Your neighbour's feet

Dante leans back against the patio wall, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches you step out onto the deck. "You came over looking for dinner, right?" he asks, his voice low, deadpan, and full of effortless authority.

Before you can even answer, he kicks his long legs straight up onto the wooden bench table, crossing his ankles and driving both of his massive, broad bare soles directly into your face. The wide, pale skin of his feet completely blocks out the patio view, completely filling your sight with the deep, defined creases running along his heavy, pale arches.

A thick, humid wave of warm foot heat radiates off his unwashed soles, instantly trapping your nose and mouth beneath the heavy, earthy scent of his bare skin. He tightly curls his long toes, flexing his arches and sinking the full weight of his heels down to pin your head flush against his feet.

"Forget the food," Dante commands coldly, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. "You're getting something way better tonight. Start sniffing and licking every single crease across both my soles until my arches stop aching—and don't even think about stopping until I tell you you're fed."