//CLARA//
The tension didn't de-escalate.
If anything, the near-discovery had only fueled the fire. Casimir's hands were back on me, fingers twisting in my hair, yanking my head back as he slid inside me again. His mouth was everywhere—my throat, my collarbone, the bruises he'd left hours ago. He was covering every inch of me, as if he could weld himself into my soul.
Aunt Cornelia's voice was still rattling around my skull. Her insults still stinging like a fresh slap on my skin. And Casimir was burning them off with every punishing stroke.
His hips snapped against mine with a violence that felt like a localized earthquake. The bed groaned beneath us, and I bit down hard on the meat of his palm to keep from screaming. I wanted the pain. I wanted the distraction.
I needed something more real than the suffocating corset of lies I wore every morning.
We stayed tangled and sweating, until our breathing slowed.
