Danielle’s POV
*****
The morning after the best orgasm of your life is supposed to be absolute bliss.
You wake up smiling like an idiot and wondering how soon is too soon for round two.
Your mind should be free, replaying your favourite parts.
But of course, when it comes to my life—shit is always different.
Crazily different.
My eyes batted open slowly as I sat up with a grunt.
“W–What the fuck?” Even before fully regaining consciousness I could feel this odd stickiness between my legs.
Odd and familiar.
Sliding a hand down there, I stiffened when I touched it.
My body twitched as though every cell was reminiscing.
Images began flashing through my mind as I swerved my head to the floor beside me.
There, lying on the marble, was my underwear.
I squeezed my legs subconsciously as I remembered HIM.
Those large, six arms wrapping around me.
His gorgeous silver eyes.
The way he looked at me like a goddess worth worshipping before burying his face between my thighs.
Jesus Christ.
“That had to be a dream.” I stuttered, struggling to get off the bed.
Once my feet were on the floor I picked up my underwear and hurried to the mirror.
And sweet fuck, I looked like I crawled out of World War Three.
My hair was messy.
My eyes were lazily half lidded.
My… thighs.
Was I losing my mind or were those palm prints on my upper thighs?
I stepped away from the mirror, rubbing my head.
“N–No. It had to be a dream. A wet dream from stress,” my stomach churned as I refused to believe the other possibility.
The one my body screamed was the actual one.
If what I experienced last night was real… wouldn’t it count as sexual assault?
I mean, yes, I enjoyed it—but fuck, who just lets a random man break into their home and eat them out?
Just when I spun to the bathroom, my eyes slid to the terrarium.
Bobby was lazily lounging over a tiny piece of wood, probably sleeping.
I should’ve found that cute.
But then I remembered something the strange man said before I slept off.
“Bobby was a truly terrible name choice.”
Chills crawled down my spine as my brows furrowed.
How the fuck did that creep know what I named my spider?
“None of this is making any sense.” I shook my head, rushing into my bathroom.
Maybe a cold shower will help me differentiate hallucinations from reality better.
At least, before I lose my mind.
★★★★★
The first thing I did after freshening up was to research my situation on Google.
My first search?
“Can stress induce realistic sex dreams?”
Surprisingly, the AI overview answered positively, saying dream states helped process unresolved emotional tension.
I read a little more into it, even taking a little dive into Reddit posts and articles on sex dreams.
All that should’ve calmed me.
It didn’t.
For starters, I’ve had vivid dreams.
I’ve had loads of wet dreams—none of them were like last night.
None of them left behind spine-chilling evidence that they might’ve been more than a dream.
“What is my life at this point?” I placed my phone face down against the dining table, rubbing my forehead.
That’s when it rang.
Frowning, I lifted it to my face to see who it was.
Whitney… one of the employees from my nail tech studio.
Who I specifically told not to call me unless it was an emergency.
“Danielle, please don’t hang up.” Was the first thing she said when I picked the call.
“Well, good morning to you too, Whitney.” I pressed the phone lazily against one ear.
“Please, get to why you’re calling me or I will hang up. I had a long night and I don’t need—”
“You remember that influencer? The one whose TikTok videos I sent you last week?”
“Girl, you send me tons of TikToks from an equal number of influencers. You’ve got to be more specific.”
“Okay—the one with fifteen million followers,” Those words immediately drew my attention.
“Raquel Palmer? She’s here and I thought you’d like to do her nails personally. Should I—”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes!” I immediately shot away from the dining table, my heart in my ass as I stumbled to the stairs.
“Let me get dressed real quick. Don’t let her out of your sight!”
I hung up after that.
Shit!
An influencer coming to Vesper Nail Studio was one thing.
One with FIFTEEN MILLION followers though?
I wasn’t about to fumble the free publicity that could bring to my business.
In a flash, I changed into a more presentable outfit—a black leather jacket over a white t-shirt and form-fitting blue jeans.
I darted out of the house and jumped into my car, barely noticing the little traffic as I manoeuvred my way to the shop.
Once I pulled up in front of the shop, I took in a deep breath before stepping out of the car.
I wore my brightest smile as I waltzed past the French doors.
The familiar scent of acetone, polish and lavender air freshener hit me the second I stepped in.
For the first time all morning, the knot in my chest loosened.
Rows of polish bottles lined the walls like tiny colourful soldiers.
Gold pendant lights hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over marble workstations while soft R&B played through hidden speakers overhead.
The gentle hum of nail drills and bursts of laughter from clients blended into a strangely comforting melody.
The exact kind of normalcy I needed after waking up to a six-armed naked man hovering over my vagina.
A regular customer near the waiting area waved excitedly when she spotted me.
“Good morning, Danielle!”
I waved back as I made a beeline to Whitney.
She snapped her neck in my direction, her wavy blonde hair whipping alongside it.
“Well, that was fast.” She beamed, moving to me before I got to her.
“That’s her right there.”
I followed her gaze to a chair a few meters beside us.
On it was a pretty dark-skinned young woman—definitely in her twenties—with short hair dyed platinum blonde.
Her head was lowered to her phone which she typed away on.
And sure enough, I was indeed able to recognise her from a few product review videos I’ve come across.
“I owe you a promotion for this.” I pinched Whitney’s shoulder playfully as she urged me to meet our guest.
However, just when she finally raised her head and our eyes met—I heard the doors open behind me.
That wasn’t a problem until an aggravating voice came along with it.
“Yo, Danielle!”
My muscles became rigid on the spot.
I stood petrified, not wanting to believe that was who I thought it was.
Yet the bastard just had to keep on running his mouth.
“I’m sure there’s got to be some family discount here. Right?”
I managed to glance over my shoulder.
And like a scene out of my worst nightmares—there it was.
My ex-husband, Simon, strode in, donned in a black suit that shamelessly hugged his muscles.
Beside him was a familiar woman whose arm was wrapped over his shoulder.
The same bitch whom he cheated on me with.
I gnashed my teeth while glaring at the smug grin on the bastard’s face.
‘The universe has to be testing my ass at this rate.
And shit, I’m going to fail.
Woefully.’