Page 117 of Dishonored

Fast as lightning, his hand came up, and clenched around her throat. Aria sucked in one fast breath, and let out a moan that echoed when he pushed her back to the table, and pinned her there. His fingers stroked deeper, then. They pressed firmer into her G-spot with knowing precision—she was going to come hard.

“You’ll be so fucking slick for me. Tight as hell when I fill you up, Aria. Don’t you want that?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

The noise a few feet away picked up. More refusals. More rage. More movement. Caesar only laughed because what did it matter now?

What done was done.

Glancing over his shoulder, he found the red-faced, humiliated man still stuck staring at the show in front of him.

“See this?” Caesar asked, grinning. “This is what gets her off—wait until I squeeze that pretty throat a little tighter, and you’ll love the way she screams my name.” Aria trembled; her legs widened a bit more for him, and her pussy clamped down hard around his fingers. There it is. “And if you treat her just right, then you’ll learn to love to make her—” Caesar cocked a brow, and his gaze cut back to Aria as he added, “Come.”

And she did.

Loudly.

Shaking.

Beautiful.

“Caesar.”

Her shout reverberated in the room—a breathless, high cry that came off entirely broken, but blissed just the same. He could have stayed like that forever; enjoying the sight of her with her skirt pulled up, and her pussy on display with his wet fingers buried knuckle deep inside.

But no.

Now, he needed what he wanted.

Pulling his hand from between her legs, Caesar made quick work of yanking her away from the table, and pushing it sideways. Aria moved for him, then, bending over the table so that she faced her husband while he moved in behind her, and spread her legs wide with two slaps of his hands. She was still shaking—her juices slicked down her thighs.

He pulled those panties of hers down just enough to give him access, and then he worked his own pants down over his hips. His length throbbed in his hand, already too fucking hard, and almost painful.

He stroked the head of his cock from the crack of her backside, down to her sex. That first thrust was hard, but he found heaven there, too. Damn—he’d been right. So fucking wet, hot, and tight around him.

Like velvet.

And fire.

Perfect, really.

“Jesus Christ,” Caesar grunted.

Aria’s fingers gripped tight to the edge of the table when he pulled out, and thrust right back in. Hard enough to send her flying up on her toes in those goddamn heels. Fuck-me-heels. They lifted her just enough for him to bend her over and fuck her anywhere.

He was starting to think he wanted to do that forever.

How could he not?

“Don’t fucking look away,” he heard Aria hiss suddenly. “I’m the whore, Raffe. Remember? Watch your whore, then.”

Damn.

She’d already come, and Caesar could tell this time, it wasn’t about her coming at all. She just wanted the man who hurt her to see what he didn’t have—what he had never been given from her. Even as Caesar’s pace became faster, and more brutal, she only begged for more, and urged him on.

Christ.

This woman …