by Joey W. Hill
“He wants to.” Her long hair had fallen over her shoulder, thick blond locks tempting his fingers to tangle and grip. Hard.
“I plan to wear sheer white stockings and garters,” she said, her face close to his. “The top of the stockings will have tiny little bows on them. I can imagine you untying those bows. I know it’s customary to change from the dress to travel clothes when you leave the reception, but before that, I want to go somewhere with you. I want you to be inside me when I’m still wearing all of it.”
At the beginning of their current relationship, she’d had a serious problem topping from the bottom. If asked about that, she’d probably—and very unwisely—argue it had been necessary for him to pull his head out of his ass. Be that as it may, he knew she didn’t want to top from the bottom. His brat had the soul of a sweet submissive.
Fortunately, he’d taught her to trust him enough to simply tell him what she wanted, in the right way. Like she’d just done. But he wasn’t sure if that was any less disquieting. He could suddenly see himself pulling her into a quiet antechamber of the church, putting her on her back on a table, pushing up a sea of white satin and netting to expose those tempting garters and pale thighs, the little pink ribbons loosening under his touch…
She knew too well what planting images like that in his head did. Her brown eyes were gleaming, her mouth set in that determined line that made him want to kiss her as much as spank her. Instead, he maintained the poker face and looked down at her feet with deceptively casual interest.
“Hmm.” Taking one of the ankle stockings from her, he unrolled it onto her foot, caressing her ankle with firm hands again. Then he used his thumb and two fingers to locate the pressure point in her arch and tightened his grip.
He had a lot of strength in his hands, and knew how to use it. He registered the quiver that went up her leg, heard the indrawn breath. He slid his gaze up her with leisurely pleasure, increasing the pressure incrementally as he covered each tempting area. Slim thighs, hips clad in denim; the fit of the shirt over her breasts and their distracting swell over the scoop neck.
He lingered on the forget-me-not pendant against her sternum before he met her gaze. Her lips had tightened against the pain as it built, but her eyes were sparking. “How about the panties?” he asked casually, just as low. “What would they look like?”
Since he appeared as if he were merely holding her foot, they weren’t attracting any attention, and the four women who would guess what they were doing were involved in looking at shoes. Cass was the closest, since she would be interested in how the shoes looked on Marcie’s feet, but she’d wandered a few feet away, telling him she was giving them the bubble of privacy their body language had made it clear they desired.
“Marcie, I asked you a question,” he said. She licked her lips.
“Sheer white, with another little bow on the waistband.”
He eased his grip and picked up the shoe, enjoying her released breath as she managed the additional throb of pain the freed nerve endings and unrestricted blood vessels would shoot through her foot. Before it absorbed the relief that came with the removal of the human clamp. “So you said you’ll wear these with the dress?” he said, just as casually.
That made her breath catch again, this time because he’d acknowledged in some way the idea there would eventually be a wedding. But he gave her credit for having just as good a poker face as his own. For anyone else, that is. He could see all the emotions swirling behind her fixed expression. They gave him a tight feeling of anticipation, a disturbingly strong desire to say what she said he wanted to say. It made him think she could read his face the way he could read her heart, no matter what mask she wore.
“If they fit right,” she answered his question. “I like them. Do you?”
“I do.” He particularly liked the feet wearing them, with her pink polished toes. As he held her ankle, he watched as she pointed her toes to slip them into the glove-like fit of the shoe. Though he enjoyed the occasional bastinado treatment on a sub’s soft soles, he’d never considered himself a foot fetish kind of guy. But now he had a sudden urge to tease her arch with his tongue, his teeth.
While having vast amounts of money could give him some latitude, he didn’t think the other patrons or the store employees would be comfortable if he decided to go that route. But he filed it away for further exploration when he and Marcie were alone together.
After he put both shoes on her, he rose to his feet, drawing her with him by one hand. “Walk for me, brat.”
