Emma Chamberlain Feet Novels & Stories

"Oh my God. You didn't go home. Where did you go? Who did you see? What happened?" "Chloe." "Was it the date? Did Liam do something? Do I need to hurt him? Because I have a cousin who knows a guy—" "The date was fine." "Then why do you look like someone canceled your favorite show?" Emma opened her mouth to answer. Then she heard footsteps. She didn't need to look up. She knew those footsteps—the precise rhythm of expensive leather shoes on marble, the slight hesitation before the final step, the way the walker paused for half a second before turning a corner.

Emberlynn's cheeks reddened even more, and she gazed upward at the bright Crescent moon. "What are you thinking about?" Emberlynn jumped as she heard Damien's voice. She gazed at him wide-eyed and shook her head, "Y-you were right there." She pointed to the point he had been standing a few seconds ago. "I was," Damien muttered, his face searching hers. "You were taking too long to come to me." "I need to be careful on these shoes," Emberlynn extended her delicate, slender leg, showing the silver four-inch heel on her right foot.

he says as he offers me his hand. I scoot to the edge of the seat and slowly lower myself to the ground. I can see Emmett smirking out of the corner of my eyes and I turn my head to give him a sharp glare. My bare feet hit the soft grass outside of the cabin and I wiggle my toes against the wet dew that had settled on the blades over night. “Ella… Luna…” Emmett corrects himself. “Where are your shoes?” He asks me with an air of frustration in his voice.

Dead people aren't supposed to look like that, or sound like that, or especially smile like that! "You like my feet, don't you, Bobby?" Shelly had pulled me down to my knees, tugging on my necktie until she had me right where she wanted me. Her legs were bare, but she had such smooth skin, toned and snow white, she didn't need stockings. Shelly wore patent leather shoes, expensive ones, probably, with open toes and spiked heels. Her toenails were red like her lips and fingers, and she had small, delicate feet. I'd spent three years selling shoes at Pay-Less as a teenage boy, so I had a lot of experience with women's feet and Shelly's were incredible.

This proved that the plan had been very successful! Sitting in her room, Emma was sipping hot tea and contemplating how the silver given by the old madam should be used. Nyah rushed in with a pair of beautifully embroidered shoes in her hand, saying, "Third young lady, Nanny saw that your shoes were worn out, and she noticed that the first young lady had a pair of elegant phoenix patterned shoes. So she quickly embroidered a pair for you! Please have a look. Do you like them?" Emma glanced at the shoes and saw they were exquisitely embroidered with red gauze and golden phoenix patterns, each thread delicately sewn, shining brightly. A lot of thought had been put into them.

I kept scanning the crowd, reading thoughts as fast as I could process them, trying to find threats, trying to understand what is happening tonight. A click - The shrimp is amazing. I should get the name of their caterer... A click - I wonder if he'll propose tonight. He's been acting strange all week... A click - Three more hours and I can get out of these heels. My feet are killing me... A click - Is that Senator Williams? I thought he was under investigation... Nothing useful. Just the usual shallow concerns of wealthy people at parties. Then she appeared. Emma Lancaster descends the main staircase like she was born to do exactly that.

Emma stood in front of the full-length mirror in the guest room. Her reflection didn’t look like her. Tight white tank top, no bra — her nipples poked through like little sinners. A black mini skirt she had no business wearing clung to her thighs like a second skin. He wanted tight? She gave him tight. Her panties were already damp before she left the room. And she hadn’t even seen him yet. The mansion was silent as she walked barefoot down the long hallway, each step echoing. Her heart beat louder with every door she passed.

Beyond it lay a narrow stone staircase leading even deeper underground. Liam looked at Emma. "We've come too far to turn back." She nodded. "I'm with you." Hand in hand, they descended the staircase. The air became colder with every step. At the bottom, they entered a circular chamber unlike anything they had ever seen. The walls were covered with framed photographs. Hundreds of them. Emma slowly walked around the room. Every photograph featured members of the Carter family through the years. Birthday parties. Weddings. Business meetings. Family vacations. Then she stopped.

"Can you walk?" "I think so. My feet are super weird feeling and my mouth is starting to go numb. I'm scared Emma," I say as I touch my lips ensuring they are still attached to my face. They feel foreign as the formulate the words much slower than my brain had produced them. "Let's get you outside before you collapse. I don't think I will be able to carry you without getting seriously injured myself. Come on," Emma motions towards the door and starts walking ahead of me to open the front door as I take an unbalanced step and fall against the marble countertop. Using my hand I push off the counter to correct my posture when I notice I left a perfect hand shaped burn mark in the counter. Jaxon

After a long day at work, completely drained out, Emma walked into the Monroe mansion. Flopping down right at the first seat of the beige leather sofa, she completely disregarded any ladylike behavior she was to obey as an heiress since anyone could walk in on her at that moment. She dropped her bag at her feet, discarding her suit jacket to one side and removing her stilettos beside her handbag, she stepped flat on the soft Persian carpet. Sighing at the soothing feeling of softness after a complete day of standing on her feet on a torture device, she breathed out deeply.