Chapter 165: Chapter One-Hundred-Sixty-Five: Flesh and Friction
//CLARA//
The iron stove hissed and snapped, devouring another piece of wet wood. Outside, winter sleet lashed the glass. Inside, the air was thick with cheap lye soap and the sharp bite of antiseptic left behind by the innkeeper’s wife.
I remained frozen on the edge of the sagging mattress, right where he had left me after that punishing, rough kiss.
Casimir’s posture was stiff, his broad chest bare under the flickering amber glow of a single tallow candle. The white linen bandages wrapped tightly around his midsection were already seeping a tiny, dark blossom of red where the bullet had grazed his ribs.
My mind was still reeling. Just an hour ago, I’d watched him break a man’s kneecap like it was nothing. Just an hour ago, I’d seen the cold, empty satisfaction in his eyes as Bartholomew’s leg caved inward at an impossible angle.
I should have been repulsed. I should have been looking for a way out of this room, a way out of this marriage, a way out of this entire godforsaken century.
Instead, when I had seen him kneeling in the mud beside our slaughtered driver, clutching his bleeding side, my heart had physically stopped. The terror of losing him had completely paralyzed me. I wasn’t terrified of what he was. I was terrified of a world where he didn’t exist to keep me safe.
The contradiction clawed at my chest.
"Clara."
I blinked, pulling myself back to the room. I hadn’t realized how long I’d been staring at him. His dark brows slightly furrowed.
"Your mind is too loud." His eyes narrowed on my face. "If you are going to regret staying, say it now before—"
I didn’t let him finish the sentence. I couldn’t listen to him rationalize his clinical cruelty or his possessive control over my life for one more second.
I leaned down and kissed him, pouring everything I couldn’t say. My hands fisted in his hair, pulling his head back, and I felt the sharp intake of his breath against my lips.
His hand found my jaw. He tried to pull back, to regain control, but I wasn’t letting him. I bit his lower lip, hard, and he groaned into my mouth.
"Clara—"
Sliding off the edge of the mattress, I dropped straight to my knees between his thighs.
Casimir let out a surprised grunt, his entire frame freezing as my sudden movement jarred his stitched side.
His dark eyes widened slightly as I reached out and unbuckled his belt, pulling his trousers down.
I didn’t give him a chance to utter another word. I gripped the thick root of his shaft and leaned forward, burying his swollen head straight into my mouth.
Casimir reeled back against the wooden headboard, a loud, guttural gasp ripping from his throat as his fists immediately fisted the bedsheets.
My throat stretched to accommodate his size as I closed my lips tightly. I moved my head, drawing him in as deep as I could manage, my tongue swirling around the sensitive ridge of his head before sliding all the way down to the root.
"Clara... fuck," he growled, his large hand snapped down, his fingers tangling brutally into my hair.
He didn’t pull me off, instead, his grip tightened, guiding my head, forcing me down harder and faster onto his length. I looked up through the tangled strands of my hair, my eyes watering from the depth of him in my throat.
He was staring down at me, his face twisted with intense pleasure. He was a killer, but right now, I had him completely undone at my feet.
The build-up was too hot, too fast. Casimir’s hips twitched instinctively, wanting to slam up into my mouth, but a sharp wince crossed his face as the movement pulled his fresh stitches.
He groaned as he forcibly pulled my head back, extracting his glistening, dripping length from my mouth with a heavy, wet pop.
"Enough," he panted as he looked down. "If I finish in your mouth, I won’t get to feel how wet you are. Up. Now."
He didn’t wait for me to stand. Casimir grabbed my waist, hauling my body up onto the bed. With one swift motion, he grabbed the fabric of my bodice and yanked.
Buttons scattered across the floorboards like hail. He peeled the fabric down to my waist, exposing my bare breasts to the fire-warmed air of the room.
He pushed his hand down beneath the layers of my petticoats and didn’t waste time with the strings. His fingers ripped through the linen of my split-crotch drawers, exposing my clit to his touch.
