Dinah smiles and puts both her feet up on the ottoman. Even she can't resist a moment of awe at the shoes she's wearing. The bronze, Greek-style sandals tie with laces that wrap her shapely calves up to the knee. The shoes cup her feet with improbably detailed leather panels depicting Greek heroes, their perfect chests straining at the weight of the long swords they wield. The sandals sport wicked stiletto heels, four inches and counting, each twisted and filigreed to look like the horn of a unicorn.
"You can lick them, puppies," she breathes. She's almost ready to lick them herself. Both men fling themselves into the task. Brett wags his rear end and tongues the edges of the shoe, tickling her bare skin along the way. Jeremiah crouches, sweet and serious, licking and licking the same spot of her sole as if he can taste the dirt of everywhere she's walked.
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