Toe Cleavage
by
Suz deMello
Copyright information
Published by Suz deMello at Smashwords
Copyright 2010 by Suz deMello
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to Smashwords.com to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.
Acknowledgments
With many thanks to Mardi Ballou.
Author's Note
This writer recommends that condoms be used unless participants know they're entirely safe from STDs and unplanned pregnancy.
Prologue
"My name is Rick, and I'm a sex addict."
Rick seemed self-possessed, a TDH thirty-something well-dressed in a charcoal three-piece suit. But Shelbie Nathanson noticed his bright blue eyes darting right and left, up and down.
Up and down her body to rest on her feet, clad in heliotrope kitten heels with a peep toe. Her toenails were lacquered a contrasting lemon yellow, with heliotrope hearts on the largest toenail.
"I'm especially attracted to a woman's feet." His gaze lifted to her eyes, then dropped to her shoes. She squirmed in the uncomfortable folding chair, set in a circle with about ten others.
"Especially when she's wearing beautiful shoes," he continued.
Shelbie crossed her legs at the ankles and tucked her feet beneath the chair.
Rick pressed his lips together. They were very nice lips, full and sculpted without looking feminine. "I got a job at a company that designs high-end women's shoes. They're so gorgeous, so sexy…but I’m confronted by temptation every day. How sick is that?"
Chapter One
Shelbie hoped she exuded confidence as she stepped into her father's office. You should, she told herself, looking at the décor. Although two walls of floor-to-ceiling windows provided a great view of Manhattan, the office was dominated by polished shelves crowded by the prototypes of her award-winning, profit-making shoes. Their seductive femininity clashed with the manly ambience created by forest green carpeting and black leather chairs, but she bet her dad didn't mind, given the way her designs sold. Hank Nathanson, the C.O.O. and majority owner of Nathanson's Shoes, always had his eye on the bottom line.
Shelbie's Sexy Sandals had been her first triumph, stiletto-heeled wisps of leather in firecracker red, bombshell blue, glittery metallics and, of course, her signature color, heliotrope hellion. She'd created them while still in design school, ten years ago. Shelbie's Strut-Heels, a play on the slang term "slut heels," were kitten-heeled pumps that gave the wearer a sexy strut thanks to the way she'd angled the soles. Their sexy peep-toe showed just the right amount of toe cleavage.
Each design had sold millions, transforming Nathanson's. The company had always done a solid business manufacturing men's wingtips and loafers, but after it ventured into high-end women's shoes, Nathanson's had become a top firm and their family, multi-millionaires. But the money didn't matter to Shelbie. Designing mattered to Shelbie.
And she was itching to tell her dad about her newest idea. So antsy, in fact, that she was five minutes early for their ten a.m. meeting.
Shelbie tucked herself into one of the leather barrel chairs and picked a stray blonde hair off her red jacket. She'd paired the jacket, jazzed up with flashy black buttons and piping, with a black pencil skirt, knowing her father preferred a professional appearance. Strut-Heels in red and black revealed just a hint of toe cleavage through sheer black stockings. The bright red fit the Christmas season while the black lent the outfit a touch of wickedness.
She crossed her legs, careful that her slim skirt didn't ride up, and took a notebook computer out of her purse. Using the stylus, she pulled up the drawings and notes for her newest creation. What should she call them? Marketing would have input, of course, but as creative director, she called the shots. Shelbie's Street Sense? No, too stodgy. Shelbie's Starlighters?
A slammed door shot adrenaline through her system and she dropped the stylus. Reaching for it, she banged her head against someone, a would-be stylus savior.
He was Rick. Rick Saldano.
Her face heated. Rick Saldano was one of her father's blue-eyed boys, a hotshot Wharton grad who kept the boring, uncreative side of Nathanson's humming. But for a dull-as-dirt accountant, Rick was hot as the Coney Island boardwalk in July.
That they knew each others' darkest, sexiest secrets added spice to their on-again, off-again flirtation. They'd never actually done it, but…
She shifted in her seat as Rick handed her the stylus with a smile, his even white teeth flashing.
Why did Rick the number-cruncher have to be so pussy-clenching, nipple-hardening, clit-wetting, squirm-inducing sexy? She didn't want to crush on someone working at Nathanson's. She wanted to fuck rockers—and used to, before she started attending S.A. meetings—but Rick haunted her fantasies. She dated men who populated underwear ads, so why did she dream about Rick's tight butt?
Damn.
"Rick, sit down," her father boomed. "Shelbie, right on time, good girl."
She tried not to preen like a kid getting daddy's praise, but that was tough. She'd craved his attention and approval since her mom died.
She glanced at Rick, who now occupied the other barrel chair. He unbuttoned the jacket of his navy pinstriped suit and settled into it comfortably, looking as though he'd been born to wear his well-cut suit, red silk tie and expensive Nathanson wing-tips. He glanced down at her feet, then met her eyes with a blinding smile.
So they turned each other on. That didn't make him any more likable.
A secretary entered holding a tray of coffees. She set it on the big desk and offered a cup to Shelbie.
"Two sugars and a drop of cream, just how you like it, Ms. Nathanson," the girl squeaked.
"Great, thanks." Shelbie took the coffee while wondering why the secretary was so jumpy. Maybe she'd had too much caffeine.
The girl cast Shelbie one scared glance before giving a cup to Rick, visibly relaxing as she served him and then Shelbie's father, who sat behind his big desk in the place Shelbie expected to fill once he retired. With another frightened peek at Shelbie, the gofer scooted out.