His calloused fingers slid inside me, instantly choking me on a scream. He drove two fingers inside me, pumping into a punishing rhythm that made my hips slam against his thigh.
"You’re soaking wet for a monster, Clara," he whispered against my neck, his teeth scraping over my pulse point until I shuddered violently. "Look at me. Open your eyes and look at what you’re begging for."
I forced my eyes open, my vision blurry with tears. His fingers were working inside me, stretching me out, creating a wet, friction-filled ache that made my lower abdomen tighten into knots.
"I’m not begging."
My teeth gritted.
"You will be," he promised.
He lifted me slightly, positioning himself against my slick opening.
"Hold onto me," he grunted, his jaw tight as the movement strained the fresh stitches in his side. "And don’t move unless I tell you to."
He tightened his grip and shoved his hips upward, impaling me completely in one deep stroke.
My mouth flew open in a silent scream. He filled me completely, stretching my tight walls until they burned, bottoming out deep against my cervix.
I slumped forward against his shoulder, panting heavily, my body trembling from the sudden fullness. Casimir held himself perfectly still inside me.
"God, Clara," he rasped, his hands digging into my thighs. "You’re going to break my fucking stitches."
"Then don’t move," I whimpered, my hips twitching instinctively against him.
A dark, breathy laugh escalated from his chest. "Like hell."
He began to move. But because of his side, the pace was agonizingly slow. He tilted his pelvis, his cock sliding nearly all the way out, before plunging back in to the root. Over and over.
A wet, loud slapping sound filled the small room, our skin colliding, mixing with the low, slick noises of my fluids coating his length.
The buildup was too intense. I began to roll my hips, trying to force a faster pace, but Casimir’s hands snapped tight on my waist, pinning me down against his thighs.
"I told you not to move." His dark eyes flashed with a dangerous authority. "You don’t dictate the pace."
He increased the depth, his thrusts becoming harder. He drove into me, finding the exact angle that made my toes curl and my breath catch in my throat. I was entirely at his mercy, straddling him in a cheap inn room while the blood of his enemies dried on his knuckles.
The guilt of my secret identity flared up in my chest, mixing with the overwhelming pleasure. It made the entire experience feel forbidden and devastatingly addictive. He loved a ghost, but he was fucking me. He was claiming my soul with every brutal plunge of his hips.
"Casimir," I sobbed, my head throwing back as the tension inside me coiled tighter and tighter, reaching a breaking point. "Casimir, please."
He shoved up deeper, harder, his thick length stretching me to my absolute limit.
"Come for me, little bird," he muttered fiercely against my lips, his pace finally fracturing into a faster, rougher rhythm as his own control completely shattered.
He rammed into me three more times, hard enough to shake the entire wooden bed frame. The final thrust hit me, my walls clamped down around him in a cascading orgasm that ripped through my lower abdomen like wildfire.
I screamed into his shoulder, my body shaking uncontrollably as the pleasure completely broke me.
Hearing my scream, Casimir lost the last of his restraint. His hips locked upward as he drove himself as deep as he could go inside me. His body went completely rigid as his own orgasm burned deep against my womb.
He came for an eternity, his length twitching inside me, filling me to the brim until the excess warm fluid began to leak out and slick down my thighs.
For several long minutes, neither of us moved. The only sound in the room was the sound of our breathing and the steady rattle of the sleet outside.
Slowly, the high faded. Casimir collapsed backward against the wooden headboard, dragging my limp, trembling body down with him.
He didn’t let me slide off his length right away. He kept me tightly pinned against his bare chest, his arms wrapping around me.
I rested my chin on his collarbone, staring at the white bandages around his ribs. They were stained with a fresh, slightly wider circle of dark crimson.
The war with the syndicate was coming. The bloodbath would continue.
But looking at the stain on his chest, I knew one thing with absolute certainty.
I had chosen my monster.
