MY RUIN: In Love With My Step-Uncle-Chapter 78 - Seventy-Eight: Copper Tub

//CLARA//

Casimir didn’t return as he’d promised.

Part of me was relieved. Every minute he spent in my room was another coal added to the fire of Aunt Cornelia’s suspicion, and I didn’t need a bonfire.

I sat against the headboard, trying to stitch my feelings back together.

This had been the plan, had it not? Use him. Do not get attached. I was too sharp, too modern, too selfish to be caught in a Gilded Age romance. I was here to survive, not to lose myself in it.

But the thought of destroying him turned my stomach to stone. Not because I would lose his protection or his name. Because I would lose him. Because I would be the one who pushed his pedestal over the edge.

I had spent my whole life walking away unscathed. But I had already chosen. And God help me, I had not chosen myself.

The room was ablaze with a dozen gas lamps. Hattie had drawn a bath hours ago but I couldn’t bring myself to move. PTSD is a persistent bitch, and the dark still felt like hands around my throat. I tucked the diary back into its hollow and lay in my silk robe, my body still feeling like a lead.

I only meant to blink.

I did not realize I had fallen asleep until a featherlight touch on my foot woke me.

My brain conjured vivid images from the docks. I could almost feel rough hemp and horrible hands against my skin. My legs instantly recoiled, folding against my chest.

"Easy," a low voice rumbled.

My vision cleared. Casimir was sitting at the foot of the bed, his silhouette softened by the lamplight. He didn’t chase my movement. He simply waited, his hands open and resting on his knees.

Slowly, reluctantly, I let the panic subside. I extended my leg back into his lap. He did not say a word. He just went back to tracing my scar like it was his new favorite hobby.

"You know you shouldn’t be here," I whispered.

His brows furrowed slightly. "And why is that?"

"Aunt Cornelia is starting to notice... us."

He lifted a brow, his thumb tracing the curve of my heel. "And since when did you start caring about what that woman notices?"

I sighed, the sound catching in my throat. "You know what I mean, Casimir."

"I know."

"And?" I tilted my head, searching his face.

He shrugged and lifted my leg to his lips, pressing a kiss to my ankle. The gesture was soft, almost absent-minded, sending a jolt of electricity that landed hot between my thighs.

My fingers curled into the bedsheets. He watched my face with dark patience.

I didn’t pull away.

He moved his lips higher, kissing the arch of my foot, then the heel where I’d been injured. It was so gentle it felt like a breath, worshipful, yet so intimate it made my mind spiral.

For a second, the phantom cold of the harbor threatened to pull me under, but I fought it, not wanting to drown.

"Casimir, stop," I croaked, though I didn’t move. "I’m filthy. I haven’t washed today."

He smiled against my skin. "Do you think I would care?"

I scowled, or tried to—the effect ruined by the heat in my cheeks.

"I do. I’m severely conscious of the fact that I probably smell horribly."

Casimir met my gaze, his thumb drawing slow circles that made it impossible to think.

"You smell exquisite."

I scrunched my nose, my eyes flickering toward the copper tub Hattie had left. He followed my gaze, and something sparked in his expression. He stood up, and before I could ask, his fingers were at his collar.

I watched, transfixed, as each button released, revealing more of his chest, the sparse dark hair, the defined muscle beneath. He shed the garment entirely, then moved to his trousers, his movements unhurried.

"What are you doing?" I asked, though the heat in my belly already knew the answer.

Knew and wanted and feared in equal measure.

He didn’t answer until the last of his clothes hit the floor. He leaned over me and tugged gently at the silk belt of my robe. It untied instantly. I was naked underneath.

His gaze traveled over me with slow, consuming appreciation, as if memorizing every curve. Then he bent, sliding his arms beneath me, and lifted.

"Let’s get you cleaned up then," he said in a mock-innocent rasp.

He carried me to the tub, his skin hot against mine. I shrugged the silk off my shoulders. He lowered me into the water, and a gasp whistled past my lips. It was freezing, but then Casimir stepped in behind me.

