Page 140 of Dishonored

“Oh, my God,” she whined.

It took one hard pull of her hips, and he was buried in her ass all the way to the base of his cock. The ache that settled deep inside her core was unlike anything, but it quickly turned into something else entirely as he started to pull out slowly.

Like his cock was hitting untouched nerves.

Dragging against every good spot she had.

Caesar was slow, and careful. Gentle strokes that filled her full, and then pulled right back out again. It drove her crazy—she just wanted more.

“Please fuck me,” Aria breathed, resting her cheek against the curved edge of the bed. “Fuck my ass, and make me feel good. Please.”

Caesar’s fingers pressed hard enough into her hips to leave bruises behind. His next thrust hesitated, and she knew she had him. Instead of another slow flex of his hips, he fucked her hard enough to make her whine. He didn’t slow between one thrust, and the next. Her words and moans melted into the same fucking sound.

Something wild.

Something raw.

Caesar leaned over her, and tangled one of his hands into her hair. His lips were at her ear, and he fucked her harder. “You better give it to me if you want me to come in your ass, donna. Give me what’s mine—come for me.”

It was the way he pulled her hair, how hard he pounded into her ass from behind, and the circling of his fingertips against her clit that threw her over the edge. She went numb all over but for the pleasure slicing through her body.

She heard nothing but him.

Felt only him.

He didn’t slow even as she came—if anything, her orgasm spurred him on to fuck her harder, and faster. She was just coming down from her high when she felt his last deep, jerky thrusts, and then he spilled inside her.

He came with a groan of her name.

Her name.

And it sounded like God on his lips.

Except it was her fucking name.

It was only when he’d pulled away from her, and those gentle hands of his were brushing the hair away from her face that she spoke again.

“My turn,” she murmured.

“Mmm, for what?” he asked.

“To get what I want—let me apologize.”

Caesar stilled. “I beg your pardon?”

“To your father, I mean. If we’re going to see this through, then issues between him and I won’t do us any good. Let me apologize to him privately for what happened, and then we can go from there.”

“Aria—”

“Please?”

She only ever needed to say that one word to get what she wanted. At least, when it came to Caesar.

This time was no exception.

Apparently, Angelo preferred to take his late breakfast in a small enclosed porch on the east side of his home. It allowed him to overlook the property, and gave him some semblance of privacy with only one wall of windows to stare out of.

Or, that’s what Caesar explained.