In the sweltering heat of an Indian summer, a brunette woman named Isabella lay on her bed, her perfect, round breasts heaving with each breath she took. Her long, dark hair splayed out on the pillow like a halo, framing her beautiful face. She was a vision of desire, and she knew it.
Isabella had always been a flirt, using her looks and charm to get what she wanted. And what she wanted now was to feel the touch of a man, to be desired and worshipped by him. She closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh, imagining the feel of a man’s hands on her body, his lips on hers.
As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. Isabella’s heart skipped a beat as she sat up, pulling the sheet around her bare chest. “Who is it?” she called out, her voice trembling with anticipation.
“It’s me, Raj. I brought you some mangoes,” came the reply.
Isabella’s pulse raced as she remembered Raj, the handsome Indian man who lived in the apartment next door. She had met him a few times before, and she had always been drawn to him, with his piercing brown eyes and dark, flowing hair.
She quickly slipped on a robe and opened the door, her eyes wide with surprise as she saw the basket of mangoes in Raj’s hands. “Oh, Raj, I wasn’t expecting you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
