//CLARA//
I settled back against the velvet carriage seat, the day’s triumph still humming in my veins. Oliver’s Linotype had perford beautifully—better than I had dared hope—and the warehouse crowd had responded with the kind of enthusiasm that ant contracts, expansion, a future built on sothing other than family na and social maneuvering.
But none of that mattered now, not with Casimir sitting across from , his coat finally unbuttoned, his posture that particular blend of rigid and unraveling that I had learned to read like scripture.
"You were magnificent today." His voice was rough, but not from today’s fatigue. "But you already know that."
I laughed, tilting my head to watch him through the dim carriage light.
"Magnificent in the warehouse, or—"
"Everywhere." His hands gripped the seat’s edge, knuckles white even in the amber glow of the interior lamps. "That dress. That infernal, perfect dress. Do you know what it cost not to tear it from you in the middle of that demonstration? To drag you behind so crate and take you until you couldn’t rember your own na, let alone typewriter chanics?"
The words hit and the heat instantly flooded between my legs with embarrassing speed.
I had spent the day feeling capable, professional, modern—this woman who had engineered her own success in a world designed to exclude her. And here was Casimir, reducing all of it to ash with the filthy promise in his voice.
"A caveman," I managed, though my breath ca faster now. "That’s what you are. A beautiful, ridiculous caveman."
I pushed myself across the narrow carriage space, the velvet seat yielding beneath my palms as I moved toward him. Our knees knocked together, my skirts bunching between us, and I felt rather than saw his intake of breath, the way his chest expanded against the starched fabric of his shirt.
"Don’t ruin my dress this ti," I whispered, my mouth inches from his ear.
The carriage rocked gently over the cobblestones, a rhythm that seed to pulse through my body. "I an it, Casimir. This one cost more than ten horses."
His hands found my waist, spanning it easily, and I felt the pressure of his fingers even through the corsetry and silk.
"I’ll try not to," he murmured, and his breath was hot against my neck, stirring the fine hairs there. "But I make no promises."
The carriage hit a rough patch of road and I swayed into him, or perhaps I simply let myself fall. His grip tightened, and I felt the decision settle between us like a stone.
There was no more banter after that—only the urgency that had been building since the warehouse. I understood exactly what he wanted.
His mouth found mine with a force that knocked my head back against the padded wall. I tasted the wine we’d shared at dinner. His hands moved to my shoulders, sliding the silk sleeves down my arms until the bodice of my dress gaped precariously, my breasts threatening to spill free with each jolt of the carriage.
"I’ll be damned," he breathed against my neck, the word shocking and perfect in his proper mouth.
His stubble scraped my collarbone as he worked his way lower, teeth grazing the swell of my breast above my corset.
"I’ve been hard for you since you walked into that warehouse. Since you smiled at Oliver like that, all clever and sure of yourself, and I wanted to drag you out by your hair."
I arched into him, my fingers finding the buttons of his coat, his waistcoat, the linen beneath.
"You should have," I gasped, as his thumb found my nipple through the thin fabric of my chemise, circling until I was squirming against him. "You should have fucked against the printing press. Let them see what you do to ."
The carriage swayed around a corner and I tumbled sideways, landing half across his lap. His cock pressed hard and insistent against my hip through his trousers, and I ground down against it deliberately, watching his face go slack with pleasure. His head fell back against the seat, throat exposed, and I leaned in to bite the tendon there, to suck a mark that his cravat wouldn’t quite cover.
"Clara." My na ca out strangled.
His hands were under my skirts now, shoving layers of petticoats aside with rough impatience. I felt the cool air of the carriage on my bare thighs, then the heat of his palm sliding upward, finding already wet, already open for him.
"Christ," he muttered, and I felt the vibration of the word against my breast where he’d pushed my chemise down.
His fingers circled my clit with devastating precision, the rhythm matching the sway of the carriage, and I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood to keep from crying out.
"You’re soaked. You’ve been like this all day, haven’t you? Sitting there, looking so proper, and your cunt was dripping for ."
I couldn’t answer, could only rock against his hand, my own fingers finally freeing his cock from his trousers.
He was pulsing with the sa frantic rhythm as my heart. I stroked him once, twice, spreading the bead of moisture at his tip down his length, and he groaned against my breast where he’d sucked my nipple into his mouth, the wet heat of it making clench around nothing.
"Don’t be a dick now," I demanded, guiding him to my entrance, not caring about the angle or the discomfort or the fact that we were in a carriage on a public road. "Casimir, I need—"
He thrust up into as the carriage hit another rut, the force of it driving him deep and knocking the breath from my lungs.
I threw my head back, my hair coming loose from its pins to tangle around us both, and he used his free hand to grip my hip, holding steady as he fucked up into with short, brutal strokes.
"Quiet," he warned, though his own breath was coming in harsh pants that anyone passing on the street might hear. "The coachman will hear you, and I’m gonna have to stop—"
"You won’t," I gasped, grinding down to et each thrust, feeling the slide of him everywhere, the way he filled completely and still I wanted more. "You can’t. You’re too desperate for this."
His answer was to shift his grip, his thumb pressing hard against my clit as his cock drove into that spot inside that made stars burst behind my eyelids.
The carriage lamps swung with our motion, shadows dancing across his face, and I watched him lose himself in , reduced to animal need and ragged breath.
I ca first, the orgasm ripping through with shocking speed, my body clenching around him so hard I felt him falter, felt his rhythm stutter.
I buried my face in his shoulder to muffle my cry, my teeth sinking into the wool of his coat as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through , leaving shaking and limp.
He was right behind , his grip on my hip bruising as he reached the edge. I felt the sharp, sudden hitch in his breath before he pulled back, his hand tightening on my skin as he spent against my stomach.
His groan was swallowed against my shoulder. I watched his face in the dark, the way his control splintered, the way he let himself fall apart in my hands.
Sothing twisted in my chest—not guilt, not regret. Just the knowledge that I had done this to him. That I could reduce this careful, controlled man to nothing but breath and want.
And that he trusted enough to let see it.
We stayed like that for a mont, the carriage continuing its steady progress toward ho. Then Casimir’s hand moved from my hip to my face, tilting my chin up so he could study in the lamplight.
His thumb traced my swollen lower lip, my kiss-bitten neck, the wild tangle of my hair.
"Your dress," he said finally, his voice rough, and I looked down to see the silk crushed and wrinkled, a torn seam at the shoulder where his impatience had won.
I laughed, the sound breathless and giddy. "I told you not to ruin it."
"I told you, I made no promises."
User Comments
0 comments from readers