"What's with her?" Shelbie sipped. "Is she new?"
"Yeah, but it seems that your reputation precedes you," Rick said drily.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"I mean that no assistant has lasted with you longer than six months. Word gets around."
"That's not my fault." She stirred her coffee. "The last one was impossible."
"Failing to know the difference between heliotrope and mauve isn't impossible."
"It is if you work for me. And calling my beautiful shoes Shelbie's Slut Heels wasn't appropriate." She stretched out her leg to again admire her handiwork.
"True," Rick said. "Talk like that damages the company."
She glared at him, noting that his attention was fixated on her shoe. Man, he was just too easy. That he liked her shoes was to his credit, so she softened her tone. "To say nothing of my feelings. My assistant is supposed to support me, not bring me down. Anyhow, Dad, I wanted to show you—"
"Later," her dad said.
She switched off her notebook. "What's up?"
"Karola and I want to take a cruise around the world."
"Huh." Shelbie blinked. "That'll take some time."
"Yes, your step-mother and I are hoping that the fresh air and relaxation will allow nature to take its course and we, uh, she'll return pregnant."
"Oh." Maybe she should have seen this coming. Karola, her father's trophy wife, had long wanted to have a child. Shelbie believed that Karola wanted a baby to cement her hold over Hank or to assure her a goodly chunk of the Nathanson millions when the inevitable divorce took place. A Ukrainian who'd had a ho-hum modeling career in New York, Karola knew on which side her blinis were buttered.
Shelbie took a deep breath. "If it'll make you happy, Dad, great. You know I'm ready to step into your shoes whenever you say the word." She hoped she didn't sound too eager.
"I appreciate your offer, Shel, but you're a designer. You'll remain as creative director, of course, but Rick here will have day-to-day responsibility for management of the company."
"Rick?" Damn, she'd better mellow out her shriek of surprise. "But he's…he's an accountant!"
"He's more like my financial wizard, and a great manager. Hon, you need Rick to do the heavy lifting." Her father smiled at her.
"But—but—I've trained all my life to take over the company. You always told me—"
"Things change." Dad glanced at Rick. "Your, umm, slip-ups with personnel were significant in this decision."
"That's not fair!" Shit. Now she sounded like a petulant, whiny child.
"Now, Shel, I know that you don't especially like change."
She flushed. That was true. She'd needed a decade of therapy to get over her mom's death.
"And a C.O.O. has to be flexible as well as on top of things. You're smart enough, cookie, but you're the creative heart of this company. I don't want you distracted by the everyday b.s. of running Nathanson's."
Her father had a point, but Shelbie couldn't help slouching in her chair and pouting like a four-year-old denied a treat.
He eyed her with concern. "Look, hon, I don't want you to be unhappy."
"I'm not. Really." She drew in a breath. "But there have to be parameters."
"Parameters?" Rick asked.
She turned in her chair, wishing again for the umpteenth time that he weren't so attractive, that she didn't know his fantasy about massaging and kissing a woman's pedicured feet, especially if they were clad in sexy heels. Like the ones she was wearing.
She'd never been turned on by a man caressing her feet, but she bet that it would light her fire if Rick did it.
"Yeah," she managed to say despite the sensual image of Rick sucking on her toes, one by one.
"Why don't you two spend some time together, talk about your vision for the company?" her father asked. "You two need to work together, or Nathanson's will suffer. And we don't want that, do we?"
"No," Shelbie said in chorus with Rick. They exchanged embarrassed smiles, children in the principal's office.
"Work this out fast," Hank said. "I’m making the official announcement at the company Christmas party at the estate."
Shelbie drew in a breath. Of all places, the home where she'd grown up, the site of happy memories gone sour. Now the holiday party would be spoiled forever. Worse, the party was next Friday night, just ten days away.
"You two have dinner tonight," Dad continued. "On me. Talk. Work it out."
They risked missing their Sexaholics Anonymous meeting. Nevertheless, Rick looked at her, his expression unreadable. "I'll see you at six."
Rick had texted her the address of the restaurant where he wanted to meet, and Shelbie got to the place on time, only to find that it was a chophouse. When she arrived, he was already sitting at the bar, drinking a beer and eating some kind of roasted meat appetizer. A flat screen T.V. mounted above was tuned to pro football. The sound was muted, allowing taped Christmas carols to foul her ears. All is calm, all is bright…huh. As if.
"Sit down, babe," he said, waving a skewer of beef. "The steak tapas here are great. Want a Bud?"
She stared at him. His shirt collar was open and his tie askew. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, showing off brawny arms sprinkled with masculine dark hair. His suit jacket was slung casually over a nearby barstool.
She had dressed for their dinner in a jacketed green silk sheath accessorized with gold jewelry, purse and shoes. He had come straight from work and was a wrinkled mess.
Obviously she'd attached more importance to this event than he had. "I'm a vegetarian and I drink white wine."
"Shit, sorry." He waved a hand at the bartender and rubbed his fingers together, the universal signal for the check. He turned to her. "So where do ya wanna go?"
What truly annoyed her was that he was so effortlessly alluring. His five-o'clock stubble was seductive, not slovenly. He smelled like sex, not sweat.
His gaze shifted down to her feet, then up to the screen. A huge guy in a striped orange and black helmet crashed into an even bigger guy wearing white. Rick jumped up and swore.
