Page 156 of Dishonored

His mouth—that searing kiss she adored—was on hers before the word even passed her lips. And it was everything she had hoped for.

She learned then that hope was not always for the weak. Sometimes, hope was what came through when faith failed.

EPILOGUE

Six months later …

ARIA WAS ALWAYS on her best behavior when Caesar had her bent over something, and filled full of his cock, fingers, or any one of her favorite toys. Like a cat being stroked just the right way, her body trembled, her claws retracted, and she was terribly sweet.

From the way her come tasted in his mouth.

To the heat of her skin.

And even her cries.

Like this?

She was at her best.

Caesar tightened the leather belt around her throat just a fraction of a millimeter, and felt her pussy clench just the way he liked around his dick. Should anyone else get too close to her throat, and Aria was quick to strike them down no matter the reason. She wouldn’t even let someone put a necklace around her throat.

Him, though?

She woke him up with his belt in her hands like an offering, and a pretty little smile that said she was ready for fun. And her kind of fun was always worth getting up early for.

“Oh, my God … please.”

Her begging was raspy, now.

She was almost out of air.

Nearly ready to come again.

She was sweat-slicked, exhausted, and shaking like a leaf. Nothing turned her on more than the red handprints currently painting her ass, or the streaks of his come already sprayed across her back.

Filthy.

Wild.

Wonderful.

He was just about ready to blow again, too.

Shit.

“If you keep tightening those muscles like that,” he warned.

Aria laughed.

High.

Breathless.

Spun.

“Just fucking do it already,” she goaded. “Make me come, Caesar.”

They called him the tyrant.