Chapter 10
Chapter ten
Simone
The collar marks tingled with every step I took toward the café, a phantom pressure against my throat that made breathing feel like a guilty pleasure.
Snow crunched beneath my boots, each footfall sending little sparks of delicious soreness up my thighs.
I'd put on my cheeriest pink dress, the one with the sweetheart neckline and extra flounce, as if the brightness could somehow disguise the fact that I'd been thoroughly, gloriously fucked last night by the very creature who owned this building.
Who, if the burning imprints of his claws on my hips meant anything, might now own me.
I fumbled with the keys at the café door, dropping them twice into the fresh snow before managing to slide the right one into the lock.
The little bells overhead jingled as I pushed inside, the sound somehow vulgar now, too similar to the delicate chime of the chain that had hung from my collar last night, swinging between my breasts as Krampus had taken me apart piece by piece.
"Focus, Simone," I muttered, shrugging off my coat and hanging it beside the door.
My hair ribbon slipped sideways as I moved, another small betrayal of my disheveled state.
I shook my head violently, trying to dislodge the memories like pesky flies.
The café. I had to open the café. Normal tasks.
Normal day. Just a normal, not-sexually-devastated café manager doing normal café manager things.
"I am not thinking about his claws," I told the empty café firmly, my voice sounding too loud in the quiet morning space. "Or cock. Or the noises I made. I am thinking about coffee."
The lie tasted bitter on my tongue. Lies always did, lately, like he'd somehow attuned me to the taste of them, made me allergic to my own deceptions.
I reached for a stack of coffee filters, fumbling them so badly they scattered across the counter like oversized confetti.
My hands wouldn't stop trembling. I bent to retrieve a filter that had floated to the floor, hissing as the motion sent a twinge of delicious pain through my thighs and deeper, where I was still tender.
Heat flooded my cheeks as my body remembered with crystal clarity how it had felt to be filled so completely, stretched to my limit.
"Coffee," I reminded myself sharply, crumpling the filter in my fist, tossing it in the trash. "You're thinking about coffee."
I caught a glimpse of myself in the polished surface of the espresso machine, eyes too bright, hair ribbon hanging at an angle that somehow screamed "thoroughly fucked.
" I adjusted it quickly, wincing as my fingers brushed against the marks his fangs had left just below my ear.
I'd never be able to get through the day like this.
I tried arranging cups in their usual neat rows, but my hands refused to cooperate.
One tumbled from my grasp, and I caught it just before it shattered against the counter.
"Get it together," I whispered, pressing my hands flat against the counter to stop their shaking. "You've had sex before. It wasn't your first time. Pull yourself together."
But that was the problem, wasn't it? I had had sex before.
Perfectly pleasant, human sex with perfectly pleasant, human men.
What had happened last night wasn't just sex.
I'd given something to Krampus that I hadn't known was mine to give, and now I didn't know how to function without it. Without him.
The bells above the door announced Silas's arrival with their cheerful jingle.
He swept in like a gothic hurricane, balancing a tray of cinnamon cookies with one hand while the other adjusted the silver chains dripping from his horns.
The metal links clinked and chimed with every step, catching the morning light in flashes that matched the dangerous gleam in his eyes.
Those eyes landed on me, narrowed, and then widened with unholy glee as he took in my disheveled state from messy curls to unsteady stance.
"Well, well, well," he drawled, sashaying toward the counter with exaggerated hip movements. His black apron was dusted with powdered sugar. "Someone had an interesting night."
I busied myself with the espresso machine, suddenly finding the portafilter absolutely fascinating. "I don't know what you're talking about. I had a perfectly normal night of... sleeping."
"Mmmhmm." He set his tray of pastries down with a flourish. "That's why you've got sex hair even though you clearly tried to tame it, and why you're walking like you rode a mechanical bull all night."
Heat bloomed across my face. "I slept weird," I protested weakly. "Pulled a muscle."
