Romantic Novel Excerpt Novels & Stories

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

Moonlight spilled through the half-open curtains. Celina stopped at the doorway, wide-eyed, her hands covering her mouth. The delicate décor, the warmth, the scent of roses and candle wax—it all felt like stepping into a fairytale. “Oh, my love… this is so beautiful,” she whispered. “It’s like a dream. You thought of everything. I never imagined that the same man who once pretended not to know me… would become such a romantic husband. So… perfect.” Thor approached slowly, his eyes gleaming with that familiar intensity. Stopping just before her, he extended his hand with a charming smile.

Ximena brought out the new plan she wanted to ask for, and they sat in a quiet coffee shop. Paula had a notebook in front of her. It was a lazy and casual job, and Ximena secretly read romance novels on the side, but she did not know how to pass the time at this time. Ximena who had read too many romantic novels couldn't help but support her chin with her hands and face full of emotion. Paula was the female protagonist of this novel! And Vice—President was definitely the male lead! Ximena almost drooled when she saw this. She quickly wiped it off as she thought to herself, when she will also be able to meet her Prince Charming.

I thought she might’ve disappeared somewhere in shame after what happened, but I guess she’s just trying to clean up. I get ready to leave her to it, giving her space to get dressed, when something catches my eye. It’s a book lying on the sectional sofa. I pick it up, turning it over in my hands. It’s clearly a romance novel, one of those old-school kinds. The cover’s a little cheesy, showing a bride and a guy in a tuxedo. I flip it open, and right there on the first page, in messy handwriting, is a dedication. "Isayanna's Copy."

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.

Nora brought white roses when she visited me in the hospital. She fumbled with the flowers, accidentally tipping over the vase and spilling water everywhere. "Oh, no. I'm so sorry, Natalie," she babbled, scrambling to clean up the mess. "I didn't mean to do that." "It's fine," I said, even though nothing really was. She sat down, nervously fiddling with the edge of her skirt. It was a fancy Chanel, a present from Francis, but I was the one who had picked it out. "Natalie, have you and Francis been at it again?"

With a sudden, violent motion, she swept it off the nightstand. The glass shattered against the stone floor, the liquid spilling out like wasted light. Dante let out a guttural sound, a mixture of triumph and agony. He crushed his mouth against hers, a kiss that tasted of finality and fire. This was the "Intimate Love Romance" at its most visceral—a communion of the damned. He didn't make love to her; he reclaimed her. He used the "Body Betrayal" as a conduit, forcing her to acknowledge that her choice was permanent.

The kisses resumed with unprecedented intensity, each movement mingling us in a new dance, in a shared surge of passion. Romain took me in his arms, sweeping me away, and I lost all sense of time. The outside world disappeared, leaving only the two of us, bound by an insatiable desire to explore everything together. And that night, we would amplify the tenderness, the sweetness, and the passion, creating an incredible unity between our souls, like the beginning of a fascinating story to write together.

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.

The lingering scent of our passion filled the air, a sweet, intoxicating reminder of the raw intimacy we had shared. The morning light, now fully illuminating the library, seemed to cast a golden halo around her sleeping form. She was beautiful, fierce, and mine. And in that moment, wrapped in the quiet aftermath of our shared storm, I knew that this was just the beginning of our story, a story written in stolen moments and whispered desires, a story that I would cherish for all the days to come.