Page 18 of Dishonored

Yeah.

“Horrible week,” Caesar offered.

Really, it was a horrible life.

“Well, whatever the fuck it is, you know I never mind seeing your sorry ass in here. You always liven up a party.”

Caesar laughed, smirking. “I do try.”

“Do you want me to get your regular?”

“Just the drink this time—I’ll find my own pussy.”

Maverick clapped Caesar on the shoulder with a chuckle. “You got it—can’t deny you liked the taste you got of her, though. Pretty sure everybody on the floor heard how much she liked it.”

“They always do.”

“I’ll probably see you around tonight, then.”

Caesar slanted his gaze in Maverick’s direction with a nod. “Yeah, we’ll see how it goes.”

Maverick went his way, and Caesar continued his trek to the couch and table he considered always reserved for him. He passed a couple of recognizable faces—people in the celebrity and political world that most definitely could not afford to be found in a place like Lucifer’s Den. He enjoyed snapping a picture of them every once in a while even if photos were entirely off-limits.

What fun was it when he followed the rules?

None.

Caesar wasn’t sitting in his spot for more than two minutes before a girl in a tight, black bodycon dress and sky-high red heels came to deliver his drink. She flashed him a sensual smile as her hand came to rest on her hip. His gaze drifted over her to take her in—she was sexy enough, as far as that went, but nothing stirred him to act.

“Anything else I can help you with?” she asked. “Maverick said to make sure you were pleased.”

Caesar offered the woman a charming smile. “For now, I am. Grazie, bella.”

Her brow lifted at his Italian, and she grinned a bit. Women always did like it when the foreign language came out to play—Caesar never really understood the appeal. He could make a woman come just as well in English as he could in Italian. Who fucking cared what he was actually saying while they were riding his dick?

“Just let me know,” the woman all but purred.

He might.

Not tonight.

All it took was a flick of his hand, and the girl was gone. Maverick had trained his staff well, and the girls were used to being either the center of attention when it came to a patron, or dismissed altogether. Caesar usually fell into the latter category here because there was always something a little more interesting that came along to catch his eye.

Like that right there—damn.

The woman sitting on a couch just across from his had entirely passed his view as he scanned the club, and right then, she seemed entirely oblivious to him as well. Caesar liked that because if nothing else, it gave him the time to peruse her.

And damn, was she a sight to see.

The body-hugging gold dress draped over her shoulders dipped low enough in the front to give him a peek at ample, perky tits, and collarbones that made his dick hard. Yeah, he had a thing for those—liked to bite them, really.

A slit in the skirt of the short dress came up to her thigh, and when she crossed her legs, he swore he saw a flash of bright red lace hiding beneath. God save me. He would have groaned out loud if he were a lesser man, honestly. Anything red or lace was his weakness, and he wasn’t even ashamed to admit it.

Her black fuck-me heels helped to give her long, smooth legs the kind of promise that whispered they would look even better wrapped around his waist or head. Shit, he wasn’t fucking picky—she could even have it both ways, if she wanted.

The woman’s painted red lips and brown-copper curls framed delicate features, soft lips, and wide green eyes. Her gaze was darkened by smoky makeup he suddenly had every dark urge to smudge and ruin, and he wondered what that shade of lipstick she wore might look like when it was a ring at the base of his dick.

Wow, yeah.