Page 55 of Dishonored

“Too fucking bad.”

She punctuated her words by slipping those fingers between her own lips, and sucking them clean. Caesar’s lust spiked higher, and so did his anger. Aria didn’t have the time to react before he jolted forward, grabbed her throat in his hand, and stuck his other one right up her dress.

She sucked in a hard, ragged breath and grinned when he squeezed her delicate neck, and fisted her damp panties at the gusset. She wasn’t going to keep anything from him like it was some kind of game—there was no push and pull here. He was taking, and she was giving it.

Simple as that.

It took one hard pull, and he ripped the lace before pulling the ruined panties from her body.

That had to hurt.

Sting, at least.

She only laughed.

A dark, bitter laugh that urged him on, and promised sin, relief, and sex was fucking close. She didn’t look afraid of him at all.

“Do it,” she said as his fingers danced higher between her thighs again. “Don’t you want a taste of gold, Caesar? How many times have you gone back for seconds when it comes to a woman?”

“Shut up.”

She grinned.

He sneered.

God, she was wet. Warm and soft and sleek as hell on his fingertips when they slid between her thighs. Slick arousal coated his fingertips, and her whole body shuddered when he stroked her pussy, and then let two fingers stretch her open. Inside, she was impossibly softer—silken, even. Wetter, too. And so much fucking hotter.

She clearly wanted more of his touches if the way she was grinding her cunt into his hand was any indication, but he refused. He wasn’t giving her anything just yet—not something she wanted, anyway.

He was too pissed for that.

She was going to know it.

“Plea—”

“Don’t think so,” Caesar said before her begging could start. Oh, he’d love to hear it. Would have her screaming it soon enough, sure. Not right then. “You owe me a taste, you crazy woman.”

Aria sucked in a sharp breath when Caesar’s hand tightened on her throat again, and his fingers left her pussy. It took a second for him to flip her around, and bend her over the back of the couch. He kept a firm hold on the back of her neck, and refused to let her up even as he bunched her skirt up around her hips.

Beautiful ass.

Pink pussy.

Wet thighs.

Damn.

He bent down and bit her right ass cheek, but didn’t even give her the chance to respond to that action before he’d buried his face between her thighs from behind.

Fuck.

She tasted better when she was angry. Hotter, if it were possible. Tarter, too. Her loud shout and the push of her ass backing into his face had him humming in approval. She couldn’t do very much—couldn’t move very fucking much, either.

And that was fine with him.

He took his time tunneling his tongue into her clenching cunt, and then sucking on her sensitive spots. He teased with little nips, but refused to give her anymore.

Even when her words came out jumbled, high, and needy. Even when her desperation came out so strongly he thought she might cry for it.