Love Her Feet - Ivy Lebelle - The Cable Guy -05... -

He didn’t grab. He didn’t lick or moan like some bad script. He simply cupped her heel in one palm, traced the line of her metatarsals with a fingertip, and pressed his thumb into the sore spot near her instep. A perfect, professional pressure. Not sexual. Tender. Like he’d studied her feet from across the room for an hour and memorized every tension line.

Marco settled back on his heels. “Because they don’t lie. Hands lie. Faces lie. But feet—they show pain, pleasure, exhaustion, desire. Your right foot is injured. But your left foot… it’s been asking for attention since I walked in.”

“Cable guy,” said the man on the monitor. Marco, according to his lanyard.

“To be held. To be massaged. To be admired without apology.” Love Her Feet - Ivy Lebelle - The Cable Guy -05...

“Most people are blind,” Marco replied. “May I?”

Ivy let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

“No.” He knelt—not creepily, but gently—by the ottoman. “But I’ve seen that before. My mom had the same injury. You’re favoring so hard you’re going to throw your hip out.” He didn’t grab

Marco smiled—the first real smile of the afternoon. He wrapped both hands around her foot like it was something precious, and for the first time in weeks, Ivy Lebelle felt her body relax completely.

He gestured toward her foot. She hesitated two seconds, then nodded.

Marco shook his head. Then, quietly: “I noticed you’ve been keeping your left foot elevated even when the boot’s off. The arch must be taking extra weight.” A perfect, professional pressure

“Most people don’t even look,” she whispered.

He started to rise. Ivy’s bare toes brushed his wrist.