Clove Isabelle Fuhrman Novels & Stories

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