She did, and he was damn sure she put an extra swing in her hips to draw his gaze. She never failed to arouse and amuse him. Or make his palm itch to spank her ass. Switch it, flog it. There were caning marks on it today under the snug denim, so he knew she was feeling them every time she moved. Which made that extra swing all the more provocative. It also gave him a flashback to her stretched out and bound over his spanking bench, her body quivering, glistening with perspiration. Her cries as the cane hit her.
When she came back to him, he took one of her hands and drew her closer. He dropped his head to kiss her throat, and felt her breath along his cheek.
“If I decide to marry you, I won’t wait until after. Right before you walk down the aisle, you’ll send Dana to get me,” he said. “You’ll be somewhere alone. I’ll slide those panties off you, lift the front of the dress, drop to my knees and make you come with my mouth on your cunt. When you’re still trembling from the climax I gave you, I’ll use my handkerchief to dry you. Somewhat. I’ll keep the underwear in the pocket of my coat, so the whole time you’re standing in front of the minister, we’ll both know you’re bare and damp under your skirt, for your Master. I won’t fuck you until we’re alone together, though, on our honeymoon night. I’m a traditionalist that way.”
Her eyes lifted to his, and he saw a surge of emotion there that inspired a similar reaction in himself. “Sounds like a perfect reason to get married,” she whispered.
There went that tightening in his chest again, though this time it came from a spike of fear. He’d taken the fantasy too far, because he was getting just as caught up in it. And he knew how bad an idea that was.
He didn’t say that, but he didn’t say anything else, either, and a shadow crossed her face. He gripped her fingers, holding her, and tried to cover lost ground. “I like the shoes.”
It wasn’t his most suave line, and the tightening of her lips said it wasn’t the most effective distraction, but fortunately, she let it go. Maybe because Cassandra returned then, good timing. “Oh, those are perfect. What do you think?”
“I love them,” Marcie said. But when Ben moved to pick up the box, Cass beat him to it.
“No, you don’t. These are wedding shoes. When Marcie gets married, the wedding dress and everything involved with it comes from the family of the bride.”
Ben scowled. “Seems like the groom doesn’t pay for much of anything.”
“The groom’s job will be taking care of her for the rest of her life. Whoever that man is.”
He narrowed his eyes, and Marcie’s gaze snapped to her sister. Cass had on her top-notch negotiator face, bland and pleasant, though Ben registered the shot as if she’d had the muzzle pressed against his gut. Dana slid into the tense gap, speaking to them from a few feet away.
“That man will be Ben,” she said with the calm voice of a minister. “We all know that.” Then Dana directed her next words to Ben. “By the end of today, you may not have any money left to spend, so take a break where you can get it.”
The blind woman had her hands on a pair of red shoes with a tangle of slender straps around them. The three-inch heel was gold, as was the sole. A black streak up the sides of the shoes looked like the flourish of an artist’s paintbrush. She beamed toward Ben, Cass and Marcie, including them all in the pacific gesture. “I don’t know what these cost, but they feel very expensive.”
Cass lips twitched. She gave Ben one of her complicated looks before she turn
ed away, carrying the shoes Marcie wanted. She gestured to her sister to join her. Marcie’s eyes flicked to Ben, but he nodded, reaching out to squeeze her hand, a reassurance. He didn’t want her feeling torn between the two of them.
The store manager stepped in, oblivious to the mini-drama, taking Marcie and Cass toward the horseshoe shaped counter where they’d handle the purchase.
Ben frowned again. Drama aside, he still didn’t like Marcie paying for anything, another of his sexist old school ideas. However, he knew enough about how weddings worked that Cass had the firm ground on the shoes.
Not just on the shoes. Yeah, he hadn’t asked Marcie to marry him. Not technically. She was it for him. She belonged to him, now and forever, unless she ever wanted to reconsider the insanity of being his, which wasn’t looking likely.
But he knew she wanted that bond sanctioned by law and God. He could use big words and argue it was societal influence, and it didn’t mean anything, but that was bullshit. He knew it, she knew it.
