At Her Heel & Toe

Valentina rips open that package the second the mail guy drops it. New heels, strappy, mean-looking things with sky-high arches and an open toe she plans to parade straight under Bill's nose. Bill always says he loves the ones that flash the most skin, so naturally she keeps her feet soft and painted every chance she gets. Tonight she can't be bothered with slow tease. Shoes clatter on the floor the minute Bill walks in, and she plants her bare feet in his lap before he can even set down the take-out. Ten perfect digits gleam bright red, glistening under the kitchen light. She wiggles them and Bill swallows hard. “Worship first, dinner later,” she smirks, lifting one heel toward his lips like an offering. Bill sinks down, tongue tracing the smooth curve of her instep, sucking each toe like he’s sampling candy. Valentina laughs low, leans back, and lets her head roll, half-annoyed at how easy he is, half-drunk on the wet heat of his mouth. She flexes her foot deeper, feeling his teeth graze the pad, and thinks: shoes definitely did their job.