"You're kidding," Shelbie said with disbelief. She turned on her heel and left.
Dismayed by his conduct and hers, Rick followed. He had no idea what demon possessed him. He had to search his memories all the way back to high school to recall an occasion when he'd behaved as badly. This crappy meeting ranked right down there with the night he'd taken Janelle Watson to the senior prom, drunk too much and barfed all over her fancy gown.
Outside the restaurant, he looked around, spotting Shelbie, a point of stillness in the crowd of people jamming Forty-fifth. Standing in the cone of light cast by a streetlamp, she leaned against the pole, her blond head bent. Her breath visibly puffed in the frosty air of the winter night as she fumbled in a little gold shoulder bag and took out a tissue. She dabbed her nose and mouth, then crushed the Kleenex in her fist.
Then he noticed that she was wearing a green dress, not a red and black business suit. Her high heeled shoes—Shelbie's Sexy Sandals—were gold, matching the tiny evening purse.
She'd taken the time to dress for their dinner while he, tense about the situation, had come straight from work as soon as he could to suck down a few beers and relax.
Shit. He was nothing but a twenty-four carat asshole.
He'd behaved like a jerk to Shelbie Nathanson, the woman who starred in his sweetest, dirtiest fantasies. He'd been obsessed by her from the moment she'd walked into the S.A. meeting. A newcomer, she'd confessed to frequent sex with anyone owning a penis without ever pretending to have a relationship…since her mother had died.
He'd recognized her, of course, and she him. Before that meeting, they'd been distantly friendly, what with Shel being the brilliant creative heart of Nathanson's, his workplace for five years.
He wanted her and believed she felt the same. But he sensed her hesitance and respected her reasons. She was trying to rein in her self-destructive impulses, just like he was.
But was their mutual attraction unhealthy?
"I'm sorry. I've been a jerk all evening. Can we start over?" Giving her his most winning smile, he extended a hand. "I'm Rick Saldano."
She paused, then took it with her free hand. "I'm Shelbie Nathanson."
"I'm pleased to meet you, Shelbie. Shelbie Nathanson, the world-famous shoe designer?"
She managed a tremulous smile. "Thanks. That was very smooth."
"So, Ms. Nathanson, shall we have dinner?"
"I’m not going back in there."
"I understand. You're a vegetarian and I'm an idiot. I should have asked where you wanted to eat dinner. I'm so sorry. I don't know why I'm being such an asshole tonight." Grabbing her hand, he guided her to the curb. With one wave, a taxi emerged from the flow of traffic.
Opening the door, he urged her into the back seat before getting in beside her.
In the cab, she became even more aware of him, if that were possible. He was big. Not fat, but solid, sizable, with broad shoulders and an obviously muscular body beneath his suit. She couldn't help sneaking a peek at his crotch. The suit's fabric had pulled tight as he sat, tight enough that she could guess that six-foot-two Rick's body parts were proportional.
Her mood had definitely changed.
He leaned closer, hesitated the tiniest fraction of a second before he brushed his lips against her cheek. Shocked, she jerked away, but he didn’t move, his gaze still pinned to hers.
She didn't move either. The air felt thick, as though the very atmosphere were holding her in place. They sat staring at each other until the cabbie harrumphed. "Where to, folks?"
After giving the cabbie an address she didn't recognize, Rick didn't say anything during the cab ride. Rigid with a tension she couldn't define, Shelbie didn't have a word to say either, not even when he picked up one of her feet and rested it in his lap, atop his very substantial hard-on. She wiggled her foot, and the high, sharp heel slid across the bulge in his pants.
He sighed, so she did it again. Then again. He clamped his lips tight shut, apparently stifling a groan as his erection swelled even more.
He slid one finger along the exposed arch of her foot. It didn't feel ticklish, exactly, but was tingly, the kind of tingle her pussy liked.
He inserted his finger into her toe cleavage. The spot between the big toe and the next was tiny, smaller than his index finger. His abrupt thrust hurt a little, and Shelbie had a mad vision of the time when she'd lost her virginity. Her pussy had been too small for the tool her then-boyfriend had wielded.
She had that same feeling now, an ache as something big intruded into her body's smaller space. She tried to pull away, but he persisted, twisting his finger until he'd pushed in as far as her shoe would allow.
He sawed his finger in and out, and she bit down on her lower lip to avoid moaning aloud. She flung her head back, panting as he rotated his finger.
They arrived outside a row of brownstones near the park. He slipped his finger out of her toe cleavage and gave her foot a squeeze. An awkwardness she hadn't felt since teenage sex overcame her as she dropped her feet to the cab's floor. Rick paid the fare, ushered her out of the taxi and into the building…his building, she supposed.
The moment they were alone in the elevator, she sprang at him and pressed her lips against his. His arms wrapped around her and held her tight as his tongue invaded her mouth. She sucked at him hard, shoving her hands into his hair. He tasted and felt divine.
Her body was aflame, all light and heat, and he picked her up as though she were made of unsubstantial fire, weighing nothing. She wrapped her legs around his waist, clinging to his shoulders. His big hands supported her under her ass, and he rubbed and kneaded the cheeks as he walked, continuing to kiss her hard and deep, the thrusts of his tongue presaging what she hoped his cock would be doing very soon.
He forced her against the wall, keeping her pinned with his solid, muscular body while he found his keys in his pocket and opened a nearby door. Dragging her through, he kicked the door shut.
