This is from "Spike", a short story being released as part of a lesbian anthology by Torquere Press called "Sappho's Chest".
They'd been little more than a fleeting glimpse in her periphery, and yet that was enough to leave Samantha breathless. She was sure of what she'd seen, picturing them in her mind so clearly that the image alone pulled her up short, stopped her where she stood, and compelled her to retrace her steps.
It didn't happen often, but when Sam's desire took hold of her in this manner, it was shockingly intense and its force was as undeniable as gravity. The longing could overcome all reason, preempting everything she'd planned for the hour, the afternoon, or even the remainder of the day.
Lisa laughed at her sometimes in their more intimate moments, teasing her about what she termed a "fetish," but for all her teasing Sam's lover had never complained. She was a willing and eager enabler.
Sam moved back to the window and stood staring, captivated by the shine of patent leather and the allure of six inches of steel. The shoe was pure sex, cunningly crafted to fit the contours of a woman's foot. There was a glare on the glass and Sam put her hand up to shade it, leaning in for a closer look.
The stiletto pumps were standing in a pool of pink satin that was draped artfully over a tall, clear dais. They basked in the glow of a single spotlight, the black patent leather polished to perfection and reflecting the light into Sam's eyes. She was captivated, and she traced the line of each shoe with her finger against the glass, from the tip of the pointed toe, up its length and then down the ever-narrowing steel support to the impossibly tiny tip of the spiked heel.
Sam longed to touch them, to put her nose to the leather. She swallowed hard, feeling an aching need rise within her, welcoming the arousal and the gentle flush to her skin. Lisa would taunt her with these, oh, yes, taunt and tease until Sam begged.