Spice Romance Novels & Stories

kenzie said as I stared at her "oh gimme a break, love at first sight seriously?" I said "yeah it's romantic" kenzie added "ew, gross" I blute out cause the word disgust me "you see quincy here is a no love life type so she doesn't understands love" Gianna said to kenzie as she hand quotes the no love life type word. "Awwwn that bad" kenzie said in a sad tone "okay enough of this love talk am starving" she said as her stomach rumbled loudly making us laugh.

I forget to mention that last night while cuddling with hime,I called him Mr dicarprio which he didn't like and demanded for me to call him Romeo. "Sorry." I answered sheppesily. "But I won't mind if you called me that in bed..you know ..." I gaped at him finally noticing how handsome he looked tonight with his hair jelled backwards, especially the handsome smirk he has on his face. The sound of throat clearing brought me of my thoughts. "Sir what would you like to eat this evening." Mr DiCaprio scanned the menu before looking up to the waiter. ."every thing in the menu plus off menu" I looked at him then pick up the menu to view. So many expensive dishes written on it making me gasp. Why on

He was so aggressive; it turned me on even more. “I need to fill you up with my cock right now.” He pulled away and stood straight then grabbed my thighs and pulled me close. “I wish I could taste your delicious pussy but with that meal we just had. I don’t want to hurt you down there with the spice still lingering on my tongue.”

Heat spreads through my blood, loud and impossible to ignore. Then he lifts me back up. Air rushes into my lungs. I cough and gulp, heart racing. His arms stay locked around me, solid and close. I’m pressed against him, chest to chest, and all I can breathe in is Dominic Vance. Spice. Heat. Bergamot and hot pepper. The scent sinks into me and makes everything worse. The fire in my chest doesn’t calm. It grows. He watches me closely, eyes slow and intent, then drags his tongue over his lips like he’s savoring the moment.

On the other hand, he is so pampered, feared and loved in this town that if he accidentally bumped into someone, they would probably be the ones apologizing to him and not the other way around. Okay, yes, the spoiled thing I got from all the internet research I've been doing this weekend on the guy. I was bored, okay? He keeps staring at me and I stare back at the jerk, straight into his electric blue eyes filled with anger, hatred and what looks like a hint of pain. He also has freckles on his nose that I hadn't seen at the funeral because I was so far away. But up close, wow, they suit him and somehow make him look more attractive. He has full pink lips that I wouldn't mind tasting sometim

After the meeting, Damien approached her near the elevator. "You're welcome," he said in a straightforward manner. "You got me into that room," she said, trying to mask her surprise. "I simply opened the door. You kept it open," he replied. There was a pause in the conversation. "You're being unusually kind for someone who kissed me in public and then disappeared," she said, a mix of hurt and curiosity shading her words. His expression remained unchanged. "We shared a contract, not a romance." Her chest tightened at his words. "Right. Of course," she said, her voice barely hiding the sting of his words.

But somehow, Conrad got the wrong idea and thought I was the one getting married. Maybe the mix-up was fate's way of stepping in, but we really did need to talk. I was still in that pristine white lace dress, its layers of delicate petals softening my figure. For just a moment, something like awe flickered in Conrad's eyes. Neither of us said a word. "What brings you—" "Sorry, if this is awkward, I'll go—" We spoke over each other, then both fell silent. I bit back a laugh. Just like that, the tension between us dissolved.

It is the smell of our past night, of her fulfilled promise, of her desire for me. She cries out, a small stifled cry, when my tongue finds her outline through the silk. The rough texture of the lace, the warmth and humidity beneath, the salty, metallic taste that permeates the fabric... It is a sacrilege. It is a communion. I lick her, slowly, with a worshipper's devotion, through the fabric, until it is soaked, transparent, clinging to her skin. Her moans fall upon me like burning rain. Her hands cling to my hair, pull me, press me against her.

Sinclair watching us lazily from his seat on the couch, his protruded cock still bobbing as he puffed on his cigar. His eyes met mine and he smirked. Something about how sensual it was made my stomach tickle. He crushed the butt of his cigar on the ashtray, still holding my gaze. He poured whiskey slowly into a glass cup, and my eyes flickered his fingers closed round the glass as he swirled the liquid slowly, and brought it to his lips. When I looked up, his eyes were still holding mine down, black with lust. His gaze flickered down to my breasts, and my stomach kicked when he bit his lips.

That was until she met Spencer. When they met, it seemed apparent that they were made for each other. Dedicated and loving, Spencer had been the perfect husband a woman could ever dream of. He respected her every decision and placed her above anything else in his life. He even had a notebook that he carried everywhere, which was dedicated to jotting down all of Nikita's whims and fancies. A glimpse into this notebook revealed that Nikita did not like fish, she despised onions, ginger, and garlic, she loved cherries, and she was often in a bad mood in the first hour upon waking.