Chapter 6 Krampus
Chapter six
Krampus
Imoved quietly through the silent café, pre-dawn darkness hung heavy around me, broken only by the soft glow I allowed to emanate from my eyes, just enough light to navigate without disturbing the shadows that clung to me like old friends.
The Hearth slept, waiting for life and noise and magic to fill it once more, but for now, it belonged only to me.
And to the lingering scent of her, sugar and rose petals, indefinably Simone which clung to the air like a stubborn spirit, refusing to dissipate even hours after she'd gone.
I inhaled deeply, letting her essence fill my lungs.
Mistake. The flood of memories that followed was immediate and visceral, her soft gasps as my claws traced her skin, the resistance in her muscles as she fought her own desires, the exquisite taste of her arousal on my tongue.
I growled low in my throat, the sound reverberating through the empty café.
I'd acquired The Hearth centuries ago as an investment, a minor holding in this realm where I could observe mortal folly during the off-season. I never expected to find myself performing barista duties at dawn. Yet here I was readying the place for another day of caffeine addiction.
But my mind wasn't on coffee or customers. It remained fixed on Simone.
I could still feel her weight in my arms as I'd carried her home, unconscious from the intensity of her pleasure.
How relaxed she'd seemed then, curled against my chest, her usual defenses stripped away by exhaustion and satisfaction.
I'd cleaned her gently with a warm cloth, watching her face in sleep, peaceful in a way I'd never seen her while conscious.
Her features had relaxed, the constant smile she wore finally falling away to reveal something softer, more vulnerable beneath.
I'd tucked her into her bed, amused by the lonely fern that seemed to watch me from its perch on her dresser.
Left a feather and note, a reminder that what happened between us was real, not some vivid dream she could dismiss in the light of day.
She'd wake to the evidence of my touch, to the soreness between her thighs, to the memory of how thoroughly she'd surrendered.
Steam rose from the espresso machine as I turned it on, the hiss and gurgle a poor substitute for the sounds I'd drawn from Simone's throat.
I closed my eyes, allowing myself to imagine how she'd sound beneath me, not just my tongue on but my cock, stretching her, filling her completely.
Would she scream? Whimper? Beg? The thought of her begging sent another wave of heat through me, settling low and heavy in my groin.
Could she take all of me? Humans were fragile creatures, breakable in ways that made me both cautious and intrigued.
I was not built like a mortal man, thicker, ridged in ways designed for maximum pleasure and, yes, a touch of beautiful pain.
My imagination painted a vivid picture: her brown skin glowing in the firelight, hair spread across my furs, eyes wide as I entered her for the first time.
The contrast of her softness against my hardness.
The way she'd stretch around me, body yielding even as her pride resisted.
I growled again, adjusting myself beneath my slacks.
This train of thought was counterproductive to opening a café.
My frustration wasn't solely sexual. There was something deeper that had been building since I'd first watched her run this place with such dedicated self-neglect.
She gave and gave and gave, to customers, to employees, to strangers who took advantage of her kindness, without ever taking for herself.
The woman was exhausting. Infuriating. Captivating.
I moved through the café, setting out clean mugs, arranging pastries Silas had prepared yesterday, but my mind remained on how I would teach Simone to prioritize herself.
Punishment. The word itself sent a thrill through me, not for the pain I could inflict, though that had its own appeal, but for the lesson behind it.
For the way her body had responded when I'd spanked her, pleasure blossoming beneath each strike, the freedom she'd seemed to gain when finally permitted to ask for what she wanted.
I considered my options carefully, planning with the same focus I brought to my winter duties.
Gentle punishments for minor infractions, making her sit still and drink something hot before working.
Forcing her to accept help instead of martyring herself on the altar of customer service.
More severe consequences for larger offenses, like the way she diminished her own achievements or how she hid her exhaustion behind that relentless smile.
I imagined binding her wrists with silk, denying her the ability to serve others, forcing her to simply receive. Pictured her frustration, her struggle, her eventual surrender. The release she'd feel when she finally understood she deserved pleasure without earning it through constant sacrifice.
The café gradually brightened as dawn approached, golden light spilling through frosted windows. I moved to the hearth, igniting it with a casual gesture. Flames leapt to life, crackling and dancing as if greeting an old friend. Fire recognized fire, after all.
I prepared a mug of hot chocolate, dark, rich, spiced with cinnamon and a pinch of cayenne.
Simone's preference, though she'd never actually told me.
I'd observed her making it for herself on rare occasions when she thought no one was watching.
That was the first lesson I would teach her today, to accept something made specifically for her pleasure.
The sun breached the horizon fully, casting long shadows across the café floor. I settled into my usual booth, positioned perfectly to observe the entire space, particularly the door through which she would soon enter.
Somewhere in the city, Simone was waking to find my feather, my note. Was touching her body and remembering my hands, my mouth, my control and deciding how to face me after what we'd shared.
I smiled, let her come and pretend last night meant nothing. I'd seen behind the mask now, tasted the hunger she kept hidden. There would be no going back, only forward into whatever this was becoming between us.
The bells above the door chimed, announcing her arrival, Simone stepped into the café, her curls piled atop her head with a ribbon that matched her dress.
The morning light caught her just so, illuminating brown skin that glowed against soft pink fabric, highlighting the exposed curve of her neck where her hair would normally fall, she’d added a pink scarf to chase away the chill.
