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Please note: This erotic story contains scenes of a very graphic and adult nature which some may find offensive. This story is for sale to adults only. This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual persons or events are purely coincidental. Please engage in safe, consensual sexual practices only. Remember, this is a work of imagination and fantasy. All sexual activities described herein are between characters 18 years old or older and are always consensual.
Table of Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six, Damian’s Turn.
District Grounds was known for its pastries even though it tried very hard to be a hip coffee shop. Free Trade signs and green energy commandments plastered the walls, and true, the coffee was just what a girl needed at oh-my-god-o’clock in the morning, but it was the pastries that brought people from across the city to line up and beg to gain ten pounds. This morning’s special was a puff pastry with delicate, golden filo layers splitting from its center to rise at an apex of buttery pleasure. Warmth rose from its center, steam colored when the door jingled open to let in a cool blast of morning air. Drizzled at the convex center was homemade white icing like snow, dusted with dried strawberry dust and white chocolate shavings. The fine strawberry particles rose on the steam and when I inhaled I could taste them dissolve at the back of my mouth. This was going to be a delicious morning. The only x-factor was the filling, which District Grounds head pastry girl had wisely left unlabeled. A mystery wrapped in confectioner’s sugar. I turned the little white plate 90 degrees, rested my chin in my hand, and tried to discover the secrets of the universe hidden within the core of my breakfast pastry. The jingle bells trilled and another blast of morning city air rushed into the coffee house and he entered, looking all CEO-like and well groomed. He had a casual way about him, like it hadn’t occurred to him he was wearing a $2000 suit and there wasn’t a Lincoln Town Car idling at the curb for him. He was just an average Joe in a perfectly average coffee shop with the best pastries in town. When Damian Vaughn took a seat at my table, I nudged the plain black coffee with two creams and half a packet of fake sugar in front of him, except I’d used a full packet of real sugar because my boss really needed to live it up a little bit. “How much do I owe you?” He actually went for his wallet like he might actually be carrying a buck twenty five in there. I turned my plate again, eyeballing the edges of my breakfast dessert for telltale signs of its melty middle. “I got it, boss. And your bear claw.” I nodded at the white bag between us. He dove in like a man possessed. “For someone who could have anything he wanted for breakfast, you’re sadly disappointing. How am I ever going to sell your secrets to the tabloids if you don’t go a little crazy from time-to-time? Tomorrow I’m sneaking a double chocolate chip fudge muffin in there instead.” “You do and you’re fired.” His first bite was messy. The hard frosting cracked and crumbled, sprinkled his burgundy satin tie. Pastry flakes clung to his goatee. Really, he was like a six foot child some days. “You do realize I make ten times in a day as you do in a month? Twenty times. I can afford my own bear claw and