MY RUIN: In Love With My Step-Uncle-Chapter 34 - Thirty-Four: Frustration

//CLARA//

I waited.

For what, I wasn’t sure. For his footsteps to return. For the sound of his voice telling me he’d made a mistake leaving.

Nothing.

Just the night air and silence. Just my own heartbeat, annoyingly persistent, reminding me that I was very much alive and very much alone.

I should have locked the terrace door. I knew I should have locked it. But my feet wouldn’t move, and my brain wouldn’t cooperate, and somewhere between he’s gone and get it together, I stopped caring about self-preservation entirely.

So I didn’t lock it.

"Fucking asshole," I muttered under my breath.

My body betrayed me, nipples hardening against the thin fabric of my nightshift, pussy already aching with a need I hated to acknowledge.

He just turned me on so badly. The man who watched me too closely with his gaze stripping me bare. Angry didn’t cover it. I wanted to scream, to shove him away, but the frustration twisted into a desperate throb that demanded release.

I collapsed onto the bed, sheets cool against my flushed skin. My hand trembled as I yanked up the hem of my nightshift. I spread my legs wide, knees bent, and let my fingers drift through my folds, parting the slick flesh. A breathy gasp escaped me, the sound loud in the silent room.

God, why him?

I thought, but the image flooded my mind unbidden. His strong hands pinning my wrists above my head, that muscular body caging me down as he thrust his thick cock deep into me.

In my fantasy, he didn’t ask—he took. He’d climb back through that terrace, silent and relentless, ripping my clothes off with rough tugs. I’d fight at first, nails scratching his chest, but he’d laugh low, capturing my mouth in a bruising kiss while his fingers pried my thighs apart.

"You want this, don’t you?" he’d growl, and before I could deny it, his cock would slam home, stretching my pussy wide, filling me to the hilt with one brutal stroke. I’d arch off the bed, hating how perfectly he fit, how his hips snapped forward in punishing rhythm, balls slapping against my ass with every drive.

I circle my clit with the pad of my middle finger, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting up my spine.

"Fuck you, Casimir," I breathe, the word falling from my lips like a prayer.

I close my eyes, but the darkness only heightens my other senses.

I slide a finger inside myself, then a second. My cunt clenches around them, greedy and tight. It’s not enough. It’s never enough.

My fingers mimicked the invasion, pumping faster now, curling to hit that spot inside that made stars burst behind my eyelids. I was so wet, the sounds obscene—squishy strokes echoing in the quiet room. I arch my back, my heels digging into the mattress, pushing myself further onto my fingers.

My free hand shoved under my shift, pinching a nipple hard, twisting it until pain blurred into pleasure. Anger fueled the pace. I imagined shoving him back, only for him to flip me onto my stomach, yanking my hips up and pounding into me from behind. His hand fisting my hair, pulling my head back as he railed me, cock dragging along my walls, hitting deeper, harder.

"Take it, little bird," he’d grunt, and I’d moan despite myself, pussy fluttering around him, begging for more even as frustration clawed at my chest.

The heat built relentlessly, frustration turning to frantic circles on my clit with my thumb while my fingers fucked in and out. I add a third finger, stretching myself, trying to fill the void. My hips buck off the bed, riding my own hand. The friction is delicious, the pressure almost painful.

Sweat beaded on my skin, breaths coming in sharp pants. In the vision, he’d flip me again, legs over his shoulders, folding me in half as he drilled down, his weight crushing me into the mattress. I’d claw his back, drawing blood, our argument dissolving into grunts and slaps of flesh.

His cock would swell, veins pulsing against my inner walls, and I’d feel him lose control—thrusts erratic, slamming through my climax as I came undone, pussy spasming, juices soaking us both.

But he wouldn’t stop. No, in my raging mind, he’d pull out at the peak, straddling my chest, jerking his slick cock until hot cum erupted across my face, into my open mouth.

I’d swallow what I could, the rest dripping down my chin, tasting salt and victory in my anger.

The thought pushed me over. My body seized, orgasm ripping through me like fire, walls clamping down on my fingers as I squirted, a gush that drenched my hand and the sheets. I cried out, muffled into the pillow, waves crashing until I collapsed, spent and trembling.

Frustration lingered, a bitter aftertaste, but so did the aftershocks of pleasure.

I lay there, fingers still buried deep, wondering if he’d climb back tonight. Part of me hoped he would, but he didn’t, and when I opened my eyes, it was already morning.

By the time I climbed into Bartholomew’s carriage, I’d convinced myself that the night before had been a fever dream. The ache between my thighs was real, though. A souvenir I’d carry with me through whatever fresh hell this promenade promised.

