//CLARA//

I called for a footman to help Oliver to the guest room. He was half-asleep, leaning on the servant like a drunkard, muttering something about gears and patents. 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

"You are going to be fine," I said as they guided him through the door. "Sleep. We will talk in the morning."

He collapsed onto the bed. The footman pulled off his boots and draped a blanket over him. I stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him breathe.

"Thank you, Eleanor," he murmured, already half-gone. "For not giving up on me."

"It was the least I could do."

I went down to the library, where the fire had died down to glowing, red embers. I picked up the brandy decanter and drank straight from the crystal, the liquid searing a path down my throat.

One swallow. Two. Three, until it was empty. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, the knots in my chest finally loosening as the liquor hit my bloodstream.

By the time I reached my room and stripped off the corset and dress. I threw on a thin nightgown, but the bed felt too big, the room too quiet. My skin was humming with unspent electricity.

I sat up. I paced. I lay back down. I sat up again.

This was ridiculous.

I left my room and walked down the dark corridor. The house was silent, the moon casting pale silver shadows across the floor. I still did not like the dark, but the brandy made it easier to ignore my racing heart.

His door was closed. I turned the handle without knocking and slipped inside.

The room smelled of him. He was deeply asleep on his back, one arm thrown over his head. I felt like a predator, or maybe a sacrifice. I didn’t care which.

I climbed onto the mattress, straddled his hips, and began fumbling with the silk buttons of his robe. I rolled my hips slowly against the thick ridge of his cock, and I was halfway through the third button when his hand shot out like a trap.

He rolled and slammed me onto my back beneath him.

"What in the—" His voice was a sleep-roughened gravel. He blinked, his eyes adjusting. "Clara? What the hell are you doing in here?"

"Hello, darling." I purred. "Good morning."

"It is the middle of the night."

"I know."

He stared at me, chest heaving. His hair was a mess. He looked like a man who had been dragged out of a dream and was not sure if he was still in one.

"Why are you here?"

"I need you." I reached down and continued unbuttoning his nightshirt. "I am horny."

"What?" His hands caught mine again, stopping me.

I lifted my head and licked the curve of his ear. "I said, I am fucking horny."

He went very still. "You are drunk."

"I am not drunk."

"You smell like a distillery."

"I am pleasantly tipsy."

"You need to go back to your room."

I pulled my hands free and kept unbuttoning. "I don’t want to. Let me stay here. With you."

"Clara—"

I finished the last button and pushed the fabric aside, baring his chest. I ran my palms down his stomach, feeling the muscles jump beneath my touch.

"I want you to fuck me, Casimir. Hard. I want you to punish me for being a brat today."

He grabbed my wrists again. His grip was tighter this time.

"You are not thinking straight. I am not going to—"

"I am thinking very straight."

I pulled my hand free, again, and slipped it beneath his drawers, wrapping my fingers around him. He was already hard against my palm. I stroked him slowly, from base to tip, watching his jaw tighten.

"See? You want this too."

He groaned, his forehead dropping to mine. "Clara, please. Go back to your room."

"Fine." I let go of him and sat up, pushing him off me with a huff. "Maybe I’ll go to Oliver’s room instead. He’s probably lonely."

The change in him was instantaneous. I didn’t even get my feet on the floor.

He caught my waist and yanked me back onto the bed. I landed on my stomach, his body pressing me into the mattress, his mouth at my ear.

"Don’t." His voice was low, dangerous, barely human. "Don’t you fucking dare, Clara."

His hand gripped my jaw, forcing my head to the side. His thumb slipped past my lips and pressed down on my tongue. I sucked him immediately.

He groaned. I giggled. He snapped, flipped me over and claimed my mouth.

It was not gentle. It was not romantic. It was rough and unceremonious, his teeth scraping my lower lip until I tasted blood. He bit down, hard, and I moaned against his mouth.

He pulled back just enough to look at me. His eyes were dark, wild, barely controlled.

"Is this what you want?"

He ripped my chemise down the middle, the fabric tearing like paper. His hand closed around my throat, lightly squeezing until my vision pulse.

"You want me to fuck you like you do not matter?"

"Yes."

"You want me to forget that you are drunk and ravage you?"

"Yes."

He laughed. It was not a happy sound. It was feral.

He flipped me onto my stomach again and yanked my hips up, forcing me onto my knees. His hand came down on my bare ass, hard, and I cried out.

"You wanted to be punished," he growled. "Here is your punishment."

The pain blurred into heat, spreading through my thighs, my belly, my chest. I pressed my face into the pillow and moaned.

"Count," he ordered.

"One."

His hand came down again.

"Two."

Again.

"Three."

He spanked me again. And again. By the time he reached ten, my skin was burning, my thighs were slick, and I was trembling with need. Then he grabbed my hips and pulled me back onto his cock.

No preamble. He just thrust inside, rough and deep, and I screamed into the pillow.

"That is what you wanted, is it not?"

He set a brutal pace, slamming into me with a force that shoved me up the bed. His hand fisted in my hair, pulling my head back.

"You wanted me to use you. To treat you like a whore."

"Yes," I gasped. "Yes, yes, yes—God—yes!"

He fucked me like he hated me. Like he wanted to break me. His fingers dug into my hips hard enough to bruise. His breath was hot and ragged against my ear. Every savage thrust drove me deeper into the mattress, pinned me down, took me apart. I clung to the sheets, gasping, and begged for more.

"Harder," I sobbed. "Please. Harder."

He gave it to me.

His other hand found my breast, squeezing hard, his thumb and finger twisting my nipple until I cried out. He bit my shoulder and I felt the sting bloom across my skin as he violently rammed into me.

He flipped me onto my back and drove into me again, his hands pinning my wrists above my head. His face was inches from mine. His eyes were wild.

"Talk dirty to me," I whispered.

He growled low in his throat. "You want filthy, little bird?"

"Yes."

He thrust deeper, harder, and leaned close, his lips brushing my ear.

"I am going to fill your fucking cunt with so much cum that you will still be dripping tomorrow. You will sit at breakfast with my seed soaking through your drawers and smile at Aunt Cornelia like the proper little slut you are."

I moaned. "That is disgusting."

"You asked for it."

"Again."

He grabbed my ankle and forced my leg up, bending my knee toward my shoulder, opening me wider, taking me deeper. I gasped at the impossible stretch.

"Too much," I breathed.

"No," he growled. "Not enough."

I do not know how long it lasted. Minutes. Hours. Time had stopped meaning anything. There was only the slap of skin, the ragged breathing, the heat building and building until I could not think, could not breathe, could only feel.

"Please," I begged. "Please, Casimir—"

"Please what?"

"Please let me come."

He reached around and found my clit, his fingers circling roughly. I came, biting into his arm, my body clenching around him in violent, pulsing waves. He followed moments later, burying himself deep and groaning my name like a curse.

We stayed tangled together in the dark for a moment. Then he rolled off me and pulled me tightly against his chest.

I ran my fingers through his hair. "That was fun."

"Do not ever threaten me with another man again."

I grinned against his skin. "If that is the only way to get this? I am absolutely doing it again."

He grunted. "You are sending me to an early grave, woman."

"I will mourn you beautifully."

He laughed. His chest still heaving against mine.

"Are you alright?" His voice was soft now. Barely a whisper.

"I am perfect."

He kissed my forehead. "Go to sleep, little bird."

"I am not tired yet."

"Don’t be stubborn."

He flicked my nose. I smiled, closed my eyes, and was gone.