Wicked Heels Novels & Stories

Grinning, she handed me a pair of black, five-inch-heeled stilettos—my least favorite torture device. "I will leave you two alone." Nicor chuckled, watching me sway while trying to put the shoes on. "Have fun!" He waved his hand before closing the door behind him. Amanda had heels slightly higher than mine. I had no idea how she was able to walk in shoes resembling an acrobat's stilts. She made walking in those absolutely effortless. She glided gracefully through the entire length of the hall while I dragged my feet, terrified that I was seconds away from breaking a leg.

As I opened the door it was as if the Ice Queen had come into the room. “Well if it isn’t little Alpha Squirrel” only Jenna could make you feel bad about finding your mate. “What do you want?” I asked, trying to stop my wolf from coming through. “I’m here to help if you believe it or not” Jenna said and typical Mean Girl style, she flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I don’t need or want your help” I said and tried to close the door but she placed her glittery healed foot in front of it. Who wears heals? They’re unpractical and make you almost three times as clumsy.

She follows behind me to the door. "No. What is the use of heels anyways?" She stared at me for so long that I thought she was dead on the spot until she spoke up, "Makes you look more classy, and kind of give you the opportunity to look down at people and be like "yo, b!tches, I'm back. " I shook my head. "That sounds nice." I gulp. But the last time I tried heels on, it almost destroyed my ankles and I couldn't feel my legs for days...it was totally paralyzed.

His breath caught harshly in his throat as memories flooded him—the way it had clung to her body, He chuckled low, a dark and intrigued sound that echoed in the ruined room, and carefully placed it back on the hanger. Further down in the wardrobe, he found the matching heels—enchanting, tall snake-themed stilettos with intricate straps that wound up the thigh like golden vines. He picked one up, turning it slowly in his hand, examining the delicate yet bold design. He checked the shoe size discreetly, committing it to memory. A winning, almost predatory smile curved his lips as pieces of the puzzle began clicking into place in his mind. “Very interesting indeed,” he murmured to himself, voic

“Badass? She’s willingly letting horrible rumors about me spread. If she wants naked pictures of herself out there, then she can do that… just don’t let someone else take the fall.” Claire nods understandingly. “Here.” I hand her a pair of slightly worn white sneakers. She wrinkles her nose. “I was thinking more of a white wedge… and a little less beaten up.” I roll my eyes. “Parties like these get wild. Wearing any type of heel would bring you a pain worse than hell. Also, with the booze and dirt and shit, these are our best bet.” Has she never been to a party before? Well, maybe she’s wise in that department. Parties likely end in regret.

As she moves on to painting my toes black, Agatha slides a pair of pink heels onto my feet, completing the ensemble. Now, onto the pink heels. Their vibrant hue, reminiscent of Barbie's world, demanded attention. The shoes screamed for notice, a stark contrast to the solemnity of my emotions. Stepping into these eye-catching heels felt like crossing a threshold into a realm of artificial glamour. However, my heart resisted the allure.

Above all, they shined beautifully. "Yeah, that is the one," I said to the assistant. As I admired the white sparkling stilettos resting delicately in front of me, I couldn't help but notice how they effortlessly blended elegance with a touch of glamour. The heels were just the right height—not toweringly tall, but not too short either—a perfect balance that promised both grace and comfort.

DAMN, her feet hurt. GERRI knew better than to hike the three-level mall in four-inch heels. But birthday presents must be bought, torture shoes or not. She’d just wear flip-flops the rest of the week—as long as she wasn’t meeting clients, anyway.

They were such pretty things, sparkly and silver, but I knew they would ruin everything if I wore them for a minute more. I'd never been able to walk in heels. My mother, aunts, and Cecelia had all tried to teach me, but it always ended in disaster. I wore kitten heels for three minutes and I nearly broke my wrist. I had crossed a room in wedges and had to use crutches for a week. Wearing pumps had required an x-ray.

The pièce de résistance, however, were the heels. She was normally a flip-flop kind of girl and wouldn’t be caught dead in a pair of heels. But she was feeling brave and a little sassy and so, on her way home from lunch, she’d stopped and bought a pair of spiked, blingy heels that she had to admit looked damn good on her. She just hoped like hell she didn’t make an ass of herself by face-planting when she tried to walk in them.