Romans & histoires Clove Isabelle Fuhrman

Isabel without a second thought threw her victims across the room and within the blink of an eye, her canines were buried deep in Dylan’s neck, marking her imprint on him. Dylan, consumed with immense pain, grabbed onto Isabel’s leather jacket tightly, to prevent his legs from giving out. Just when he thought the torture wouldn’t end, her canines were replaced with her tongue delicately wiping off the blood from his skin. There was a glint of pride in her yellow orbs as she stared at her flawless imprint. “Mine” she declared in her alpha voice and vanished in a flash. The crowd stared at the spot where Isabel was previously standing in sheer horror. They’ve never seen anything like this befo

The words escaped before she could stop herself. Isa laughed. Her laughter was bright and pure, like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds. “I wouldn’t date Clayton, even if he’s the last man on Earth!” Olivia’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Why not?” she asked, genuinely curious. It was hard for her to believe that Isa wouldn’t want to be with someone like Clayton. “Because we're blood related.” Isa stopped in her tracks. Her cheeks flushed a little when she added, “I must have forgotten to introduce myself. I'm Isabelle Bradford, Clayton's older sister.”

The woman laughed, warm, unbothered, the laugh of someone who found minor collisions genuinely amusing rather than annoying. She was older, sixty perhaps, with close-cropped silver hair and the kind of face that had clearly been striking once and had simply grown more interesting with time. She wore a camel coat and carried a paper bag that smelled like something baked. "I'm always coming off these things too fast. Dorothy Curien." She extended her hand like they were already friends. "Isla Mercer." Isla shook it. "Oh...I know who you are." Isla paused just slightly. Not enough to draw attention.

Isabelle face the ladies and smile,scouting them each swiftly "You work for the Macks" "Three of us, two are new,Elisha and pola"one of them spoke "I'm Nadia Gowolka"Isabelle nod. "I want the people from the Macks to step back"The three step back leaving the remaining two "This two will stay,the others have their life entwined with the Macks and I won't take it,you can all leave"Isabelle snap her yellow belt on her tulip gown "You'll come with me jakub" The ladies bow all with a smile.

“Unbelievable. Sometimes I wonder if we’re even related.” “Me too,” I smirked, unable to resist. “Maybe you and I should’ve been switched at birth.” “Very funny,” she retorted. She sighed, her fingers drumming on the table. “Who is that ?" She said. I followed her gaze and nearly choked on my coffee when I saw Isabelle Munroe pulling up in a cab. She stepped out, adjusting the strap of her small luggage case over her shoulder, her other hand smoothing down the fabric of a light, flowery dress that made her look like she’d just stepped out of a summer postcard.

He hadn't known what he wanted to say, only that he couldn't let her just disappear. The elevator chimed, a small, crystalline sound that felt like a bell tolling for him. The doors slid open, revealing her. Isabelle Dela Cruz, the woman who had brought color and life back into his monochrome world, stood there, a small, plain tote bag clutched in her hands. Her face was pale, her eyes were shadowed, but her resolve was a steel-hard line in the set of her jaw. She wore a simple dress, not a piece of the designer clothing he had gifted her. This was Isabelle, stripped bare of all the trappings of his world, ready to walk away.

After taking a warm shower , I picked my blue suit , it always had the good luck charm attached, I effortlessly knotted my tie and picked my briefcase, heading downstairs I was welcomed with a conscience awakening aroma , I was almost used to this , mary never seized to surprise me , opening the plat way my e's scrambled eggs tasted, my eyes unconsciously closed to savour the sweetness, it is extremely delicious. I heard footsteps in the kitchen , that should be joan or mary tidying up the place , I concluded. I saw the entering figure of a younger woman with Jean bum shorts and a shoulder length Polo, it was isabella. "Good morning" she greeted smiling like a tutor whose student made proud

I don't know if it's just me thinking like the horny bastard I am ninety-nine per cent of my time, but Isabella would throw her hair in a messy ponytail and still look exquisite. She's beautiful. Her skin isn't flawless like all of the girls or women I've fucked. Or the ones who I haven't fucked. Or the ones who throw themselves at me. Her skin is clean and it stands out. Then there's her fucking smell. I don't know how she does it. But she does smell like vanilla and lemon together. Combo would make a sane man go insane. I'd bet on my fucked up life that if Isabella Jordans wasn't my brother's girl, I'd have fucked her senseless by now. But that's it. She's his girl and she's off limits. I