//CLARA//
The morning was a hungover grey, thick with the scent of spent adrenaline and the heavy metallic tang of the storm.
I surfaced from sleep in pieces. First, the raw, throbbing ache between my thighs, still tender and slick, still impossibly full. Then the slow drag of cock inside me, buried deep, pulling a moan from my throat before I was even awake.
Warmth pressed against my back. An arm locked around my waist. A hand splayed flat against my lower belly, holding me open. Thrusting with the kind of lazy certainty that said this had been going on for hours.
Every stroke pushed a soft, broken sound from my throat. Every withdrawal left me empty and clenching until the cock pushed back in.
"Casimir," I gasped.
Lips brushed the curve of my shoulder. "Go back to sleep, little bird. I've got you."
