Page 54 of Dishonored

Damn her.

He found himself laughing. Because she challenged him. Because she wasn’t afraid. Because she didn’t care at all, and she actually dared to fucking hit him.

Caesar righted himself but there was no way he could hide the rage flashing across his features, not to mention the bulge of his hardening cock trying to hammer its way out of his fucking slacks. Aria’s heavy breaths made her shoulders and chest heave up and down with every one, and her lips had flattened in an angry, grim line.

“I don’t get deterred by an emotional woman, or a violent one,” he told her. “it just turns me on. I take it as a challenge.”

Aria blinked, and glanced down at his crotch before her gaze jumped back up again. “I—”

“And I don’t think you came here because you wanted me to fucking talk, either.”

“You have no idea what I want.”

“Don’t I? I bet all you want right now is for me to find the closest flat surface, and fuck the defiance right out of you.”

She hesitated.

Her eyes blazed yes. Her trembling shoulders and clenched fists all said yes.

Her words came out saying, “Let me go right—”

Stubborn woman.

Caesar shut Aria up by yanking her into him, and slamming his mouth down on hers. It took all of one bruising kiss, and her lips parted for his. He couldn’t find a single part of himself that wanted to be easy, and so he wasn’t. All teeth, and lips, and tongue—tasting her again, and drawing blood from her bottom lip when he bit down hard, and making her whine when he threaded his fingers into her hair and pulled.

She hit him again for that.

“Fuck,” he hissed, rearing back from the second slap’s sting and pressing his fingertips to his hot cheek. “Now you get my hands on your throat for that one.”

Aria didn’t back up at his threat.

Didn’t raise her hands again.

Didn’t look scared.

“Good,” she murmured.

Damn him straight to hell.

This woman would kill him.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” she told him.

And it got her hot.

Clearly.

Caesar laughed, and stepped forward. Aria still didn’t back down. “And I bet your sweet, tight pussy is weeping for a taste of me, too. Admit it.”

She didn’t say anything.

Instead, she let her hand slide between her thighs under the skirt of that teasing dress, and then brought it back out again to flash wet fingers. “Want a taste?”

His chest ached.

His throat tightened.

“Yes,” he said.