Page 168 of Forbidden Lessons

I fuckingseeit.

The same look I’ve seen on Kai’s face these past few days. This dark, primal, savage hunger that’s got nothing to do with nachos or peanut butter cups.

I’m in a trance as he speaks to the shop assistant, saying something about adjustments. Another store clerk appears out of nowhere, leading me to a stool and opening a bunch of shoe boxes.

I try to protest. Really, I do. But when she slides that first dainty stiletto on my foot, I barely hold back a whimper.

My foot has never looked so pretty. I’ll make a fuckingfortuneon OnlyFeet.

She puts the other one on and steps back, an expectant look on her face, hands clutched at her waist. “Come on. Let’s see how they feel.”

Oh. She wants me to walk in them.

Here goes nothing.

I feel like I’m trying to perform a circus trick for the first time as I push myself up off the stool. Thank God there’s a purse display near enough for me to grab on as my legs wobble.

These things are tall.

There’s a mirror a few feet away, but it might as well have been a mile.

“Oh, hold on. Let me roll up your jeans.”

I’m red as a fire hydrant as the woman gets on her knees and starts rolling up my jeans to mid-calf.

“Lovely. So? What do you think?”

I risk turning my foot a little to the side so I can see the profile of my feet in the shoe.

Ravishing.

And utterly useless.

“They’re beautiful, but?—“

Bastian appears in the reflection behind me. Before I can turn to him, he seizes my wrist, bending his arm under mine to support me as he urges me to the mirror.

I stagger forward, ankles wobbling, crouching forward like an old woman with a poisoned apple hidden somewhere about my person.

“Bastian! Stop! I can’t walk in these things.”

“You’d prefer a ballet slipper?”

“Unless you want me showing up in a cast, yes!” But by now, we’re all the way to the mirror and there’s nothing to hold on to except Bastian.

And then he lets go.

“I don’t have health insurance,” I mutter. “So better get that credit card ready, because you’ll be paying for my?—“

“Yes, dearie, I heard you the first time. Let me take them off.” Then I’m blushing again, because nowhe’son his knees.

“Hm. I see it now.”

I grip him a little tighter as I wobble. “See what?”

How wrong this is?

“I’d buy pictures of your feet.” He strokes the arch of the foot he’s holding, and then tips his head back, giving me an evil smile. “How much?”

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