She was trapped with him in the darkness. It was crazy, but she didn't care. At that moment, she didn't give two farts about the company or anything else except getting this man inside her.
She scrabbled for his belt and zipper while he tore at her pantyhose, shredding them at the crotch and ripping them away from her already damp pussy. She got his pants down enough to grab his shaft, poking out of the slit in his boxers. He groaned, and she squeezed before giving his hard length a little pump.
He was ready and so was she. She hauled at him, bringing him closer until she could get up on her toes and again hook a leg around his waist. He turned, again lifting and pressing her up against a wall to steady her.
She clutched his shoulders and never wanted to stop kissing him. His unique flavor enticed her, though she couldn't place it. A little like the food and drink he'd had, and a little spicy, like his male aroma. She sucked on his tongue the way she wanted to suck his dick. She loved the way his tongue danced and tangled with hers, raising her desire to an unquenchable craving. Promising rapture, he reached down to rub his round cockhead, sticky with the first sweet drop of jism, against her clit.
Heaven, heaven it was, with the beginnings of her release flashing through her body with the slick stroke of his tool, and even better when his rod slid a fraction of an inch and thrust inside. She didn't hold back and he didn't either, and gravity did the rest of the work. Wet and open, she was deliciously impaled on a cock so thick and fine that he seemed to pierce right to her heart. Lightning flared, snapping along her skin…it didn't take more than a few strokes before her orgasm thrummed through her, vibrating every cell.
She screamed as she came, and he stilled instantly. "Are you okay?"
She panted, trying to regain her breath and her voice. She fumbled for coherence. "Yeah. Yeah."
"You sure, honey?" His hands were gentle now, one stroking back her sweaty hair, the other supporting her.
"Oh, yeah. Yeah…you didn't feel that?"
He smiled. "Yes, I did, but I wanted to make sure." He carried her to a sofa, still wide and heavy within her sheath. Her pussy throbbed with each step he took. Careful to stay inside her, he sat down with her atop him.
Her silk skirt was bunched around her waist, and her heels met behind his still-jacketed back. She swirled her hips around his cock, and he groaned. Blue eyes half-slitted with lust opened, and he nailed her with his stare. He seemed to be looking into her depths, and she wanted him to. At that moment, she wanted him to have all of her.
She tightened her legs around his torso and began to rock. She'd come, but he was still big and diamond hard inside her. He grabbed one of her feet and brought it to his mouth. Lucky that she was flexible from her yoga classes.
He eased off the shoe and bit her big toe through her pantyhose. The little pain reverberated throughout her body, with the vibrations settling into her pussy. She gasped.
He rubbed her heel up the sides to the ankle bone, and then pushed hard on a spot on the bottom of her foot between her heel and the arch.
"What—what is that?" she panted.
His grin was sexy, knowing. "Reflexology spot, babe. That went straight to your clit, didn't it?"
"Yeah!" She'd never thought of Rick's particular perversion as enticing, but now…
He pressed on that spot again and she started to come again. He grabbed her ass to lift her up and down his pole. She clung to his shoulders as his thrusts intensified, growing faster and deeper, and closed her eyes to better savor the sensations.
Smack! The slap of his hand on her butt shook her. She gasped. "Rick!" Her eyes popped open.
He laughed, but it wasn't an unkind laugh. He kneaded the spot he'd struck, then spanked her again. She'd thought she'd come enough, but the spanking heated her blood anew. She jerked and writhed, gripping his shoulders in a fog of renewed desire. Her pussy was raw from the frenzied fucking, but she needed more. She reached down to shove her hand between them to stroke her slippery clit. More pleasure poured through her, and his rod thickened against her walls. He was very close, and so was she.
She pinched her clit at the same moment he again bit her toe. The heat, the sting and the sheer rapture of being thoroughly banged by this gloriously sexy man shot her to the stars. Moaning, she went limp in his arms as he held her butt and pistoned in and out even faster.
He sucked hard on her toe when he came, rubbing the arch of her foot against his face. A hot flood of jism coated her insides. It felt good, but…
She stiffened. "Oh, my God. What the hell have we done?"
He opened his blue eyes and looked at her. Though the light was dim in his apartment, she couldn't misread the triumph on his face. "We just had incredible sex. You know, I wanted you from the moment I saw you at Nathanson's. I really wanted to fuck you after I heard at meetings about what you like to do." He squeezed her foot before releasing it.
"We just had incredible, unprotected sex." She pulled away, and his penis fell out of her with a soft plop. "Where's your bathroom?"
She found her shoes and tidied herself up as best as she could, blessing the fact that she’d been on top. Most of Rick's jism fell out, and she hoped she had a chance of evading an S.T.D. or a pregnancy.
But what the hell had she been thinking?
She hadn't, and that was the problem.
When she emerged, Rick had also straightened his clothing and looked like his usual self: a modern corporate clone, sleek and suave in his own special way.
"This can't happen again." She picked up her handbag from near the door.
"Shelbie, don't worry," he said. "I test regularly. I'm clean, and I’m willing to bet you are too."
"Yeah, but I might get pregnant."
He hesitated. "What part of your cycle are you in?"
"That's an awfully personal question."
"Babe, we just fucked our brains out."
He had a point. "Let's say it's unlikely that I'll conceive." Her period was due in a couple of days, but that wasn't his business. Well, maybe it was given the situation, but she didn't feel like saying so. "And what's with the pussy sex?"
"What do you mean?"
"I thought you only liked feet and shoes."
