High heels seduction

Emily Austin walked over a string of broken hearts like she owned the damn sidewalk. High heels sharp enough to slice lunch meat. Somehow Bill found himself the lucky idiot. She parked herself on the edge of the bed, peeled the shoes off with a smirk, and let those famous feet do the rest—slow, steady strokes that turned his brain to oatmeal and kept his pulse playing jazz riffs under his ribs. Every twist, every squeeze, felt like she’d studied exactly what drove a guy wild, then doubled down on it. One minute Bill was breathing, the next he was half-convinced angels were hanging out in her arches. The whole thing topped out with her laughing softly as he lost whatever dignity he walked in with, while she gave his cock a final, playful tap and asked if he wanted another go.