The groom did have one purchase that was his responsibility. One that put them even closer to this whole wedding thing being a reality. Till death do you part. Responsible for Marcella Moira’s happiness and well-being, forever.
Marcie would be as happy with a ring won from a carnival as a big-ass, gaudy diamond. To her, being with him was all that mattered, a thought that humbled as much as unnerved him. No diamond could sparkle as strong and clear as her heart and soul, but when he put one on her finger, it would be as classy and beautiful as the woman wearing it.
“Are you going to help me try these on, or does only Marcie get the foot feel-up?”
Ben snapped out of his thoughts to find Dana had taken a seat in a chair that nearly swallowed her, and the brunette was placing a box at her arm. Dana’s size in the red shoes, he assumed.
“It’s so nice you have these shoes in children’s sizes,” he told the store employee.
She blinked dark brown eyes, her glossed lips curving. As her gaze flicked over him, she maintained a professional mien, but he detected the undercurrent of sexual interest clearly enough. She was confident with it, aware of her attractiveness. “We strive to please our patrons in every way,” she said.
She glided away with a lot of hip movement as Dana coughed over a chuckle. “She doesn’t know just how terrifying you are, but if Marcie picks up on her interest, you’ll look like a Muppet in comparison.”
Dropping to a knee, Ben started sliding Dana’s sandals off her small feet. “You really do see more than a blind woman should. Foot feel-up?”
“The other senses are far sharper than you expect. I heard you talking to Marcie, and picked up that you were putting her shoes on her. Then there was her sexy little caught breath, that silence that told me you were doing something naughty to her, and I knew it had to be her feet.” Dana cocked her head, the track lighting glittering over her dark glasses. “Not that hard to figure out, really. As far as the store lady? Pfft. A wet pussy reaction to you from any female with a pulse is a given.”
“Language, soldier,” he reproved, but he couldn’t help feeling pleased that her spirits and full-on sass seemed to be restored. It loosened the feeling in his gut the little exchange with Cass had created.
He fished out two of the little brown balls from the silver box and stretched them into their foot-covering shape before he worked them over Dana’s burgundy-painted toenails. After he slipped one of the heels onto her foot, he had to roll up the cuff of her jeans so he could adjust the straps. They wrapped around her ankle enough times to look like a cuff. “I assume you could crisscross those all the way to the knee if you want,” he observed, “though this isn’t a bad look.”
She reached down to feel. “I’ll bet. Put the other one on so I can sashay around here and make everyone jealous with how hot I look.”
“Bossy. What’s the magic word, pain in my ass?”
“Please.” She dropped her tone, a seductive tease. He shook his head.
“I will spank you in this store, young lady. Right in front of everyone.”
“Promises, promises.”
They were both grinning as he took her hand and lifted her to her feet. Though the rolled-up jeans detracted somewhat from the look, he could easily imagine her in the sleeveless gold cocktail dress she’d worn to a recent charity benefit with Peter. The shoes would add the right fuck-me-now touch, ensuring Peter would do just that before she even walked out their front door in them. If he took her to their favorite club, he’d probably strip her down to just her collar and those shoes while he thrust into her heated, wet pussy.
“Those are keepers,” he told her, clearing his throat.
“Sounds like it,” Marcie said, reappearing at his side, her shoes in a sleek silver bag she had hanging from her arm. She bumped him in gentle amusement, though she added under her breath, “I told Cass to cut it the hell out.”
“It’s okay,” he said, sliding his arm around her waist. “She’s entitled to be protective of you. Don’t worry about it, brat. I’m not that breakable.”
He kept his tone light, though her shrewd glance said she knew the barb had hit deeper. But he didn’t want the tone of this trip to be tainted by it, so he squeezed her again, until she relented and gave him a smile and nod.
When Dana came back to them, guiding herself toward their voices with her cane, Marcie reached out and drew the woman to her. Winding her arms around her, and pressing her body close, Marcie spoke against the shell of Dana’s ear.
“You should see his face, Dana. Those shoes definitely do the trick.”
