Romantic For Men Novels & Stories

"Tell me about the book you were reading. What is it about?" P**n. Flushing, I bite my lip "It's a romantic story" and by romance, I mean a girl getting railed by three men at once. I wasn't kidding when I said I'd gotten to the spicy part. She was finally going to sleep with all three of them together. Lucky bitch. "Ah, you're a romantic then?" Anti-romantic. People who say they're in love are full of shit. I believe in power, loyalty, and money.

he said. I laughed. “Dante Romano, the romantic?” He pulled me into a tight embrace. “That’s because I love you so much.” “Is it my fault that you became romantic?” He laughed. “Yes, entirely your fault.” I jumped off the bed, laughing. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome Dante Romano—the Romantic!” I shouted. He sprang up and caught me, trying to sneak me into the bathroom, but he lifted me into his arms. “What did you say?” I clung to him upside down, screaming and laughing.

“I’m just being honest. You don’t need saving. You don’t need anything from me. That’s… different.” I straddled him again, grinding harder this time. “You figured that out fast. Most guys come in here thinking they’re gonna be my hero.” “I don’t want to be your hero,” Roman said, looking me dead in the eyes. “I just want to watch you. Talk to you. Figure out what makes you tick.” I stopped moving for a second. “Careful. That sounds like you want more than a dance.” “Maybe I do.” I leaned in, pressing my bare tits against his chest. “Then you’re gonna have to earn it. I don’t give anything away for free. Not my time. Not my body. Not my real name.”

I could close my eyes and pick one at random, and she'd still end up in my bed, moaning my name like it means something. But let's not pretend I'm some smooth-talking Romeo. I'm not a ladies' man. I don't flirt. I don't charm. And I sure as hell don't promise anything. I use and I take. Simple as that. And the thing is? Most of them like it. They crave the kind of detachment I offer. No feelings, no commitment, just heat and pleasure. And for the ones who do care? Let's just say, I don't lose any sleep over it.

I really need to find Belvedere already. "Well then," Romano folds his hand and step forward, this mischievous, never-to-be-trusted smile on his face, "I want to talk to my mate and tell her Weylin isn't my girlfriend or anything but just one stubborn bitch on the call girls list which I already burnt. I want to apologize for what you just saw now and tell you it'll never happen again. And about your date with Rex, I don't mind you going out with the fake guy but the thoughts of you going out while your panties is in my hold. I didn't mean to say that publicly but you can't go butts-naked and Rex, I don't think going out with my girl regards to loyalty or respect from you." Although he looks

I pressed my lips together, smiling sheepishly. He stared at me and shook his head softly before walking away. I pulled myself out of the duvet smiling uncontrollably. It felt so unreal. I have heard from people that you can't find a romantic personality in the same person that gives you the best sex in the world but right now that's a lie. For a person who never experienced either true love or nice sex, I would attest, that Mr. Ignazio is really one of a kind and I do not need to wish on him. I already know that there is no love for us out there.

Her gaze, however, kept straying to the far end of the bar to her future father-in-law. His charisma and good looks made it easy to see why so many women were drawn to him. Leaning against the polished mahogany, he was listening to the young, pretty bartender who was mixing his drink with a small, polite smile on his lips. The woman was laughing, tossing her hair, her body language an unmistakable flag of flirtation.

"I'm clear about my expectations. No strings, no complications." I rolled my eyes. "Of course. Heaven forbid the great Alexander Carter might have to deal with a woman's feelings." "You say that like it's a bad thing." He took another sip of coffee. "We both get what we want. They get a night with me, I get..." "Their bodies," I finished for him. "An experience," he corrected. "Mutual pleasure without the messiness of emotions." I snorted. "So romantic." "Romance is overrated. Sex isn't."

It was a kiss unlike any other in the ten years I had known him, fueled by both lust and a need to punish. When he finally released me, we were both panting. "You love me," Francis said, locking eyes with me, each word deliberate as if willing it to be true. "You'll keep loving me. The drugs are irrelevant." I could not help but laugh. "Francis, who are you kidding?" Francis acted like he did not hear me. He just stood up and smoothed out his suit. "You're getting out tomorrow. Come stay at my place." "That's not my home," I said.

"All I want is to stand in front of everyone we know and promise to never let you go again. Is that really so terrible?" My anger melted away, replaced by a complicated mix of emotions. "No, it's not terrible," I admitted quietly. "It's actually... pretty sweet." "Sweet?" He arched an eyebrow, clearly hoping for a better adjective. A reluctant smile tugged at my lips. "Romantic?" "Getting better." His hands slid to my waist, pulling me closer. "But Ryan," I said, placing my palms against his chest, "I have the London opening, then Fashion Week, then—"