MY RUIN: In Love With My Step-Uncle-Chapter 83 - Eighty-Three: The Watchmen

//CLARA//

Apparently, my brain decided that a traumatizing warehouse in the middle of the night was the perfect place for a romantic epiphany.

Casimir tucked the letter into his pocket.

"The carriage is waiting, Clara. Let’s leave this place to the rats."

I didn’t move. The adrenaline was curdling into something bitter. Casimir noticed, his brows furrowing.

"Are you alright?"

I forced a smile, though my mood had soured like milk left in the sun.

"Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?"

He stared at me, trying to peel back my skin and see what was underneath.

The silence stretched.

The warehouse pressed in around me. Shadows pooled in the corners. Rust and machinery hung in the air. The half-assembled Linotype stood in the gloom like a skeleton.

"You are quiet," he observed. "Is it your foot? Are you unwell? We should leave—let me tend to it."

Ugh. Here he goes again. Melting me into a puddle. Had he done this to others? How had he perfected this attentive act on another woman’s bedside?

"I’m fine," I lied. "Just contemplating my life choices. Breaking in and trauma diving. The usual Wednesday night."

He stepped closer. His hand cupped my jaw, tilting my face toward his. His eyes searched mine.

"You are lying."

I wanted to shove the jealousy down, but the words hit the air before I could stop them.

"You’re so good at this, aren’t you? I am just wondering how many other women have had the pleasure of your dark corner expertise."

Casimir froze, confused. "How many what, Clara?"

"Women."

He let out a dry, disbelieving chuckle and tapped the tip of my nose.

"Where is this coming from? I wish I could read that overactive imagination of yours just to see what phantoms you’re conjuring."

I backed away until my spine hit the table. "I just want an answer."

"If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were jealous. Of what? I have no idea."

I let out a sharp, brittle laugh. "I’m not jealous. You just haven’t given me a number."

"You want me to answer that here? While we’re holding the evidence to free your friend?"

He stepped into my space, his thumb smoothing the crease between my brows.

"You think I’ve touched another woman since you arrived. That I have fucked someone else while you slept in the next room."

The blunt vulgarity of it sent a jolt through me, hotter than the warehouse air.

"Have you?"

His thumb traced my cheekbone with a tenderness that felt like a threat. "Fifteen minutes."

"What?"

"That’s how long I’m going to spend proving you wrong."

His hand found my waist, fingers digging into my dress with a proprietary hunger.

"Fifteen minutes of showing you exactly how many women I’ve been with since you darkened my doorstep."

He didn’t wait for permission. His mouth crashed against mine, hot and demanding. His teeth caught my lower lip, tugging until I gasped, and then his tongue swept inside to claim every corner of my mouth.

I clutched at his shoulders, fingers finding the rigid line of muscle beneath the linen. He lifted me into the table with effortless strength. Wood bit into my thighs through my skirts, cold and solid against the heat building between my legs.

"One," he growled. "You. From the moment you arrived, wild-eyed and spitting challenges at me. There’s only you."

His fingers worked at the buttons of my dress, slipping them open and exposed to the lamplight. He paused, his gaze raking over me with visible hunger, before his mouth found the hollow of my throat.

"Every night," he continued, his breath rough against my skin. "Every goddamn night, I’ve gone to bed hard and aching, imagining you spread beneath me since I took a bite from your apple."

His hand slid up my thigh, brutally pushing skirts aside.

"You remember that, little bird?"

The memory resurfaced. Yes. That night.

I nodded, unable to speak.

The sensation sent liquid heat pooling between my legs, my body responding to his touch with embarrassing eagerness. I arched into him, desperate for more contact.

He found the edge of my drawers, tearing them with a sharp rip of fabric, followed by the warmth of his palm cupping me.

"Wet." His thumb circling the sensitive bundle of nerves. "See? This is why no other woman could ever compare to you."

I gasped, his fingers finding my entrance and provided me with a harder stroke. The stretch burned in the most exquisite way, my body clenching around him as he worked me open.

I cried out, my hands clutching at the table’s edge for purchase, my hips bucking against his hand with mindless need.

He unbuttoned his trousers single handedly, his eyes never leaving mine.

"I’ll give you every inch of me, Clara. Until you forget every doubt, every moment you wondered if I touched another."

He positioned himself between my legs, the broad head of his cock pressing against my entrance with tantalizing pressure. My breath coming in shallow gasps.

"Eyes on me. Watch my face as I fuck you. See what you do to me."

He thrust into me in one smooth, claiming motion, filling me completely.

A cry ripped through my throat, my head falling back before I caught myself and forced my eyes to his as he’d demanded.

"You are the only catastrophe I permit in my life. Do you understand?" He gritted out, driving back in with a force that made the table creak.

Then, the world tilted.

Boots thudded on cobblestones. A lantern beam swept past the window along with murmuring voices.

The watchmen.

"Shh," Casimir hissed.

He clamped a hand over my mouth and extinguished the lamp, plunging us into absolute darkness.

The panic hit me like a tidal wave. I was back in the chair, back in the ropes, and the man holding me wasn’t Casimir anymore. I began to thrash, a muffled scream dying in my throat as I spiraled into the void.

He was still inside me, still hard, and the wrongness of it—the intimacy mixed with terror—made my vision swim with dizzying nausea.

I trembled beneath him, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes into my hair.

He slid his hand from my mouth, but before the scream could escape, his fingers wrapped firmly around my throat. It wasn’t a choke. It was a grip that forced my nervous system to stop screaming and start feeling.

"Focus on me," he coaxed, his breath hot and ragged against my ear. "Listen to my voice. Feel my cock inside you. That’s real. That’s now. Everything else is smoke."

He shifted his hips and began to move inside me, relentless and fierce, each thrust driving me deeper into the table. His hand at my throat tightened like a promise, holding me in place while his body claimed me.

"You are here," he whispered, his control fracturing at the edges. "With me. In the dark. And I am going to fuck you until the only thing you remember is the way my cock feels inside you. Until the only hands you feel are mine. With my name on your lips."

He thrust deeper, harder, punctuating each word with a stroke that stole my breath.

"There is nothing to fear here, little bird. Not the dark. Not the shadows. Not me. I have you. I will always have you."

His words were filthy and reverent, a prayer and a profanity in equal measure. I clung to them, to him, my fingers digging into his shoulders as he shifted his grip. He caught my knee and lifted, slinging my leg over his shoulder, opening me wider, driving deeper into the slick, clutching heat of me.

The new angle made me gasp, made him groan as he pounded into me with a rhythm that was merciless and perfect.

There was nothing left but the slap of his hips against my thighs, the ragged sound of his breathing, and the relentless pressure building low in my belly, coiling tighter and tighter until I could not think, could not breathe, could only feel.

"Casimir."

"Yes, I am here, little bird." His thrusts became erratic and wild. "You can let go. Now."

I shattered. My body convulsed around him, my cry muffled by his hand. He followed immediately, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural groan that seemed torn from his chest.

I collapsed into his chest, a tangle of limbs and ragged breath against him. The darkness no longer a threat but a blanket.

Outside, the watchmen’s footsteps faded into silence.

"Now let’s get out of here," he murmured against my temple, "before Aunt Cornelia launches a search and rescue party."

I chuckled, imagining that ghastly spider rounding up the cops for her beloved great-niece and nephew.

"Yeah, you’re right."

"Can you walk?" he asked.

I raised a brow, a slow smile spreading across my face. "Will you carry me if I cannot?"

The ghost of amusement lingered in his voice as he spoke.

"I would carry you across New York if necessity demanded it, little bird. Whether you would permit it is the greater question."