Wicked Heels Novels & Stories

She kicked off her strappy black platform heels with a dramatic sigh, letting them clatter loudly against the base of a glass coffee table. "Oh my god, thank the lord," she whined, rubbing the arches of her feet with her painted fingernails. "Those fucking heels were literally killing my feet. I feel like my toes are about to fall off. I am never wearing those death traps again." She rolled over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling with a sudden, dramatic pout on her face. "Tonight was supposed to be completely different, Marina. Seriously. Tonight was supposed to be all about you.”

I said, dragging Nikky with me as we crawled under the bed, trying to be as quiet as possible. "Break her door down,” Harley told whoever was helping her break El's door down. Soon we heard the door crack open, from where we hid. “There's no need for that, Harley; you can come in," El said. I heard Harley's footsteps, but she stopped walking and stood beside the bed. Those legs looked very familiar, but I just couldn't recall. She was wearing stiletto heels, and I expected that because Wicked people need to walk on their toes, they wear heels a lot.

This was the highest level of wealth she had ever witnessed. Then, the door to the Tesla opened fully, revealing a delicate, silver-glass stiletto. Eight-inch heels. Breathtakingly extravagant. The woman wearing them had legs so smooth they looked sculpted by the gods. And then, slowly, she stepped out in all her ethereal glory.

Gold leaves and diamonds decorated the front and back of the laces, and the 'L' logo on the sides of both heels was impressively striking. The beauty, however, was ruined with wine drenching the heels. Even Queenie began to panic. "Catelyn... You can't buy these even if you have the money to, yet you ruined them! How could you?" The guests instantly erupted in a heated discussion. "Catelyn Clark is a beautiful woman, but who knew she'd be so vicious?" "Missus Mason might have been a bit rude there, but I don't think her heels worth a million deserves to be defaced like that."

“I’m fine without your company. There are many other men here who would love to have a girl such as yourself flaunted in front of them.” As if I told her to go whore herself around somewhere else, she straightens her back with a huff and stomps away. The high heels she’s wearing slip from under one foot, causing her to buckle slightly as she spins out of view. I try to keep a smile of satisfaction from finding my face at the awful attempt of trying to make me feel bad for letting someone like her get away, but it’s useless. A sly smirk forms across my mouth from her pitiful attempt.

It was three stories high and looked as if it was on its dying breath of collasping. "I told you we needed a witches' touch." Pierce told me. "Just trust me. Did you carry the stuff I told you to carry?" He asked me after. "Yeah, I did." I took the duffle bag from the backseat of the car and open it. It contained Scarlett's hair brush and her favorite bottle of jasmin and vanilla perfume. "Are you sure this is going to work? I mean I have never heard of a witch called Nïx in my entire immortal life Pierce." I snorted

—D Heat stained her cheeks again and she pressed the back of a hand to her skin to cool it. Gosh, he was always making her blush, wasn’t he? She pulled the lid off the box . . . and gasped at the shoes inside. Silver platform peep-toe pumps with a nearly eight -inch heel. They were studded with tiny crystals all over the shoe leather, and glittered like Cinderella’s glass slipper. She picked one up wonderingly. It was enormously tall. She’d be a giant. They were garish and impractical and sky-high.

she says with a wink at me. “Alright ladies, we all know you are getting lucky tonight,” Jenna teases. “Now let’s get your shoes,” she reminds us. We pay for our purchases and head out to the shoe shop just beside the dress shop. We easily pick out heels to complement our dresses. Mine have a strap around the ankles with three-inch black heels. Sarah goes with a nude heel that is two and half inches high.

“You and your sense of humour.” “I know. Anyway, it would’ve depended on how the size was wrong. If it was too big, I would’ve gotten a tailor but if it was too small, I would’ve simply gotten you another one. Can you handle two and a half inches?” He showed her a pair of glittery silver block heels that had teardrop crystals, which were arranged the same way as the leaves on a laurel wreath, across the ankle and toe straps. “I can handle them.” “Alright. You’ll put them on downstairs. I can’t have you tripping on the stairs.” He took her downstairs.

(Fuck! The stunning woman on his arm, however, demanded my attention. She was tall—easily six feet in her heels—a feat most women couldn’t achieve as I towered over nearly all of them at 6’4. Yet, she exuded a magnetic allure that dominated the room with effortless ease. Her caramel-toned skin gleamed under the soft, low lights which illuminated a figure wrapped in a black dress that clung to her like sin itself. The sight made me imagine, albeit briefly, how her body would feel beneath me—or perhaps, above. To be honest, I’m not picky. And those heels, deadly in more ways than one, only amplified her commanding presence.