The bakery room was elegant. Too elegant for what Sky was going through.
Golden sconces, satin-draped tasting table, tiers of buttercream perfection laid out like a wedding planner’s wet dream. The air smelled like vanilla, strawberries, and expensive frosting.
But Sky?
Sky smelled like c*m.
She sat beside Xavier, barely. Her thighs were still trembling, pressed tight together, bare beneath her short black dress, no panties to hide the wreckage between her legs. His c*m was still slowly leaking out of her, warm, thick, humiliatingly wet.
Her cheeks were flushed.
Her hair was messy.
Her n*****s were sore.
Her p***y was screaming.
And across from her?
A man in a white chef’s coat stood with a polite, forced smile on his face. Mid-fifties. Balding. Nervous. Definitely aware of the c
