“You’re three hours late for your shift. Mr. Roberts was ranting about you, and we all tried to cover, but…”
I gulp. “But what?”
“He says if you don’t make it for the rush hour at lunchtime, then you can find yourself another job and another place to live.”
“Shit,” I drop the phone.
“Are you still there?”
“Y-yes,” I blurt. “How long do I have left?”
“An hour.”
“Thanks.” I hang up, swing my legs out of bed and jog to the bathroom, cursing myself for slacking.
This isn’t like me at all. I have my routine and I’m always in bed by nine with a book, asleep by ten and awake at six at the latest. What on earth just caused me to oversleep—
Memories hit me all at once. The thunderstorm, Jessika’s fated mate meditation, the dark figure at the foot of my bed, and the tentacles. But they are hazy—almost like a dream. Because no matter how vivid it felt, my body just isn’t capable of multiple orgasms… Is it?
I stand in front of the mirror, finding red marks on my wrists and around my waist. My nipples are redder than usual, as is the skin of my inner thighs. Arousal floods my core, and I suppress a moan. Maybe I got tangled up in the sheets and did it to myself? Stranger things have happened in books.
Raising a hand, I brush my fingertips over my nipple and shiver. They feel raw, as though someone has pulled and pinched them for hours.
“Shit” I mutter under my breath. The pheromone must have kept me from freaking out because I’d never get freaky with a tentacle monster.
“It was all real. But how?”
The sun disappears behind a cloud, casting the bathroom in shadow. I step into the bath, turn on the hot spray and cover myself in shower gel. Every inch of my skin feels tender from the monster’s touch. His tentacles were everywhere last night, and what he did to my clit was beyond description.
If I had the time, and if my body wasn’t feeling so raw, I would rub myself to orgasm. But for once in my entire existence, I feel strangely fulfilled.
“What would have happened if I’d let him penetrate me?” The muscles of my core pulse in protest. I ignore them and step out of the shower.
It’s one thing to allow a creature of unknown origin to grope me under the covers. Quite another to let him get me pregnant.
I run down the stairs to find a long line curving around the coffee shop’s interior. My watercolors hang on the walls, but I’m too agitated to notice if anyone is looking at the paintings.
Mr. Roberts stands beside the counter with his arms folded across his chest, glaring down at me like I’m a naughty schoolgirl. He’s one of the few people who tower over me, even when I’m wearing shoes with a thick platform. This morning, he looks like he wants to eviscerate me with his glower.
“Alexis,” he says, his words clipped. “Come with me.”
My heart skips a beat. He usually enjoys yelling at people in public or firing them on the spot. If I have to speak to him in private then this has to be a huge deal.
Without another word, he turns on his heel, and I follow him around the counter and to the back. His office is at the far end of the employee changing room, a locker-lined space nobody uses because it’s overlooked by Mr. Roberts’s glass-fronted room.
Today, the blinds are closed, which means nobody can see if he’s planning on throttling me. Shaking off the anxiety, I stare at his narrow shoulders. Mr. Roberts is all bark, but usually backs down when someone stands up to him and growls.
He holds the door open, waits for me to step inside, and then shuts it with a click.
“This is a delicate matter,” he says.
My stomach plummets, and I try not to clap a hand over my mouth. He’s going to fire me. Fire me and then tell me to clear my things from the attic.
Mr. Roberts folds his arms across his chest. “Can you explain the loud noises that came from your apartment last night?”
I step back, my jaw dropping. “Sorry, what?”
He winces. “What employees do in their own time is no business of the company.”