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Forwarding my office phone to my cell, I decided to walk the empty floor. I swept through the women’s clothing, pausing to admire the new additions. Military jackets were in style this year. I’d have to pick up one of those.
I continued on to my real destination. It called to me like a siren—the shoe department. I entered tentatively, making sure no one would be privy to my multiple shoegasms. I stroked the lovelies on the Brian Atwood table, caressed the Mui Miu’s and gave a respectful nod to the Louboutin’s. I lingered at the Diego Dolcini display because he was doing things with footwear this season that should be illegal.
Once I paid my dues to the other masters, I processed solemnly to the Holy Grail of foot coverings. Perched on a glass pedestal like a true work of art, sat the Valentino Sculpture Lace Pump. Delicate black lace over nude leather, crowned with sculpted lace over the heel and around the vamp.
I wanted those shoes.
I needed those shoes.
I couldn’t afford those shoes.
Even with my discount, the nearly five thousand dollar price tag was too steep for me. I would have to settle for fogging up the display pedestal for the rest of the season.
“Would you like to try them on?” I jumped and gasped at the masculine voice behind me.
“Mr. Masen, I didn’t know you were still here. You startled me.” I was still breathing heavily and my voice was a slightly higher pitched than normal.
“I was just finishing up some things,” he said. “Did you want to try on the shoes, Bella?”
I blushed because the manager of the shoe department made all the ladies blush. It was his super power. “Oh, I don’t think I should. Thank you, though,” I replied.
He smiled and my blush deepened. “Didn’t I hear it was your birthday? I can’t think of a better reason to test drive a pair of designer shoes. Let me go get your size. You look like a thirty-seven. Is that correct?”
“Well, yes, actually it is.” With that, he disappeared through the doorway before I could protest further.
I took a seat and tried to quell my excitement. He returned less than a minute later with the coveted shoes in hand. Sitting before me, he unpackaged them. The rustling of paper had never been so alluring.
“May I?” he asked and reached toward my foot. I nodded my silent approval and he slipped off my shoe. “L.A.M.B. You have excellent taste in footwear. Isn’t the designer married to that musician who makes all the ladies swoon?”
It hadn’t escaped my attention that he was still holding my foot in the palm of his hand, caressing it gently with his thumb. “I—I wouldn’t know,” I stammer. “He’s not really my type.”
“And what is your type, Bella?” he asked in a voice a full octave lower than before.
“Tall, reddish-brown hair, green eyes, formidable knowledge of designer shoes,” I answered, earnestly.
“Hmmm. That’s very interesting,” he said. “It looks like the shoe fits, Cinderella.”
I hadn’t even noticed he’d already shod my right foot. Wordlessly, he replaced the shoe on my left foot, running his hand up my calf when he finished.
“You still have some time before the clock strikes midnight. Does the birthday girl have any wishes?”
I looked down at my feet, encased in the finest leather and lace. I was wearing the objects I desired above all others, yet that desire was suddenly eclipsed by another. “There is one thing I’ve always wanted to try.” I slid off my chair to meet him on the floor.
“And what is that?” he asked, looking momentarily unsure of himself.
I placed my hands on either side of his hips and whispered in his ear, “It’s easier if I show you.” Not wanting my meaning to be misconstrued, I nipped lightly behind his ear.
“Cameras,” he warned.
I swung my right leg over his lap and rested on his upper thighs. “Not today,” I reassured him.
He situated his hands on my knees, nudging my skirt up a few inches. “Are you sure about this?” he asks.
“Quite certain, Mr. Masen. This is something I’ve been thinking about for some time now.” I ran my hand through his soft hair and pulled his face closer to mine.
“Really?” He smirked in typical Edward fashion. “Do tell.”
I gathered my courage while tracing his jawline. “First, I imagined you’d kiss me.”
“Is that your birthday wish?” he asked, softly.
“The opening act, yes,” I answered.
“Far be it from me to deny a woman on her birthday.” He closed the distance between our mouths, taking my top lip between his and sucked gingerly.
My mind was warring with itself, vacillating between believing this was either the best or worst idea ever. I gripped his hair with more force than I intended and he responded by biting my lip. One, or both, of us moaned when his tongue slid into my mouth. My own tongue moved along his and I unconsciously lurched forward in his lap. He wrapped his arms around my back, pulling our chests flush against one another.
Kissing down my chin to the neckline of my top, he paused to utter, “Tell me the rest of this hypothetical scenario.”
It took me a moment to right my mind before I could continue. “Next, I would help you out of your shirt.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you.” He released his grasp on me so I’d have room to loosen his tie and unfasten the buttons. With my aid, the shirt fell to the ground behind him. His chest held every bit of the promise his tailored shirt implied.
“I can only assume the natural progression of events would require me to assist you in a reciprocal fashion,” he said, lowly.
“Only if you are so inclined,” I responded.
“I’m inclined.”
His hands slid under the bottom of my light sweater, easing it up and over my head. With no hesitation, my bra joined the top in a heap on the ground. He palmed my breasts and asked, “What happens next?”
My voice barely registered above a whisper. “Next, you would lift my skirt and find I’d neglected to wear panties.”
“Is that so?” He eased my skirt above my hips, firmly grabbing my ass in the process. “Stand up,” he commanded.
I climbed out of his lap and took a step back. He stood and turned me, placing my hands on the Dior display table. I heard the clinking of his belt buckle and the rustle of fabric. A moment later, I felt his hardness press into my backside. “What’s the next scene, Bella?” His voice adopted a raspy strain.
“I feel your cock inside me,” I stated with surprising aplomb.
He flipped my skirt over my hips again and entered me in the same movement. Nonsensical words fell from my mouth while thousands of dollars worth of shoes toppled off the table and clattered to the ground. His thrusts were needy and animalistic. I secretly hoped his fingers would leave faint marks around my hip bones just to prolong the memory of this night.
He moved one hand to the juncture of my thighs. I gripped the table harder as my stomach began to tighten. He slipped two fingers around where we were joined and quickened his pace. His thumb pressed firmly on the bundle of nerves that seemed to be tethering me to the earth. My orgasm ricocheted through me so suddenly I almost lost my footing. Edward’s own release was shortly behind mine and he slowed his rhythm to a less punishing pace. He pulled us both down to the floor, positioning me on his lap.
“There is a serious matter I feel we need to discuss,” he said.
“Oh, what is that?” I asked. I turned so I could see him better.
“You’re still wearing the Valentino’s,” he answered, gravely.
I looked down at my feet. “Yes, I suppose I am. Is that a problem?”
“I’m afraid it is. Store policy dictates that those shoes are no longer eligible for resale.”
“I’m not following you,” I said, starting to panic.
“You will have to purchase the shoes, Bella,” he said.
“I don’t have that kind of money, Edward! There’s no way I can pay for these!” My voice was shrill and maniacal sounding. These shoes had become an albatross around my neck in the span of sixty seconds.
“Then I guess it’s a good thing your husband got a hefty bonus check,” he said while deploying another smirk.
“Excuse me?” I asked with a furrowed brow.
“Happy birthday, Mrs. Masen.”
Happy, happy birthday, Mrs. Bing03!
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