Page 48 of Dishonored

She needed to get him off of this conversation, and fast. Him talking about spreading her open did nothing but make her hot, and wet between her thighs. Neither of which was something she could afford to focus on right now.

“Why does your father hate you so much—besides the obvious reasons, I mean?” Aria questioned.

Caesar didn’t look the slightest put off by her question, and it didn’t really seem to take him by surprise. His ready answer did kind of take her off guard, though. “I’m not sure he does hate me, actually.”

“Really? I don’t know many fathers who yell at their sons like yours was just doing when they love them.”

His broad shoulders lifted uncaringly. “It’s only because he doesn’t hate me that he hasn’t killed me yet. The better question is what haven’t I done to make him hate me the way I hate him, and why the fuck hasn’t it worked yet.”

Aria blinked, stunned.

So, that was it?

He hated his father?

Why?

“But back to the other thing. Do I get a peek at what’s under your dress tonight, or no? ‘Cause, I am a curious little shit, and—”

“Stop playing games, Caesar.”

He barked out a laugh. “Me? You think it’s me playing games between us? I’m straightforward, Aria. I don’t need to play games. I can’t help if shit affects you, and you can’t hide it. You’re the one who manipulated and tried to blackmail me. And then had me picked up on the side of the street to bring me to a hotel room for a meeting I am sure you could have given me a heads up on in some way. You make demands, you direct the conversation, and you question me about my personal business. So, really, who is playing games between us?”

She stayed silent.

He apparently didn’t care.

Aria stiffened into a stone-still statue as Caesar suddenly moved closer to her with the slow grace of a predator. She couldn’t possibly step away from him—that might make him think she was afraid. She couldn’t tell him to back off—it would look like she was uncomfortable.

It meant weakness.

So, no.

She stayed still with her hard gaze and sly smile firmly in place even as Caesar came close enough to her that she could see those black flakes in the blue of his eyes again. Close enough that the warmth of his body heated the space between them.

Too close, maybe.

“And if you ever think to try that manipulative shit with me again,” he told her, his head dipping low enough that his lips almost grazed hers when he spoke, “then you’ll get the pleasure of learning why people like to say I use sex as a weapon, mia cara.”

“Threats will get you nowhere with me, Caesar, except for a grave.”

Her voice didn’t shake.

Her tone never wavered.

And yet, she still lacked air. Her words still felt hot.

Fuck this man for putting her on edge.

No man did that.

“Try me,” Caesar urged, his lips quirking up in that sexy way again. “I know how damaging it would be for you should someone find out about us, and what you did with me. You think I haven’t done my homework, like you did with yours? I have.”

Again with the threats.

“The better question is, would you?” she asked. “I don’t think you would, actually. I’m just a woman, and what have I really done to hurt you?”

“I fucked my half-brother’s wife because I think he’s an arrogant little shit that needed to be kicked down from his goddamn high horse. They do couple’s counseling three times a week with a priest who tells him he can’t divorce her because it’ll go against God’s will. They have to sit at a dinner table with me at least twice a month, but sometimes more. My father barely punished me for it because he’s still holding onto that idea of me being his favorite even though it kills him inside knowing I won’t ever be what he wants me to be.”