Peyton List Bare Feet Novels & Stories

“My feet are fine.” “Good to hear it – or rather see it,” Lacey said with a grin. “I’m sure our footwear will be fine here at the table until we return.” She placed her shoes next to the table. Blake did the same. They began to walk. “How does it feel?” “What?” “The sand – on your feet.” “Warm and gritty,” he answered bluntly. Lacey snickered. “It doesn’t feel freeing to you?” “No. Just a bit strange,” Blake said with slight confusion. “Why do people make such a big deal of walking barefoot in the sand?”

I stared at her as she walked. "What? Take it off too, it's ten o'clock, no one is watching us." My legs were sore from the heels already, so I used her shoulder as support and removed the heels. Walking barefooted felt so good. If Dylan was here, he would have ranted on and on about how it was unladylike to walk barefooted. -- Ryker's POV

"Are your feet okay?" Nate asks after a minute of us walking. I pause and look down at the forest floor. There were rocks everywhere and pine needles and spiky sticks. I was just walking over them with my bare feet without a second thought. "You know. To be honest with you, I walk around barefoot so much that I don't think my feet even have feeling anymore." "A true adventurer." Nate says with a grin. I smile and look away as we keep walking. "Hey, can I ask you something?" He asks. I nod, glancing at him. "Who was that girl? Ike wasn't interested in answering my questions after I knocked you out."

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.

Her continuous movement caught my attention, and I realized the shoes she had on must be strangling her feet. I twisted the phone away from my face and motioned to her heels. "Take 'em off." "I'm meeting Masyn at Sadler's. I just left the lawyer's office. Where are you?" Beau kept talking, while I steadied Peyton's arm so she could remove her shoes. "Just finished cleaning up your mess," I answered into the phone, distracted by the neon-pink polish on Peyton's toes. "Yeah, sorry about that. You need me to come get you?"

Yeah, that must be it. After completing the dishes, Andrei takes a moment to dry his hands before wandering over to where I'm sitting, his pace leisurely. I stare at his bare feet, my brain momentarily fixated on the sight. “Why no shoes, Mr. Carter?” “Walking barefoot is like a yoga practice. Builds up the balance, strengthens the soles, and gets you in touch with Mother Earth.” I raise an eyebrow, skeptical. How much of that is actually true, I wonder?

I could only imagine what the bottom of my feet looked like now that I was running bare-footed on sharp rocks and pine needles. “She better be,” Nathan boomed from behind me before I would answer. Nathan wore his normal gray sweats I had seen many times before, but I couldn't tear my eyes from his bare chest. His perfectly sculpted muscles made my heart flutter in anticipation, despite our current circumstances. I looked closer when my eyes rested on a dark patch on the left of his stomach. As he came closer, I noticed two small puncture wounds at the top of the steady blood flow coming from his left abdomen.

But standing here now made it look almost modest. As I admired the scale of it, reality tugged me back, people passing by had started to stare. It didn’t take long for me to realize why. I glanced down at my feet. My shoes were dangling from my hand, and I stood there barefoot on the polished stone. Earlier, on my mad dash across the street, I’d broken my toenail badly. The pain had been so sharp it made me limp, and the only thing that felt bearable was to take the heels off entirely. But now, about to walk into a company like this, I knew showing up barefoot was worse than limping.

he asks as he examines the single layer of pantyhose he’s put on as opposed to his usual five. “Babe, the outfits are drop-dead gorgeous the house down, but not with those shoes,” I say, folding my arms and jutting my hip. “I like these shoes,” he whines. “Bitch is you crazy? Just the other day you gave me hell for wearing my favourite jellies to brunch and that was just casual attire, this is a whole other travesty,” I say in disapproval as I glare at the 7-inch nude peep-toe platform stilettos. The shoes are fabulous, but not in a million years with these outfits. “I will not let you get up on stage looking more opulent than a damn chandelier only for you to have those on your feet,” I shr

someone started urging. I took a deep breath. Instead of stepping forward, I bent down in front of everyone. My fingers hooked the laces, and with a hard tug, I cleanly pulled off the sneaker on my left foot and casually tossed it into the grass nearby. Then the right one. Wearing nothing but a pair of white cotton socks, I straightened up and planted my feet onto the concrete, which had been baked scorching hot by the sun. The crowd instantly exploded. "What the hell is she doing? Is she some barefoot monk?"