There were two men in the store, accompanying their respective women, but when one of them walked into a shoe display, Ben deduced they were both about to be in a lot of trouble. It was scientifically impossible for a straight man to keep his tongue from rolling out of his mouth when he saw two hot women twined around one another with obvious sensual intent.
“Okay, if you don’t want me to turn this shopping trip around, stop that,” he said, taking pity on his fellow males. “You’re both such troublemakers.”
Marcie chuckled and brushed her lips against Dana’s mouth. Ben counted himself lucky—well, in the current environment—that they didn’t use tongue. Before he could admonish her further, Marcie returned to Ben’s side, taking his harder squeeze of her hip and scolding look with a distracting flush and lowering of her lashes. His submissive tease.
Savannah and Rachel were approaching to join their circle, so Marcie straightened and resumed her normal in-public behavior, though she stayed leaning against Ben, which he liked. She gestured at the other two women. “Found anything you can’t live without?”
“Not for me today,” Savannah said. “But Rachel found the most adorable pair of white sneakers. Dana, they’re hand-painted with pictures of Japanese cherry blossoms, and the laces are brown, tipped with little pompoms of green fabric leaves.”
Rachel had been holding them at her side, but when Savannah had her lift them for Marcie to see, Ben caught a glimpse of the price. The tread of the sole was shaped like a many-limbed cherry tree. “They’re canvas sneakers,” he said disbelievingly.
“I know,” Rachel said. “The price is ridiculous. I don’t need them. I just thought they were—”
“Give me those,” Ben said, nipping them from her hand. “Price is not your concern today. Actually, any day, since I know what Jon makes. If he’s not bankrupting himself on gadgets, he wants to be spending his money on you. I was just awestruck by what women will pay for things they put on their feet.”
“Didn’t someone already mention the cost of your dress shirts?” Dana asked. “The ones you could get lookalikes from JC Penney at a percent of the cost?”
“Do you want those red shoes, or do you want to bust my balls?”
“Can’t I do both?”
The next stop was the “poppy” store. Otherwise known as the J. Wallace Art Gallery, it had extensive offerings in various mediums from New Orleans artists, as w
ell as pieces the gallery owner collected from around the world. With Max as an escort, Dana decided to walk down to a nearby candy store to get some snacks.
“The gallery folks wouldn’t take too kindly to me ‘seeing’ their pricey 3D pieces with my hands,” she noted.
“I bet they have a kid area where you can play with Fisher Price blocks,” Ben responded.
“Just for that, not bringing you back a praline,” Dana said, linking her arm with Max’s, her fingers curling over his substantial biceps.
Ben grinned and followed the other women into the gallery. He took a seat in one of the cushioned chairs at the front, a useful indulgence for patrons not in the mood for art gazing, but who wanted to give their companions time to do so. It let him people-watch, or, in this case, women-watch. As she’d mentioned, Savannah was obviously looking for whimsical pieces for the nursery. The gallery had a couple items on loan from the Blue Dog gallery up the street, so she’d stopped before one that showed the iconic blue dogs in four different colored squares. He anticipated a print of it might become the next piece in Angelica’s room.
While Savannah and Matt had enough money to buy original art, neither of them cared to spend impractically. Since she changed out the art regularly in the baby’s room, a print would be more than sufficient. Always observant, Savannah noted his regard and gave him an absent half smile he returned. Then she shifted her attention back to her art perusal and moved onward.
Rachel was moving from piece to piece in a slow glide. She wouldn’t buy anything here, since she was far more likely to pick up simple nature scenes in junk shops or use one of her crafty ideas to form art out of the rocks and plants surrounding their property. But she enjoyed beauty, so she explored the area more like a museum visitor, absorbing the content with obvious relaxed enjoyment.
Then Ben turned his attention to Cass. Though she hadn’t indicated she was looking for anything in particular, it seemed one specific item had captured her attention in the new arrivals area. The piece was large, since she had her head tilted up, and the side of the thick wooden frame traversed six feet of the wall. However, from his vantage point, Ben couldn’t see the subject matter.