Silhouette Romance Novels & Stories

The only evidence of it is the golden woven band that glows on his bicep. With the bond completed my wings stretched wide and my skin glowing I take every inch of Silas. The bond blossoms into something new and beautiful as we move together our bodies made for one another. His thoughts and feelings crash through me just as mine have done to him. When we are finally spent all that remains is beautiful intricate ice sculptures with flame deep in its core and a bond strong as steel.

----- Marriott Hotel entrance Amy Bond had just opened the car door when a pink figure rushed towards her. "Lady, if you don't hurry, the show will be over!" Amy Bond gave Matthew Qin, who was dressed flamboyantly, a kick. "Lower your voice; Scarlett White is sleeping!" "Scarlett White is here too?" Matthew Qin turned his head and saw Scarlett White sitting in the passenger seat. She was wearing a red deep V-neck dress with black hair cascading down, creating a stark visual contrast with her fair skin. Even someone like him, accustomed to the world of glamour, couldn't help feeling a bit fascinated.

With a mocking smile and ridicule in her voice, she said, "Mr. Lautner, didn't you check before sending out gifts?" "W-What?" Saige raised his head but didn't dare to look at her dazzling face. His gaze could only fall on the card in her hand. Her skin, bathed in the moonlight, looked like a work of art that would give rise to infinite fluttering thoughts. Saige, however, did not dare to look more and just stuttered in response, his mind empty. "To my dearest Riri, "Your red lips are as charming as roses, your scent is more alluring than roses, and your body is hotter than roses.

"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.

And I like it that way. What I don't like though is the silence. Yes, there's music playing and I'm unable to keep my voice down, but he doesn't say anything to me; he never does. There are no words, no promises. With others, it's fine, but with him, I want more. I want him to see me past my body, to love me or at least fake it. But that's one thing I'm unable to force, even during the times he's artfully hogtied and I'm specially whipping his dick—long and hard—while he calls my name for mercy.

he whispered, but she silenced him with a finger to his lips. “Shh,” she said, her eyes dark with need. “Just let me do this.” Slowly, she sank down onto him, inch by inch. She watched his face, the way his eyes rolled back, the way his teeth clenched. It was wrong, she knew, but she couldn’t help herself. She had crossed a line, and now there was no going back. She had to see this through.

She approached us with the grace of a panther, her eyes—a sharp, icy blue—locked onto Silas with a terrifying familiarity. "Silas, darling," she purred, her French accent thick as cream. She ignored me entirely, her hand reaching out to touch Silas’s lapel. "I didn't believe the rumors. A wedding? So sudden. So... impulsive. Not like the man I know. He usually calculates every move three years in advance." I felt Silas’s body stiffen beside me, a hard wall of tension. His grip on my waist tightened, his thumb making a slow, rhythmic circle against my hip that felt less like comfort and more like a warning.

She threw the heavy oak door open with a violence that echoed against the vaulted ceilings like a gunshot. She froze at the threshold. Silas and Beatrice were on the edge of the sprawling guest bed, tangled in a messy, desperate embrace. They were kissing with a frantic, uncoordinated energy that looked less like romance and more like two drowning people trying to have sex. Silas’s robe was hanging off one shoulder, exposing his sagging chest, and Beatrice’s silk nightgown was bunched up around her hips. It was a grotesque sight two fallen titans trying to find solace in the flesh because they had nothing left in the bank.

Ten-year-old Rhett Grimfang glared at me. I was just about to turn and leave when the hem of my gown became stuck at the corner of the table, tearing it open with a loud rip. "You scheming she-wolf! That was the dress my mother loved most!" Rhett's eyes were red as he stared at me with hatred. "Rhett… you're lying. Sylvia loved gowns inlaid with moonstone crystals. How could she possibly have cherished this plain, old white dress?"

I was glowing and blooming like a wildflower, and I seemed to be more dignified more content, and satisfied with my life in this dimension. I saw myself walking slowly while laughing, my arms were arched into something I could not visibly figure out. It was like a silhouette of a man, his face was unclear, but obviously, it was not Davis. And the way I was clinging onto his arms, implies how much in love I am with him, and I have no idea why, and how, it was even possible.