MY RUIN: In Love With My Step-Uncle-Chapter 46 - Forty-Six: Occupied
//CLARA//
Casimir’s hand found mine, his grip fever-tight. He didn’t speak. He pulled me hard and I stumbled after him, my legs still unsteady.
We barely made it through the door when his body pinned me against the wall before I could exhale, his mouth finding mine with the same desperate hunger he’d unleashed in the drawing room.
I stumbled backward, my spine hitting the cool marble wall. It was only when the chill seeped through my gown that I realized where we were. He pressed me into the stone like he could fuse us together.
"Someone will hear," I gasped against his mouth.
"I don’t care."
His hands were already at my skirts, gathering the silk, pushing them up my thighs. The cool air hit my skin, and then his fingers were there, finding me wet and aching, and I forgot why anyone would care about being heard.
"Casimir—"
He kissed me again, swallowing whatever I was about to say. His fingers moved, two of them sliding inside me with the same single-minded purpose he brought to everything. His thumb pressed against my clit, circling, grinding, demanding, and the shock of it ripped through me. I bit his lip, and he groaned against my mouth.
"This is a washroom," I managed.
"I noticed."
I laughed, and he smiled against my lips. It was ridiculous. We were ridiculous. The washroom was small, barely big enough for the two of us, the air thick with the scent of lavender soap.
"I can’t believe you dragged me in here."
"I can’t believe you think I was going to wait until we found an actual bedroom."
He pulled back just enough to look at me. His eyes were dark, his hair wild from my fingers, his mouth wet from mine.
"You were magnificent," he said. "In there."
"I know."
He let out a breathless laugh. "Modest."
"I’m many things, Casimir. Modest is not one of them." I wrapped my legs around his waist. "Did you bring me here just to talk about how magnificent I am, or are you going to do something about it?"
He pressed me harder into the wall, his hand still moving between my legs, his fingers finding the spot that made my vision blur. I arched into him, a sound escaping me.
"The door," I said. "You didn’t lock the door."
"I locked the door."
"Are you sure?"
He kissed me again, deep and thorough, and I forgot about doors and locks and the world outside. There was only his mouth, his hands, the way he said my name like it was the only word he remembered.
"Clara—"
My hands worked at his trousers with desperate, clumsy fingers. The buttons fought me, stubborn and small, and I tore at them until the fabric finally gave way. His cock sprang free, heavy against my palm, and I felt him shudder.
"Now," I demanded against his mouth, the word half-swallowed by his lips. "Right here. I need you inside me."
He didn’t answer with words. His hands gripped my thighs, lifting me onto the sink’s edge with a force that made the porcelain groan. My skirts bunched around my waist, cool air hitting my exposed skin, and then his fingers were back—rough, and probing.
From beyond the door, voices drifted upward from the kitchen. Servants, discussing the evening’s menu in casual, unhurried tones.
"The pheasant," someone said, distinctly, "needs another hour."
Laughter followed, light and unburdened, the sound of a world continuing its ordinary course while we clung to each other in the half-dark, breaking every rule that world imposed.
Casimir’s cock pressed against my entrance, my heels digging into the small of his back, pulling him forward.
He entered me in one hard thrust, filling me completely. The cry that tore from my throat was too loud. I couldn’t help it, and his hand clamped over my mouth before it could echo off the walls.
"Quiet," he breathed.
I bit down on his palm instead, teeth sinking into flesh, and he groaned, his hips jerking deeper.
The knock came then.
"Anyone in there?" A footman’s voice, bored, expecting emptiness.
We froze, him locked inside me, breathless. Casimir’s eyes found mine in the dim light, his pupils blown wide with need and something else—the thrill of being caught. I felt him pulse inside me, his cock twitching with the effort of holding still.
"Ignore it," I breathed against his palm, my voice barely audible. "Let them wait. Let them hear. Fuck me harder."
He didn’t hesitate. His hips drew back and slammed forward, the force of it rattling the porcelain, sending a jar of lavender soap skittering toward the sink’s edge.
I gripped his shoulders, my nails scoring through his coat, my legs tightening around him as he set a brutal pace—deep, punishing thrusts that made my head fall back against the mirror behind me, my hair catching on the silvered glass.
The footman knocked again, louder this time, irritation creeping into his tone.
"Hello? I need to fetch something—"
"Occupied," Casimir growled, the word torn from his throat, barely recognizable.
He didn’t slow, didn’t soften. If anything, the interruption drove him harder, his hands gripping my thighs with bruising force, spreading me wider for each merciless stroke.
I was lost in it, the slick friction of our bodies, the obscene wet sound of him fucking me, the desperate edge to his breath that told me he was close, so close. My own pleasure built in waves, each thrust pushing me higher, my cunt tightening around him, my hips grinding against his in frantic, needy circles.
"Casimir," I gasped, the name breaking apart on my tongue. "Don’t—don’t stop—don’t you dare stop."
He groaned, a fractured sound that seemed to splinter something in his chest. His hand moved down to my jaw, tilting my face toward his. His eyes burned into mine, wild and unguarded, all the careful restraint he’d worn like armor stripped away. His mouth crashed into me, hard and rough.
"Clara," he breathed, and I felt him swell inside me, felt the desperate pulse of his impending release building at the base of his cock.
But I was already there, my orgasm crashing through me in violent waves, my back arching off the sink, my cry of release smothered against his mouth as he kissed me deep and bruising.
He pulled out at the last possible second, his hand wrapping around his cock, stroking twice, three times—then he spent across my thigh in thick, hot spurts, his seed splashing against my skin.
His body shuddered through the aftershocks, his forehead dropping to rest against my shoulder, his breath ragged and desperate against my neck.
"That," I whispered, "was not quiet."
He chuckled breathlessly. "No."
I looked down at the mess he’d made on my gown, the silk ruined, the evidence of us stark against the dark fabric.
"My dress. Hattie will soon start asking questions about my ruined dresses."
"I’ll buy you another." He kissed me, soft now, a stark contrast to the violence of moments before. "Hell, I’ll keep buying you all the finest silk there is."
I trembled beneath him, my cunt still aching and pulsing where he’d been.
From the kitchen, just down the corridor, the voices continued their mundane chatter. The cook’s low grumble. A maid’s light laugh. The clatter of dishes. They were close enough to hear everything. If the door had been less thick, if Casimir’s hand had been less firm against my mouth.
They had no idea.
The footman had moved on, his footsteps retreating down the hall, a muttered curse fading into silence.
Casimir lifted his head slowly, his eyes finding mine. His thumb traced the line of my jaw, gentle now, almost reverent.
"I have lost all my senses," he murmured, the words half-accusation, half-wonder. "When I’m with you. Around you. Because of you."
I reached up, my fingers threading through his hair, still damp with sweat.
"We both have," I said softly. "And I don’t mind the darkness, Casimir."
His lips brushed mine, a soft kiss that spoke of things neither of us could yet name.
Things I didn’t dare put a name on.
Danger still circled the estate.
The world would demand our return soon enough. But for this stolen moment, we remained tangled together. Both our guards down, masks discarded, bound by nothing more than the desperate, defiant hunger of two people who had chosen, against all reason, to burn together rather than apart.