My claws flexed involuntarily at my sides.
That neck. I'd tasted it just hours ago, felt her pulse hammer beneath my tongue.
I almost smiled before I caught myself, schooling my features into something more controlled.
The sudden urge to soften for her was dangerous, unexpected.
I watched as she unwound a scarf from around her throat, revealing more of that delicious skin.
My enhanced vision caught what others wouldn't, the faintest shadow of a bruise just below her ear where I'd sucked perhaps too enthusiastically. Mine.
She nodded toward me, a quick acknowledgment tinged with uncertainty, before turning toward the counter.
Clearly, she intended to slip behind it, to lose herself in the ritual of opening and hide from our unspoken tension in mindless work.
I rose in one fluid motion, intercepting her path with the steaming mug I'd prepared.
"Sit," I commanded, my voice pitched low enough that it wouldn't carry but firm enough that she would understand this wasn't a request. "You don't lift a finger until you finish it."
Her eyes widened, dropping to the mug in my hands. thick hot chocolate topped with a swirl of cream that melted slowly into the heat below.
"I... I need to start the opening checklist," she protested, glancing toward the counter with the anxious look of someone who defined their worth by their productivity. "The pastries need arranging, and the espresso machine—"
"Is already running," I finished for her, taking another step forward that forced her to step back. "The pastries are out. The coffee is brewing." I extended the mug again, my massive hand making the ceramic look delicate by comparison. "This is for you. Sit. Drink."
She blinked rapidly. "That's—that's very considerate, but I really should—"
"Simone." I let a hint of my true nature color the syllables with power. "This is not a negotiation."
Her lips parted, clearly ready to argue further, but something in my expression must have conveyed the futility of resistance. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and held out her hand for the mug.
"Fine," she said, a cute pout forming. "Thank you for the drink. I'll just take it behind the counter while I—"
"You'll sit," I interrupted, nodding toward the nearest table, "there. And you won't move until the mug is empty."
The professional mask slipped, revealing a flash of genuine irritation, a tiny crack in her perfect facade that I found infinitely more appealing than her fake smile. "Are you seriously telling me I can't work until I finish my hot chocolate? Like I'm some kind of child?"
I allowed one eyebrow to lift slightly. "If you behaved like an adult capable of basic self-care, perhaps I wouldn't need to treat you like a child."
That landed. Her eyes narrowed, mouth compressing into a line that managed to be both offended and adorable.
Without another word, she took the mug from my hands, careful not to let our fingers touch, and marched to the indicated table.
She sat with the stiff-backed posture of someone making a point, placed the mug on the table, and fixed me with a defiant stare.
"Happy?" she asked, voice dripping with saccharine sweetness.
"Delighted," I replied dryly, watching as she huffed and finally lifted the mug to her lips.
The moment the chocolate touched her tongue, I saw her resolve weaken.
A tiny "mmm" escaped before she could stop it, the sound so similar to ones she'd made under my touch last night that my body responded immediately.
I shifted my stance, grateful for the concealing cut of my slacks.
Her eyes closed briefly in pleasure before she caught herself, remembering her petulance.
I returned to my usual booth, positioning myself to observe her fully.
She sipped the hot chocolate with reluctant appreciation, her cheeks puffed out in visible sulking between swallows.
Her legs crossed and uncrossed beneath the table, fingers tapped against the ceramic.
She checked the clock on the wall no fewer than seven times in two minutes.
The enforced idleness was clearly torture for her, and I savored every second of her beautiful discomfort.
It drives her mad to be idle. She doesn't know how to rest but I am going to teach her.
I watched as she fidgeted in her seat, wondering if she'd be so restless beneath me in bed, or if I could fuck her into such perfect stillness that she'd finally, truly rest. The thought of her exhausted, satisfied, limp with pleasure after I'd spent hours wringing every possible sensation from her body, that was a lesson worth teaching.
"Is watching me drink hot chocolate really the best use of your time?" she called across the empty café, interrupting my increasingly inappropriate thoughts.
"Yes," I answered simply, enjoying the way her lips pouted at my direct response. "Consider it part of your ongoing evaluation."
That hit a nerve. Her spine stiffened further, if possible. "My work evaluation includes how I drink hot chocolate?"
"Your evaluation includes how you care for yourself," I corrected. "A manager who burns out is of no use to me or my café."
"Your café," she repeated, something flashing across her face too quickly to name. "Right."
I leaned forward slightly. "You've been running yourself into the ground for three months, Simone. Did you think I wouldn't notice?"
She looked away, her fingers tightening around the mug. "I've been doing my job."
"Above and beyond," I acknowledged. "At your own expense."
That brought her gaze back to mine, surprise evident in the slight widening of her eyes.
She hadn't expected the compliment hidden within my criticism.
Before she could respond, the bells above the door chimed again as the first customers of the day entered, a pair of weary-looking witches dusted with snow.
Simone half-rose from her seat, that instinctive need to serve kicking in, but my low growl stopped her. She sank back down with a look of pure frustration.
"Finish your drink," I reminded her, rising to my full height. "I'll handle them."
The absolute shock on her face as I moved toward the counter to greet the witches was almost worth the indignity of playing barista. Almost.
"Good morning," I said to the startled witches, my deep voice making them jump slightly. "What can I get for you today?"
Behind me, I heard Simone's reluctant sip, followed by the softest sigh of pleasure. First lesson of the day: delivered.