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Romance Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
My Ex-wife, My Destination

My Ex-wife, My Destination

“Daisy, do you know what your mistake is?” He asks, his hardness rubbing between my buttocks. I stay silent because I’m not allowed to speak. “That you said ‘yes’ to marrying me.” He spanks my buttocks, grinding his shaft against my wetness. “Therefore, I’ll make sure to punish you and make you regret your decision every day.” He finishes his sentence by landing a hard spank on my crotch, causing me to fall straight onto the sofa. “Stay still if you don’t want me to make your night worse,” he warns, raising my buttocks in the air again. “Happy anniversary, my fuck toy.” He grabs my waist and plunges his hard membrane deep into me, causing me to gasp. *** Her husband treated her like a sex toy, and she let him, hoping that one day he would recognise her love. And he exploited her and vented his fury on her, making her life a living hell. In the end, he divorced her, not knowing she was carrying his baby. After the divorce, the baby was her only hope of survival. Five years later, when she was living her life with her daughter, his return raised questions: Is he back to separate her from her daughter or to rebuild their relationship? *** “Fine. I’m leaving and never show you my face.” He grasps my arms and leans closer to my face, accelerating my heartbeat. I despise how much he still affects me. “Because I care about you more than anything else in this entire world. Just remember, you and Hope are my destination, and I’m ready to take any path which leads me to you both.”
Trading Passion With The Ruthless Tycoon

Trading Passion With The Ruthless Tycoon

Chloe was drowning in crushing debt and a rare neurological condition that made her skin agonize for a touch she couldn't bear. That was until her mysterious neighbor, Julian, stepped in. He saved her from a predatory client by beating the man half to death, secured her a $20,000 payout, and miraculously cured her tormenting condition with a single, desperate night in her bed. But Julian was dangerous. He drove a Bentley, had the police turning a blind eye to his violence, and hid dark secrets behind a handyman disguise. Terrified by his world and the absolute control he had over her body, Chloe panicked. The morning after he tenderly held her together, she pulled out her checkbook. She handed him a check for $500. "For your service. It was excellent," she said coldly, treating the lethal man like a cheap escort. His vulnerable expression shattered, replaced by a look of profound hurt and ice-cold rage. He slammed her door, vanishing from her life. Almost immediately, her skin began to burn again, and her career stalled. The brutal realization hit her: she had driven away the only person who could anchor her. But why did a man with such immense wealth and power pretend to be a blue-collar worker just to get close to her in the first place? Desperate, she wired him another $500 to force a reaction. Late that night, as she stood nervously at a convenience store counter buying boxes of condoms, a low, triumphant voice whispered in her ear. "Preparing for next time?"
His Trophy Wife, Her Secret Life

His Trophy Wife, Her Secret Life

My wife, Sophia Hayes, was beautiful, poised, and utterly detached. For five years, our marriage had been a bizarre, silent transaction: she'd disappear for days, even weeks, to "support" her childhood sweetheart and his failing tech startup. Each time she returned, a lavish "guilt offering" would appear – a vintage Patek, a signed first edition, a priceless Ming vase. Ninety-nine such gifts now filled our sterile mansion, each a screaming monument to her absence and my bitter complicity. I was no longer the man who' d clung to hope, who' d screamed and shattered expensive crystal. Today, as she fastened a diamond bracelet, preparing for her hundredth departure, she waved away my feigned concern for our anniversary, prioritizing his celebration. "I need you to sign this," I said, offering a document I' d subtly placed among her latest "gift." She signed, carelessly dismissing it as a prenup addendum, already thinking of David. She didn' t read the fine print. She never did. "PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE" it read, the final decree awaiting its ironclad confirmation. The world saw her as a successful patron, supporting a talented founder, but at a glamorous gala, the veil slipped. A reporter, sensing blood, asked, "Are you two an item?" Panic flashed in Sophia' s eyes, and in her fear, she sought me out – her hidden husband – to rescue her public image. I stepped from the shadows, played my part, and then watched as she rushed not to me, but to him, murmuring reassurances. That night, she didn't come home; the next morning, she arrived, exhausted but triumphant, thanking me for "saving us." She dismissed my quiet anger as humility, oblivious. "You asked me to be there, Sophia," I said, watching her carefully curated world unravel. "I did? When?" she asked, genuinely bewildered. Her memory, a weapon of convenience, had erased my very existence. I nodded, utterly calm as she detailed her next trip with David, making another empty promise for "us" once she returned. That date was the day our divorce would be finalized. A cold, hard satisfaction settled in my gut; the world she had built was about to come crashing down. Just not in the way she expected.
He Gave Her the Romance, I Gave Him Goodbye

He Gave Her the Romance, I Gave Him Goodbye

There was a romantic rule in the field of astronomy. The first asteroid a researcher discovered had to be named after someone they loved most. In my seventh year of enduring hardship by Adrian Foster's side, he finally discovered a new star. On the day of the press conference, I, Clara Reed, wore my most presentable dress, waiting for him to call my name on stage. When I went to the lounge to bring him water, I overheard his partner trying to dissuade him in a low voice. "Adrian, Clara has been with you for seven years, if you give the naming rights to Lily, how devastated is Clara going to be? This isn't fair to Clara at all." Adrian toyed with a lighter, his tone completely matter-of-fact. "Clara is too dull. Naming a star after her would be tacky. Lily is a violinist. Her name fits the romance of this star much better. Besides, Clara is almost thirty. She's already lost the looks she once had. Who else would want her besides me? She gets marriage, Lily gets romance. What else could she possibly be unhappy about?" A draft swept through the corridor, chilling me to the bone. My throat burned sharply, every breath carrying a faint metallic taste. I looked at the cup of warm water in my hand. I didn't push the door open and turned back toward the hall. I went straight to the registration desk and submitted a document. "Please revoke my co-authorship attribution." I didn't want the star anymore. And I didn't want Adrian anymore either.