Peyton List Bare Feet Novels & Stories

~~PEYTON~~ Tonight, I want to sin. Like, really sin. I wear a dress that screams "fuck me." Deep cleavage, loose hair black as the night itself. The fabric clings to my every curve, like a second skin barely covering my thigh. I wouldn't even dare touch my toes. I put my makeup skills to good use, creating dark eyeliner that's sharp and defined, like a wildcat on a mission. I even dared to wear four-inch heels—the kind of sky-high torture devices I usually avoid.

It was just too damn bad if Carter found it uncomfortable to be on a ‘date’ with the woman he was trying to ruin. As for Peyton, she seemed supremely relaxed and in her element. Riley talked her ear off and she listened attentively, laughing at the appropriate times and engaging in conversation with the seven-year-old like they were besties. He had been surprised to see her wearing jean shorts and a tank. Surprised but not disappointed.

Once we had all finished our food, Layken left Tenley and me so we could shower and leave. “Tenley, my shoes are at the bottom of the pond. Do you have any I could borrow?” “What size shoe do you wear?” “I wear a size seven.” “You are in luck, same here. Pick any pair you would like,” Tenley said. Then she opens her closet, showing me over fifty pairs of shoes that could fit any occasion.

"Good. You can take a break for now. You can take off the shoes." I didn't waste any time as I bent down and removed the shoes. Throwing them to the side as if I had no care for them, which I don't. The ground seemed to comfort me as I fully felt the whole floor with my foot. I didn't even bother to look for my flats as I raced to the sofa. "Flat ground! Flat ground!" I rejoiced and ran barefooted. I wonder how some of these girls were able to bear wearing those heels. What a pain. I started to stretch my legs on the sofa not caring about manners anymore.

"Yeah, I imagine the great Tyler Blackfoot has never worn a pair." I try to think back in my memory bank. Have I ever seen him wear them? "You know you're right, but as I think back I'm not even sure I've seen his bare toes. He always wears socks." "Maybe he just doesn't like feet," Wild takes up for Dad. "That's a possibility, they are pretty nasty." "Hence why I don't wear flip flops, but when you come to the beach, you have to do as the locals do."

I pull my right leg up as far as my hand can reach and unzip my boot. I repeat the process with my left boot and soon I am free of my clothes except for my panties. I hook my thumbs into the sides of my panties and let them slide down my legs. I walk over to the bed with its dark red sheets and lie down on it. It doesn't take long and soon Ethan walks in through the door that I didn't bother to close. He looks glorious in his jeans and bare feet. I just love the sight of his bare feet!

The thought still felt surreal sometimes. I suddenly stopped walking, feeling the urge to connect with this perfect moment. "Everything okay?" Aiden's voice carried concern. "I want to take my shoes off," I said, glancing down at my feet. "Feel the sand between my toes." Walking barefoot on the beach was something Lillian and I always did during our girl trips. But something about doing it with Aiden made me hesitate – it felt weirdly intimate. Before I could bend down, Aiden dropped to one knee in front of me. "Right foot up, Mrs. Carter," he commanded softly.

Profile pictures can be faked, and usernames can be changed, but photos can't lie. In her posts, I saw Zachary in places I had never been. A side profile of him wearing glasses, working on his laptop at a massage parlor. His hand intertwined with someone else's in a hotel room. A picture of him strolling through a mall, looking far too comfortable with someone by his side. There were even pictures of him in an unfamiliar bedroom, and in every photo, his face was either turned away or blurred in the background. Her most recent post was from the day I woke up after my accident. It was taken inside Zachary's car.

“A few poses are best for this bed.” “Fuck it.” I playfully reject it. “Let me cook.” My team cheers, so does he. “I love this fire.” He sets down his camera on the edge of the pool and starts taking off his clothes to step in for better shots. He strips his shirt, baring his tatted chest. Next is his ripped jean shorts, slippers… Barefoot, he tantalizingly wriggles his toes, exposing the soft, pillowy toe mounds, the clean sole of his feet from the small exercise. When he sets both feet flat on the tiled floor, I gulp dryly.