Page 116 of Dishonored

And just like that, Caesar’s hand was up Aria’s skirt, and he slipped between her thighs. He stroked the curve of her ass first, and then let his knuckles graze her sex overtop the silk panties she wore. She shuddered, and her hands curved tightly around the edge of the table to keep steady, but other than that, she didn’t move.

Already, he could feel she was hot, and damp.

“This got you wet?” he asked.

Aria shrugged, still staring at the stunned man a few feet away. “Doesn’t it make you a little hot?”

“Well, to be fair, a lot of things do that for me.”

Finally, she took her gaze away from Raffe to peer up at Caesar. Her red lips curved into a sensual, sexy smile as she said, “You do that for me.”

She could have said that for Raffe.

To piss him off.

To irk him more.

To make this worse.

Except she hadn’t—Caesar could hear it in her voice, and see it in the way she stared at him unashamed, and trusting. She said it for him, and no one else.

Raffe didn’t like that if the way he jerked forward in the chair was any indication. He damn near toppled it over, and his eyes blazed.

“Careful,” Caesar said, barely passing the man a glance, “or you’ll fall over, and have a terrible seat for the show.”

Aria’s teeth cut into her bottom lip, and she grinned when Caesar let two of his fingers slide beneath the gusset of her panties and thrust into her pussy.

“Tight, hot, and soaked,” he murmured. “Show him, bella donna. Show him how wet you are, and how much your pussy likes this.”

Aria used one hand to pull up her skirt while the other kept her balanced against the table. She tipped her head back, and let out one of those sweet moans he adored so much while his fingers kept working in and out of her sex. It was the sound of her pussy sucking in his fingers that he liked the very most—wet flesh, and that scent.

So distinctly her.

He didn’t need to check on Raffe to know the man was watching—how could he not when his wife was just feet away being finger-fucked by another man?

How could he do anything else but watch?

No, Caesar’s attention was all on Aria, now. Like it usually was when he had her breathless, spun, and ready to come for him. Nothing else mattered to him in those moments; only the need to feel her.

“Talk,” Caesar ordered, his voice dipping into a lower octave. “Tell me, love.”

Aria’s green eyes flew wide to find Caesar was slightly bent over her, and staring down at her. He found lust there—swirling in those irises, and blowing her pupils wide. He could feel her orgasm coming in the way her pussy clenched around his fingers as he massaged her G-spot, but he could see it in her eyes, too.

Needy.

High.

So ready.

“Talk,” he urged.

“It’s so good,” she whispered.

“Do you want more?”

“Please.”

It was always the sound of her begging that undid him—a simple, single word that could rip away his control. As much as he loved the look of degradation on a woman, he needed to hear this far more.