The cold vanished instantly, replaced by the heat of his chest against my back, his arms circling my waist to pull me flush against him.

"Casimir," I breathed, my head falling back against his shoulder.

His hands moved over me with devastating patience, mapping my ribs, my hips, the curve of my stomach, as if learning the terrain of my body.

"You can relax, my little bird."

His mouth found my throat, kissing a path to my shoulder, his teeth grazing with exquisite pressure.

The water lapped around us. I turned in his arms, needing to see him, to kiss him, and he met me halfway, his mouth claiming mine with a hunger that matched my own.

Our tongues slid together, the taste of him flooding my senses. I wrapped my arms around his neck, my breasts pressing against his chest, the contact sending sparks through me.

His hands gripped my hips, lifting me slightly. I gasped, my legs instinctively locking around his waist, feeling the blunt head of his cock drag over my sensitive folds. He did not rush. He stayed there, twitching against me.

"Please," I whispered against his mouth without a thought.

He groaned, his forehead pressing to mine.

"Say you want this..."

"I want you inside me," I breathed out, needing. "I want to feel you. Only you."

His eyes darkened, fierce and tender warring in their depths. Then he kissed me again, his hand sliding between us to guide himself inside.

My head falling back with a gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders. He was hot, so hot, and impossibly thick, stretching me out with a burn that bordered on too much yet somehow exactly enough.

"God," I moaned, my voice breaking. "Casimir—"

"Slow," he breathed against my ear, his hands gripping my hips to still my movements. "Slowly, little bird. Let me feel you."

He moved with agonizingly slow, each thrust measured and deep, dragging against every sensitive nerve inside me.

The water sloshed around us. I clung to him, my body arching to meet each drive, pleasure building in waves that seemed to have no crest, only endless, mounting intensity.

His mouth found my breast, closing around my nipple. A low moan broke from my throat as my fingers tangled in his dark hair.

He sucked hard, his tongue flicking, his teeth grazing, and the dual assault of his mouth and his cock inside me shattered something in my chest, some last barrier I’d held against complete surrender.

"Casimir," I gasped, pleading. "Don’t stop—"

"Never," he growled against my skin, his thrusts deepening, the rhythm quickening despite his earlier restraint. "Not until you’re screaming my name. Not until you forget every touch but mine."

The words alone nearly undid me.

I ground against him, picking up the pace, the water churning around us, my body tightening around his length with each powerful stroke.

He felt impossibly deep, filling me completely, and when his hand slid between us to press against my clit, the circling pressure was the final thread snapping.

I came with a cry of his name, my body convulsing around him as waves of pleasure crashed through me with such force that I saw white behind my closed eyes.

Not the darkness. Just him.

He groaned my name, his thrusts losing their rhythm as he chased his own release. I felt him swell, felt the hot pulse as he pulled out and spilled into my stomach, the water thinning it instantly. His arms crushed me to him, as if he could absorb me into his very bones.

We stayed like that for an eternity, panting. His face was buried in my neck, his breath warm against my skin.

I couldn’t move, didn’t want to. The afterglow hummed through me, making everything else seem distant. I pressed my lips to his jaw, feeling the faint stubble there. He made a soft sound, somewhere between satisfaction and exhaustion.

I traced lazy circles on his chest, marveling at the contrast—my pale fingers against his darker skin.

His lips found my temple, a barely-there pressure that made my eyes flutter closed.

"Clara."

The way he said my name held volumes, making me warm in all the right places. I shifted slightly, turning in his arms to lean back against him. His hand found mine beneath the water, his fingers threading through my own over my stomach.

The silence that followed was peaceful, and entirely too fragile.

"Casimir?"

"Mmm?"

"Aside from Silas... have you killed anyone before?"

The question came out of nowhere. His arms tightened around me.

He did not answer, and I wondered if I had broken something by asking.

"Yes," he spoke at last. "There have been others."