"I like all of you. But I have to admit, especially your feet and shoes."
"Do you…think about me at…night?" She'd fantasized about him plenty.
"All the time, but I have to say, though every inch of you is primo female flesh, I jerk off thinking about your feet. And your shoes. That you design those wonderful sexy sandals…Wow."
"Huh." She took a moment to consider his words. He thought she was hot, but really was in love with her shoes. "I’m not sure I've ever gotten a bigger compliment." Even to her own ears, she sounded doubtful.
He moved in, so close she could feel his masculine heat. "I know you feel bad about this but I don't understand why."
She stared at him. "I…I lost it. You're taking over Nathanson's, that's why. It's my company!"
He chuckled. "We can share, can't we? What's a company or two between friends…or lovers?" He held her gaze with his.
She flinched and turned away, fumbling for the doorknob. "I'm glad you find this so funny." She yanked the door open and fled into the hallway.
He followed her into the elevator, through the lobby and out the door. At the curb, she waved frantically for a taxi. But after just one languid gesture of his arm, a cab rolled up and stopped. He opened the door for her and she stumbled inside. He followed.
"So…should we go to that S.A. meeting now?" he asked.
Chapter Two
Friday night, ten days later
"Your step-mom can sure put on a party," Rick said.
"Ha. She hired an event planner." Shelbie sipped champagne.
"A good one."
'Twas a week before Christmas. The vast dining room of the Nathansons' Hampton estate glowed from a hundred beeswax candles. A dozen Christmas trees festooned with fairy lights and golden ribbon lined the room. The long table was magnificently set with gold-rimmed crystal and bone china also glittering with gold. Sterling flatware trimmed with eighteen-carat gold gleamed in the mellow light.
The blinking Christmas lights and flickering candles cast weird light and shadow patterns across her blue wool dress, especially on its large, shiny black buttons. She'd accessorized with black, wearing her highest, strappiest, sexiest heels for Rick.
In a charcoal suit, he looked great despite the odd lighting. He wore a crisp white shirt and a cranberry red tie decorated with holly leaves.
A beautifully dressed crowd of Nathanson's employees stood nearby. Tuxedoed wait staff distributed champagne and canapés.
Soft laughter reached her ears. Karola, that cunt. Her father's trophy wife wore a silver satin sheath and a triumphant smile. Completing her outfit were diamonds that had belonged to Shelbie's mother, stones which should have been Shelbie's.
She was desperate to leave, but as a veteran of scores of similar events, she knew she couldn't sneak away until after the inevitable dull dinner speeches. She'd be forced to applaud politely when her father made the dreaded announcement, that Rick Saldano was ascending to the post Shelbie knew was rightly hers. Hers.
She swigged more champagne.
"Why so glum, babe?"
She cut him a glare. "Don't be obtuse."
"You're still not harboring a grudge, are you? I thought we settled all of that at my place."
"We didn't talk, and haven't since. A little good sex doesn't change anything."
His smile was slow and seductive. "Then I need to give you a lot of good sex."
"Sex between us doesn't change anything at work."
"True, but you're smart. You'll see that the arrangement has its compensations."
"Huh." She allowed him to take her arm and escort her to the party. She managed to make small talk with everyone while thinking about what he meant… and ignoring Karola.
A spotlight illuminated the head of the table as Shelbie's father rose, glass in hand. She by now was thoroughly lubricated. She already knew she wouldn't be called upon to make any public statements. Rick, the poor wretch, couldn't get plowed until after the speechifying was over, since he was expected to say a few gracious words.
Come to think of it, maybe he was right. The arrangement did have advantages. If she were the new C.O.O, she'd be sitting next to her father with perspiration rings growing beneath her armpits. Instead Rick was in the hot seat. She leaned back into her chair, finding it a little easier to set aside her gloom.
Her father made the expected statement elevating Rick. Shelbie applauded and smiled, swallowing the lump in her throat. The attention drifted over to her as she was acknowledged as the firm's creative director. A slight patter of applause rose, with Rick and her dad clapping a little louder than the rest. Marketing, management and the other working group leaders were introduced. Clap, clap, clap. Yawn, yawn, yawn.
Dad announced that he was leaving on the cruise. The groans of unhappiness were fake, given that everyone present already knew of his plans. Karola was introduced. She stood, capped teeth and diamonds gleaming. More applause.
Shelbie fled.
Rick caught up with her at the top of the stairs. On the second floor, peace reigned. A cozy sitting room was lit by a fire in the marble hearth. Framed family pictures and a Chanukah menorah cluttered the top of a polished cherry wood piano.
He followed a quiet Shelbie toward the piano. "Is this the family quarters?" he asked.
"Yeah, the downstairs is mostly for show, especially in the winter. It's warmer up here."
He touched the brass menorah with a reverent finger, smiling at the four lit candles. "Every year, I wondered about all the Christmas trees. Nathanson is a Jewish name—"
"We have the trees for the staff party. And now for Ka-ro-la."
"You don't like her."
She picked up a photo set in a wood frame decorated with seashells and fish. "No, I don't."
"Is this you and your mom?"
"Uh-huh."
He took it from her. The picture showed the two of them when Shelbie had been about five, playing at the beach in the waves.
He put an arm around her. "Babe—"
"It's just that…seeing Karola wearing my mom's diamonds. My dad got her those when he made his first million."
He considered. "That sucks."
"Sure does."
He cuddled her closer. "What can I do?"
