one glance, and put it down with a caustic remark about trash, at which she would mutter something equally caustic about literary snobs. Instead he scanned it for perhaps twenty seconds. It was ridiculous to feel embarrassed, but she did. Not because he was reading about the imaginative contortions of Dominic and Natalya, but because he was probably imagining her reading them and getting all hot and erogenous in the process. In fact, she had not. As scenes of rampant nookie went, it had been disappointingly unerotic - more like a DIY plumbing manual than anything else. ‘Jesus,* he muttered at last. ‘This is anatomically impossible.*

Our hands roamed freely, tracing the contours of each other's bodies, conveying a language of love and adoration that words could never express. In the embrace of the night, our love blossomed, painting vivid strokes of desire and tenderness. Roman's touch was like a gentle caress, igniting a fire within me that burned with intensity. Every kiss, every touch, was a declaration of our love—a passionate affirmation of the deep bond we shared. As our bodies moved in harmony, the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of us entangled in a symphony of love and desire. With each gasp and whisper of pleasure, our souls intertwined, merging into one beautiful, intoxicating union.

"And you remember that the best romances are the ones where both people choose each other every single day." She stood, pressed a signed copy of her book into my hands, and squeezed my shoulder before moving on. I stared at the book, at her inscription: "To Camila - May you write yourself a happy ending. You deserve it." "Thank you," I nearly cried to Lucien. "Don't thank me for making you happy," he watched me with those golden eyes that saw too much. I leaned over and kissed him. His hand came up to cup the back of my neck, pulling me deeper.

She curled into one of the high-backed chairs near the window, a thick book open on her lap, a dark romantic comedy she’d read a thousand times. The sun was setting in orange and purple across the pages. She told herself she was reading. In truth she was still feeling Roman between her thighs from the shower, every shift of her hips reminding her how he did everything but fuck her. The door opened without a knock. Roman stepped in, closing it softly behind him. Shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow, top two buttons undone, looking too innocent for who he truly was. He looked unfairly edible. Tessa didn’t even look up from her book.

"But I'm curious, what does romance mean to you?" Max leaned in closer to Chloe, his voice low and husky, as he whispered softly into her ear, "Romance is like the changing sky at dusk, with colors shifting and blending together to create something new and beautiful each time. It's like the dance of fireflies on a warm summer evening, a dazzling display that takes your breath away.” His words flowed like a gentle stream, carrying with them the promise of something sweet and special. Chloe felt her heart skip a beat, and a shiver ran down her spine like a gentle breeze on a summer day, as she turned away to hide the reddened flush on her cheeks.

The night felt really heavy. The rain had stopped,. I could still smell it in the air. It was cool and fresh. It came into my room through the little space I had left open by the balcony door. I stood there looking at the garden below me. The roses looked almost black in the moonlight. Everything outside seemed calm. Inside me everything was moving. I put my arms around myself not because I was cold. Because my thoughts were too loud. A lot of things had changed. Loving him meant living with things that were not always clear. It meant knowing that peace would never last forever.

It was as if, unlike any other room, this one was special. Arabella approached the man and sat across his legs, putting one of her arms around his shoulders. "Gustave Flaubert" he replied. "French romance" the incredulity in the woman's tone was clear. She could not believe someone like Damon was interested in romance. "All French works have a romantic content," he explained, shrugging. Arabella smiled, and then Damon was sure that smile could light up the whole city. The closeness between them was frightening for both of them, and they were afraid of what they would feel when they had to pull away.