She doesn’t really dress like a Mommy, though. She needs big shoes.” “Big shoes? High heels?” Dorian cocked a brow, an image of Noor in her dirty sneakers in his mind. Even her catsuit had been worn with flat riding boots. Boots he’d had sent to her by Mary because the girl couldn’t let lip-flops go like this was California, not New Jersey. “Yeah. And she talks like this,” Ava drawled her words. “But that’s okay.” Ava shrugged. “She can be a Mommy. Even if she’s a whore.”