She managed to grin at him. "How about a kiss to make it better?"
"It's your heart that hurts, isn't it?"
"Yeah." She tried not to sniffle.
He unbuttoned her dress halfway down to the waist, and dropped a light kiss on the upper curve of her left breast. "Cute bra," he said, pleasure in his voice.
"I didn't know that lingerie was one of your fetishes."
"Everyone loves black lace. Umm, babe, I don't know if this is a good time to ask about this—"
"I got my period last week, a day or two after we, umm…"
"You know, I truly do hope that work won't come in the way of…of the fun we could have together." He scoped her body up and down. Especially down. She heard his breath hitch as he looked at her high heeled, strappy shoes.
She grinned at him. "I want to show you something you'll really love." Taking his hand, she led him to her suite. Though she now lived in Manhattan, she'd grown up in this mansion. Her rooms had undergone extensive redecoration more than once. Pink-and-white ruffles and Little Mermaid murals had been swapped for teen Goth paraphernalia, which in their turn had been tossed out in favor of a more sophisticated look after Shelbie developed her persona as a New York artiste and fashionista.
Andy Warhol silk-screens covered the outer room walls, coordinating with a bright couch and chairs in a green and heliotrope floral print. But her bedroom was a shrine to her passion: the art of the shoe.
She led Rick inside.
She'd painted a mural on the wall. Heliotrope on pale green, a giant Victorian boot, complete with pointy toe, button hooks and a kitten heel. Her bed was in the shape of a shoe—a Shelbie Sexy Sandal, with the straps made of metal bands painted heliotrope. They crisscrossed high above the mattress. The open closet door revealed not only racks of couture outfits but shelf after shelf of shoes, hers as well as those of other designers.
Rick gazed around the room, open-mouthed. She could see a tent forming at the front of his pants.
She raised her hands, crossed them at the wrist and grabbed one of the bed's high metal rails, deliberately displaying herself. "See anything you like?"
He closed his mouth and came toward her, seizing her in a powerful embrace. His kiss was hot and ardent, holding nothing back. One hand slid down to her ass and squeezed, while the other reached into her upswept hair. He tangled his fingers in her hair, holding her head at a perfect angle to deepen his kiss.
She responded, slashing her tongue across his, asserting herself. He might be her boss in the boardroom, but they'd be equals in the bedroom. While they kissed, he resumed unbuttoning her dress until he could take it off. She dropped her arms to cooperate, and he pressed her back onto her bed.
"Oh, my God, Shelbie." His hungry gaze stroked up and down her, palpable as his caress. "Black lace bra, matching panties and a garter belt. Thigh-high stockings with black lace trim. And those shoes. Oh, baby, those shoes."
"I wore them for you. I was hoping we'd end up here." Smiling at him, she opened her legs, which draped over the side of the bed. She stroked her clit through her panties, feeling erotic, wicked and wanton. The black lace added an enjoyable layer of sensation. Then she bent her knee and brought up her stockinged foot, still in her high heeled shoe, close to her crotch so he could see her high heeled black sandal against the white flesh of her thigh, framed by black lace.
"I'm gonna make love to you in every one of those pairs of shoes. And out of them as well." His voice was hoarse.
He started at her face, peppering her with kisses, then moved down her throat, licking and nibbling as he went. Each delicate stroke of his lips and tongue, punctuated with tiny sharp bites, stoked the flames of her passion.
She tore at his clothes, sure that underneath the tailored suit was a fabulous body.
"Oh, okay." Smiling, he stood, withdrawing from her, but didn't leave her cold. Instead he took off his jacket and threw it onto the bed. Next he loosened the knot on his tie. Instead of taking it off, he pulled the ends back and forth around his collar. The rasp of silk on starched cotton titillated her senses, scraped over nerves raw from desire. Back and forth was like in and out.
He yanked the tie free with a decisive snap, and tossed it behind her neck like a lasso, then used it to pull her close for a deep, sexy kiss. She liked the way he tasted tonight, bittersweet from after-dinner chocolates and coffee. Yum. She sucked at his tongue greedily, but he broke off the kiss before she was ready, leaving her wanting more.
She stared at him, realizing she was in the hands of a master. He knew what would take her higher and higher, divined needs and desires she didn't know she had.
He smiled at her, heat in his vivid blue eyes. And there was something else.
Affection.
Rick really liked her. Oh, she wouldn't use the "L" word, not yet, but he really liked her.
And she liked and respected him.
She reached for his shirt, tearing at the buttons while he unlatched his belt. The zipper came down and the trousers dropped to the carpet. He stepped out of them while toeing off his shoes.
He was clad only in silk boxers—a red that matched the tie—and his socks, likewise red. She pointed at them and grinned.
"See anything you like?" He winked at her.
She grinned. "I like everything I see." He was magnificent. Light golden skin was like Christmas wrapping over a buffed body. He was fit and healthy but not scary-buff. She didn't want a boyfriend who spent all his time in a gym.
Hmm. She'd used the word "boyfriend" when thinking about Rick.
"Good." He shoved her back onto the bed and dived for her bra. He opened the hook between her breasts with his teeth while sliding his hands down her sides. When he got to her hips, he caressed her clit through her lacy panties, then went for the high heeled shoe. He ran a finger along each of the straps. She could feel the electricity in his touch through the delicate peau de soie.
He sucked her nipples, rolling them around on his tongue while he admired the arch of her foot with his big, broad hand. He traced each bone in her instep with a fingertip, ending at the toes. He thrust his index finger between the big toe and the next, giving her nipple a little bite.