"You're glowing suspiciously," Silas continued, leaning over the counter to examine me more closely, his horns jingling with the movement. "Like... 'touched by darkness and dicked into enlightenment' glowing."
I choked on nothing. Behind me, a snort of laughter erupted from near the window, where Bramble who had slipped in from the back hovered on iridescent wings, supposedly arranging a wreath of rosemary and protective herbs.
The pixie's shoulders shook with suppressed mirth, her back deliberately turned toward us in a poor pretense of not eavesdropping.
"That's—that's completely inappropriate workplace conversation," I managed.
Silas raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow, the small silver hoop piercing it catching the light. "Oh, we're concerned about appropriate workplace behavior now? That's rich considering you definitely fucked the boss."
"I did not—we didn't—it wasn't—" I sputtered, each denial weaker than the last. "There was a... a meeting. After hours. To discuss... café... things."
"Café things," Silas repeated flatly, his eyes gleaming with demonic delight. "Like how to properly operate the espresso machine? Because you seem to be struggling with that basic task this morning." He gestured to where I was absentmindedly tamping coffee grounds with far too much pressure.
I jerked my hand away from the machine as if burned. "I'm just tired."
"From your meeting," Bramble chimed in, her voice tinkling like wind chimes despite the sarcasm dripping from every word. "The very not-at-all-naked meeting about café things."
My gaze snapped to the pixie, who had finally turned to face us. The rosemary wreath in her hands was half-finished and slightly lopsided, evidence of how long she'd been eavesdropping instead of working.
"Both of you can just…just shut it," I mumbled, trying to sound authoritative and failing spectacularly. "Nothing happened."
"The hickey peeking out from your collar suggests otherwise," Silas observed casually, reaching past me to snag a clean mug.
My hand flew guiltily from my throat. "It's a rash," I lied desperately. "From a new detergent."
"A rash," Silas repeated, each word dripping with disbelief. "Shaped like teeth marks. From detergent." He turned to Bramble. "You hear that, Bram? Our manager has a detergent rash shaped like massive fangs. We should report this dangerous laundry product immediately."
Bramble's tinkling laugh filled the café as she fluttered closer, the rosemary wreath abandoned on the windowsill. "Definitely. Public safety issue."
I grabbed a towel and furiously wiped at an already clean section of counter, avoiding eye contact with both of them. "Don't you have pastries to arrange, Silas? And Bramble, those protective wreaths need to be finished before the lunch rush."
My attempt to reassert managerial authority might have been more effective if my voice hadn't cracked embarrassingly on "rush" or if my hands weren't trembling so badly that I knocked over a stack of neatly arranged cups.
Silas caught one before it could shatter, his movements supernaturally fast. "Careful there, boss lady," he said, his tone gentling slightly despite the mischief still dancing in his eyes.
"We're just teasing. Mostly." He paused, setting the rescued cup down safely.
"But seriously, are you okay? Because you look like you've been rode hard and put away wet, and not entirely in the fun way. "
The unexpected concern in his voice nearly broke me, I swallowed hard. "I'm fine," I said, the lie automatic but less convincing than usual. "Just... processing."
Bramble zipped over to hover near my shoulder, back to her smaller form, her tiny hand patting my cheek with surprising gentleness. "Processing a proper dicking, from the looks of it," she said, but the crude words carried an undercurrent of genuine care.
Silas and Bramble exchanged a look over my head, I didn't need to see it to know it happened.
"I'll get these cookies set up," Silas said finally, lifting his tray again.
"But this conversation isn't over, honey.
Not by a long shot." The chains on his horns jingled like cheerful warning bells as he moved toward the pastry case.
"And when tall, dark, and horned shows up, try not to spontaneously combust from sexual tension. It's bad for business."
I groaned and dropped my forehead to the cool counter, wondering if it was too late to pretend I'd come down with a sudden, highly contagious case of plague.