Page 115 of Bleeding Hearts

He yanks his cock out of my mouth and leans down to rip said dress over my head so I’m left in nothing but a thong.

He throws the dress to the side before standing back up, grabbing the back of my head and shoving his cock back between my lips. I take him eagerly, suctioning around him as he starts fucking my face.

“Touch yourself, Demi,” he says, looking down to where my light-pink underwear is soaked through, a large stain in the center of it.

I obey him, reaching down and slipping my hand under the flimsy fabric. I run my fingers over my clit, and the relief is instant. I moan around him, rubbing myself quicker as he ups his pace, pounding into my mouth.

“That’s a good girl. Now imagine it’s me playing with that sensitive clit of yours, pinching it roughly between my fingers, tugging it between my teeth before soothing the ache with my tongue.”

His words fuel me, and I do what he says, closing my eyes as he continues to fuck my mouth and imagining it’s him.

I pinch my clit with just the right amount of pressure between my fingertips right as he hits the back of my throat and fire courses through my body, exploding in my lower belly as the orgasm hits.

I open my eyes as he yanks himself out of my mouth, rubbing his cock furiously with his own hand before all the muscles in his body tighten and he comes on my chest.

I smile as I stand, moving to jump up on the bar top, and he turns to face me.

I look up at him and run my fingers through the mess he made on me, bringing those same fingers to my lips and sucking them clean. I moan around them as his salty taste explodes on my tongue, batting my eyelashes up at him.

“Looks like someone’s getting ready for round two.” I smirk, looking down to see him already hardening for me again.

“Yeah, baby. I’m not done with you yet,” he says, heat in his eyes, and I smile.

If we’re going to commemorate this night, we might as well do it right.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-EIGHT

Demi – One Year Later

It’s opening day, and I feel like I honestly might shit myself. Not actually. Well, hopefully not actually. But my point is, I’m nervous as fuck.

I’ve spent the better part of the last year preparing for this day, making sure every single thing was perfect.

The restaurant has come together to be everything I ever dreamed it would be.

I took down the old blinds, replacing them with white, almost sheer ones that easily open up when the sun isn’t trying to cook the place.

The walls are painted an off-white, cream color that makes the space look brighter and more open, and I kept the floors the same, which are a soft-brown wood.

The bar is made up of the same wood as the floors, and I also kept the light-pink mosaic wall behind it, hanging shelves to showcase the liquor.

There are wooden barstools at the bar, and the rest of the space is full of wooden tables and chairs, a fake white candle in the center of each table adds more light.

The upstairs is the same vibe, filled with tables and chairs.

I stand outside in the back of the restaurant, waiting for Lydia to get here.

Everyone else knows the name of the restaurant, but I’ve refused to tell her until now. Thankfully she’s not on any social media, so she hasn’t seen us promoting the opening at all.

I waited until yesterday to have the sign put up outside the restaurant so she wouldn’t see it.

Finally, I see her car pull up, and I practically run over to help her out as she parks.

“Excited to see me?” she teases as she gets out of the car.

I’ve been spending more time with Lydia since everything happened, promising to see her at least once a week.

She also helped me create the perfect menu that I always dreamed of and hire the most incredible staff.

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