Bartholomew smiled as I settled across from him. The smile didn’t reach his eyes.

"You look tired, Eleanor."

"I didn’t sleep well."

"A shame." His gaze crawled over me like something sticky and unclean. "Perhaps the fresh air will revive you."

The carriage lurched forward. Bartholomew settled into the seat across from me, and for the first time, he didn’t start talking. He just watched. The silence was worse than his usual monologue.

We arrived at the park. I caught a glimpse of Casimir stepping out of his own carriage, those gray eyes already scanning, already searching. Then Bartholomew’s hand closed around my arm and steered me toward the trees before I could breathe.

"This way."

"The path is that way."

"I know a better one."

His grip tightened, and there was something in his voice that made my skin crawl.

I tried to pull free. His fingers dug in.

"I don’t think—"

"You don’t think at all." He yanked me off the main path, into the shade of the old oaks where the other strollers couldn’t see. "That’s your problem, Eleanor. You never think about consequences."

My heart slammed against my ribs. "What are you doing?"

"What I should have done weeks ago." He pushed me against a tree, his body crowding mine, his breath hot and sour against my face. "You think you’re too good for me? You think you can humiliate me in front of everyone and just walk away?"

"Let go of me."

"No." His hand slid up my arm, toward my throat. "By the time I’m done with you, no one else will want you. And you’ll have no choice but to take what I offer."

I opened my mouth to scream—

A blur of motion whistled past me, followed by a sickening crunch.

Bartholomew’s face snapped sideways as Casimir’s fist connected with his jaw. He stumbled back, hit the ground, and stayed there, blinking up at the sky like he wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there.

Casimir stood over him, chest heaving, knuckles already reddening. He was looking at me.

"Are you hurt?"

I shook my head, still pressed against the tree with my heart pounding

Bartholomew scrambled backward, hands raised.

"Wait—wait—it was a misunderstanding. I wasn’t trying to—she came with me willingly—"

Casimir’s fist connected again. Bartholomew’s head snapped back, blood spraying from his nose. He crumpled back into the ground.

"I wasn’t—I wasn’t—" Bartholomew tried to push himself up, spitting blood onto the leaves. "You can’t do this. I’m a Vanderbilt. My family will—"

Casimir grabbed him by the collar and hauled him up, then drove his fist into his stomach. Bartholomew doubled over, retching.

"She didn’t come willingly." Casimir’s voice was terrifyingly calm.

"She—she—" Bartholomew gasped for air. "She walked with me. Everyone saw. You can’t prove—"

Casimir hit him again. This time Bartholomew stayed down, curled on the ground, making sounds that weren’t quite words.

Casimir crouched beside him. Grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back.

"Let me make this simple for you." The voice he used in boardrooms when destroying men. "You will return to your carriage. You will go home. Tomorrow, you will write to my aunt and inform her that you have decided the match is not suitable. You will cite any reason you like—incompatibility, change of heart, a sudden desire to travel abroad. I don’t care."

Bartholomew whimpered, blood dripping from his nose

"If you breathe a word of what happened here today, I will ruin you." Casimir’s grip tightened. "Not physically. That would be too quick. I will start with your father’s shipping contracts. Did you know they’re up for renewal next month? I have three competitors ready to underbid him. Then I’ll move on to your cousin’s bank. A few well-placed rumors about solvency, and depositors get nervous. You know how it works."

Bartholomew’s eyes went wide.

"By the time I’m done, your name won’t just be mud. It will be ash. Your family will lose everything. Your friends will disappear. You’ll be lucky to find work as a clerk in someone else’s counting house." Casimir leaned closer. "And if you ever—ever—come near her again, I won’t bother with any of that. I’ll just kill you. Slowly."

Casimir held his gaze for a long moment, then he let go. Bartholomew’s face hit the dirt.

He stood and wiped his bloodied knuckles against his coat before reaching out, his fingers clamping around my wrist with a bruising force that brooked no argument. He simply hauled me through the dense line of trees, my skirts snagging on the undergrowth as he pulled me past the path.

He didn’t slow or look back until he’d shoved me into the carriage and slammed the door with a violence that shook the frame.

He sat across from me, breathing hard, blood still wet on his knuckles, his eyes fixed on the window as if he couldn’t bear to look at me. I looked down at my wrist, tracing the angry red marks where his grip had been. I knew they would be a deep, mottled purple by morning. 𝑓𝓇𝘦ℯ𝘸𝘦𝑏𝓃𝑜𝘷ℯ𝑙.𝑐𝑜𝓂

I didn’t care. The silence between us remained absolute for the entire ride home.