She arched her back with a little yelp, pushing her breast farther into his mouth. He sucked and licked where he'd bitten while punching his finger in and out of her toe cleavage.
The sensation was like being fucked by a large tool in a small vagina. In response, her channel tightened. She played with her clit at the same time and panted, relishing the unusual high.
He moved to the other nipple, giving it the same rough treatment, and rotated his finger around her toe cleavage. Sparks of rapture flew along her nerve endings as she came.
He grabbed her feet. Wrenching off the high black heels, he held her insteps and rubbed her stockinged arches against his naked cock. Shudders still wracked her body, and as she writhed, she pressed her feet against his hard-on, which swelled against her arches. He came in mighty spurts of jism that coated her feet through the stockings.
He collapsed on the bed next to her, his chest rising and falling with his rumbling breaths. Her pants echoed his before they mellowed and softened.
She rubbed her face against his chest. Soft golden skin overlaid solid muscle. Perfect. She'd come like a Christmas cracker, but wasn't nearly finished with Rick. Would she ever be?
He unsnapped her garters and unrolled her right stocking, dotting her skin with kisses as he went. When he got to her foot, he took off the stocking and tossed it away. Cradling her heel, he kissed and licked up and down the arch, tonguing away his come. Then he cherished her other foot in the same way, kissing each toe. His care of her was so touching that she had to blink away tears. She sighed.
He raised his head and looked at her. "You okay?"
"Oh, yeah. I'm loving this."
"Me too. And it's great that your feet aren't ticklish."
She grinned. "Yeah, laughing would be the wrong reaction, wouldn't it? Hey, how about getting into the hot tub?" She wanted to continue the relaxed mood the evening had taken.
He glanced around. "You have one in your suite?"
"No, but there's one downstairs in the conservatory."
The other guests had left and only the catering staff bustled around downstairs cleaning up. Shelbie wore a flowered robe, and Rick had borrowed one that was less frilly and feminine for their trek to the tub.
The dark conservatory, lit only by the same twinkling fairy lights as the dining room, was crowded with large tropical plants interspersed with flowering orchids. Rick sniffed appreciatively. "How do you keep the plants so healthy?"
"This is the southeast wall of the house, so it gets the most natural light. And we use grow lights in the winter." She pointed upward at long dark tubes attached to the glass roof. "They're on timers, just like the misting system that keeps everything damp. So we really don't have to do anything, but Dad and Karola like to come in here and pinch off dead leaves and so on. Me, I can take or leave the plant care."
"Does Karola really enjoy that? She doesn't seem like the type of person who'd like to play in the dirt." His voice was low and intimate. He stroked a long orchid leaf, touched a velvety white petal.
Shelbie spoke just as softly. "Actually, she does. Or at least she seems to. Most evenings she and my dad are in here with a glass of wine repotting, fertilizing and so on."
"So they have that in common."
"Umm."
Taking his hand, she led him deeper into the humid darkness, which smelled sweetly of good earth and green plants. Fronds brushed her face, heightening her lingering sensual mood.
"Stop for a moment."
She did, and Rick carefully disentangled a vine from her hair. She smiled at him, and he brushed his lips over hers.
A rumbling voice caught her attention.
"Dad," she whispered. "Damn, they beat us to the tub."
"So what do you think of Saldano?" her father asked.
Shelbie turned to Rick. His eyes widened.
"I like him," Karola answered in her tinkling, accented voice. "Even better, I think our Shelbie likes him, though I'm not sure she wants to admit it."
Dad laughed.
"Our Shelbie?" Rick regarded Shelbie. "She likes you, Shel. I think she really does."
"Yeah." Shock blanked out her brain. She still resented Karola, and assumed her stepmother felt the same. Apparently not. "Huh."
"He's very competent," Dad said. "He's as good a financier and manager as Shelbie is a designer."
"He should be," Karola said. "Didn't he go to that famous business school, Varton?"
Both Rick and Shelbie clapped hands over their mouths to avoid laughing. Her father didn't bother to stifle his mirth. "Wharton, sweetheart."
"Varthon."
"Wharton."
"Varton…oh, I give up. Hank, I am all wrinkly."
"Ready for bed, honeypie?"
"Umm-hmm, honeycake."
Shelbie heard splashing as her dad and step-mother got out of the tub. "Honeypie and honeycake?" She raised her brows at Rick.
"Shhh! We can never tell them we heard that."
"Jeez, they're going to come out this way. What'll we do?"
He seized her hand and went back to the door. Grabbing the knob, he closed it with a slam.
She heard whispers and giggles as her dad and step-mother came toward them, stumbling through the dim conservatory. As they got closer, Shelbie saw the way their arms wrapped around each other, supporting each other as they staggered, a little sloshed, over the tiled floor. Their heads were tilted, her father's down toward Karola's and hers upward toward him, showing intimacy.
They really love each other, she realized. It's not just lust on his side and grasping on hers. They really love each other.
"Hey, you two," Karola said.
You two. That was a turn of phrase her father always used.
"Umm, hey." Shelbie felt a little stupid.
Her father looked at Shelbie, then at Rick, then back at Shelbie. His mouth twitched in a slight, sly grin.
Had her father planned for Rick to hook up with her? Shelbie shunted her mind away from the icky thought of her father setting her up.
"Hey, son. Looking good in chenille." Dad cackled.
