Page 20 of Dishonored

“A bit, yeah.”

“Well, if I were an honest man—and I am, a good portion of the time—then I would say you didn’t actually look lonely at all, or like you were pissed about your husband.”

“Why would I be? Something better is always waiting, right?”

Fucking right.

“Something most definitely is waiting,” he agreed.

“Your name?”

“Caesar.”

The woman laughed—it was a breathless, yet musical sound. It made a shot of heat gather in his gut, and ricochet right down to his already-thick cock hammering against the zipper of his slacks. He didn’t even know how long it was going to take to get this woman’s legs spread, but at the moment, he couldn’t find it in himself to care, either.

Her tongue peeked out to wet her lips as she murmured, “Like the tyrant?”

“I am far worse than the fucking tyrant.”

“How so?” she dared to ask.

Well, if she wanted to know …

“Give me a peek of that pussy of yours, and I’ll show you,” he countered.

Her gaze widened. “Here?”

“What do you think this club is for, donna?”

“I—”

Her stare darted over his shoulder, and then toward one of the servers heading to another section to serve.

“Why do you think they’re all here?” Caesar continued, not giving her a chance to think or say more. “They come here for this. To watch and to hear and to get off.”

“You haven’t even asked my name,” the woman told him.

All the air was gone from her voice again.

He could hear how turned on she was.

“Does it really matter?” he asked.

“I might like to hear you say it while you fuck me.”

All right, then.

“Give me your name,” he demanded.

“Carina.”

Caesar nodded. “Okay, Carina. Spread your legs, give me a peek, and then I’ll show you my favorite place to fuck in this club.”

“You have a favorite place?”

“You will too after this.”

Her grin was back.