Wish I Could Have Benji's Girl

Nina bounced through the door, thrilled to flash her fresh nails and toes at her guy. She’d spent good money getting everything glossy and perfect, so she spent the evening basically shoving her feet in his face hoping he’d get the hint. Nope. Then his friend dropped by, started gushing over the polish and her sky-high heels, and Nina’s brain took the exit. She started rubbing the arch of one foot along his calf under the table, smirking every time he flinched. Boyfriend checked his phone, muttered about being late, kissed her cheek, and left her alone with the compliments. The second the door clicked shut, the guest dropped to his knees like someone had cut his strings. He cradled one foot, inhaled like he’d been holding his breath all night, and dragged his tongue between her red-tipped toes, slow and worshipful. Nina bit her lip, toes curling, while he sucked the big one clean and massaged the sole until the tickle almost hurt. Every pass of his tongue made her other foot twitch against his thigh, nail polish glinting under the lights, pedal-red toenails pushing farther into his willing mouth. He switched feet without asking. By the time he was done, both soles shone with spit, every digit glistening, and Nina’s thighs were sticky just from watching him work.