Page 158 of Dishonored

“Like maybe she picked me because you think she doesn’t trust you.”

Caesar tipped his head to the side, and narrowed his eyes. “Why, because you’re a beautiful woman that I might notice, and so, I wouldn’t be able to control my need to manipulate and abuse the situation with sex like I usually do?”

“That is your typical style, isn’t it?”

Is, he noticed.

Not was.

Caesar’s jaw clenched, but he checked the urge to lash out with something that would cut the woman down. She hadn’t said directly that was why, simply that it would make sense if that’s what he thought was the reason why.

“Aria trusts me,” he finally said.

Tightly.

Roughly.

Strained.

Amber didn’t miss it. “But do you? Do you trust yourself? Do you find yourself wanting to strike out at those around you in a familiar, comforting way because it’s how you have always handled situations? Do you still want to hurt and manipulate with sex because that’s what your step-mother taught you sex was best used for—to cause pain, or to control? To be your weapon, Caesar? Do you?”

Jesus.

“Getting right to the point today, aren’t you?” he asked thickly.

“I think today is the best time for it.”

His lips flattened into a grim line. It was the only way he thought he might be able to keep himself from talking. It didn’t matter, because in typical Caesar fashion, his words slipped out anyway right along with his anger.

“You thought that on my wedding day it would be best to talk about how my step-mother sexually abused me for years?” It was slightly easier to say those words, now. He didn’t feel the same sting of shame that he once had, but he wasn’t going to tell every fucker that crossed his path, either. Leaning forward in the chair, Caesar steepled his fingers, and stared hard at the woman ten feet away with her legs crossed, and her face an impassive mask of calm. “Why today, of all days, would I want to dig into that again?”

“Because don’t you deserve to know—and Aria, too—whether or not you still go into every intimate moment with her believing sex is tainted, Caesar? That sex is not about relief, or connection, or a baser need, but rather, an action you use to sedate the shame your step-mother made you feel, or even the weapon you can use to hurt someone else with? Don’t you deserve to know that? Wasn’t that the agreement between you and her—to talk about this?”

In a roundabout way.

Sort of.

Aria was every reason he was sitting in this office. And their wedding day was every single fucking reason he agreed to do this, too.

He couldn’t forget it.

Not even if he tried.

“Marry me,” he’d whispered against her lips. Because how could he not want to marry this insane, beautiful, sinful woman?

“Marry me,” he’d demanded with his fingers stuffed deep into her cunt, and his hand tight around her throat. Because how could he pretend like she didn’t own all the good and terrible pieces of him?

“Fucking marry me,” he’d said roughly when she came for a fifth time, sobbing through the rushes, and shaking just the way he liked. Because when had he ever believed that he could live a day without her when today he’d woken up feeling like she’d been there his whole damn life?

Caesar expected that yes to come easily. Especially when he and Aria were like this—the very best of them was like this. Sex, and sin, and them. He expected her yes to burst from her lipstick-smeared red lips because he loved her, and she loved him.

Even if they were still figuring that love thing out.

She surprised him.

Like this, he was the one with all the power. She never let him believe differently inside their private moments, but fuck him if she wasn’t so damn good at pretending, too. He controlled, and she bent to his demands. It was the only time he did get her so compliant and sweet.

And fucking still …