"It was the best I could do," Shelbie said.
"For Rick, you can raid my closet."
"I didn't know that." Oops, she sounded defensive. And surprised. Oops.
"Thank you, sir," Rick said.
"Think nothing of it, son. Mighty fine to see ya here. Stay as long as you like." Still cackling, her father led Karola out, his hand clamped firmly on her butt.
"Stay as long as you like?" Shelbie eyed Rick.
He grinned. "I think I'm the son he never had."
"Hush up." She elbowed him.
"You were enough for your parents, I’m sure. And more than enough for your step-mom."
"Maybe my psychiatrist was right."
Rick lifted a dark brow.
"About a year ago we had this big powwow with the three of us and my doc," she said. "It was weird, a little like a three-way, but baring our souls instead of our bodies."
"What happened?"
"At the end of it, my shrink told me it's not disloyal to my mom's memory for me to like and accept Karola. And that my dad and step-mom really care about each other."
"Duh," he said. "Shel, your dad isn't an idiot. He'd never marry a woman unless he was sure of her."
"Even the smartest man can be misled. On top of that, he's got a prenup."
"That doesn't mean they don't love each other," Rick explained patiently. "Their prenup protects both of them."
"You've read it?"
"I helped draft it. About ten years ago, at the height of her modeling career, Karola bought her family houses back in Kiev. She trusts your dad but wanted to make sure that if their marriage went south, he couldn't get his hands on them. So their prenup wasn't all about protecting the Nathanson fortune."
"Huh." Shelbie tried to digest that and gave up. Too much alcohol was fogging her brain. "I'll think about that tomorrow."
"Okay by me." Rick grabbed her hand and tugged her in the direction of the hot tub.
Karola and Hank hadn't bothered to put the cover back on, which was a relief. Shelbie never liked to bother with it—it was bulky and unwieldy—though with Rick around to do the heavy lifting, as her father had put it…hey, maybe there was a good side to having Rick around.
A great, big multifaceted good side. After she'd lowered herself into the hot, bubbling water, Rick sat himself on the opposite side of the tub and took one of her feet in his large, capable hands. He started rubbing her toes and put his foot into her lap in a clear invitation.
She smiled and started to massage him, imitating what he did because he seemed to know all about feet. Toes first, painstakingly caressing each one. Then between each toe, a weird feeling. She twitched.
"I call this snake in the grass." Rick smiled at her.
She blinked. "That's how it feels, all right."
"After you get used to it, you'll love it."
"O-kay." She ran her fingers between his toes.
He rubbed her foot against his growing hard-on, then pressed that magic spot between the heel and the arch. Arousal, sharp and intense, arrowed through her.
She moaned, and he shifted his hand to the heel, resting the round end of her foot in his palm. He squeezed, and the effect was a gentler wave of pleasure.
Back to the magic spot, with another push shoving her higher. Then to the heel. Back and forth, again so much like in and out…she closed her eyes and let waves of rapture take her in their swirling grasp, coming just from his touch, his amazing hands gripping her foot.
She let herself glory in the afterglow, drooping her head against the hot tub's side and relaxing completely.
A few minutes later, she heard a sigh. She opened her eyes to see Rick letting his head ease back against the Fiberglass side of the tub. "I could get used to this. You know, I haven't had a real girlfriend for a long time. My needs and desires…well, let's say that not many women can, umm, get into it."
"The foot fetish thing?"
"Uh-huh. And the shoes. People think it's weird that I love women's shoes. It's kinda sexist. How come women can go ga-ga over shoes but I'm not supposed to?"
"I loooove that you go ga-ga over my shoes. Hey, I’m a bit of a shoe fetishist myself. I devote most of my life to shoes."
"Yeah, you do. So we have that in common." He leaned forward, his blue eyes intense. "You know, that you're okay with me, umm, you know, in bed…that means everything to me. Really."
"Th-thanks." She shifted, not sure if she was comfortable with the speed at which their relationship was proceeding. She mulled everything over.
She'd known Rick for a while.
She'd gotten over her jealousy of him. Hadn't she? There was no reason to be insecure, she told herself. Her father adored and respected her. Her position in his life and at the company was secure.
Rick was great. He was beyond hot, mega-smart and shared her passions. The sex was amazing.
She was "engaged in life," as her shrink had put it, even happy when they were together. She wasn't sad about her mom or worried about anything else.
Huh," she said, tilting her head to one side as she regarded him. "Sooo…we're a couple?"
"A couple of what?" He grinned.
She playfully jabbed him in the shin with her free foot.
He caught it and brought it to his mouth. He bit the toe, then sucked on it, keeping his blue gaze focused on her face. "A couple who are crazy about each other?"
She let herself slide further down into the water. "Yeah," she said dreamily. "Yeah."
The moment was as intimate as the sex they'd shared. Shelbie reveled in an unaccustomed feeling of, of…what?
Completion.
"Wow."
"Yeah, wow." Dropping her feet, he splashed across the hot tub and took her in his arms for a soul-blistering kiss.
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About the Author
Suz deMello is the pseudonym of an author who has written over a dozen novels, plus several short stories and non-fiction articles. She writes in numerous genres including romance, mystery, paranormal, historical, contemporary comedy and erotica.
A former trial attorney who resides in northern California, her hobbies are yoga and world travel. She's currently planning another trip overseas and working on her next manuscript. She enjoys hearing from readers through her website, http://www.suzdemello.com
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