Page 19 of Dishonored

He needed to get laid.

By that female right there.

As though she could feel his eyes on her, the woman turned her head from whatever had caught her attention, and her gaze landed directly on Caesar. Those small lips of hers curved in the most wicked way as her green orbs took him in from head to toe. He knew what she was seeing—women usually liked what they looked at when it came to Caesar, and he did aim to fucking please.

Black Armani.

Italian leather loafers.

Gold rings on every finger.

A let-me-fuck-you smile.

Sometimes, he could get them with just that smile of his alone.

Unashamed, the woman kept staring. Caesar lifted a single brow, and then pointed a single finger to the drink in her hand. Something red, by the looks of the little bit left in the glass. Probably sweet, but still enough bite to get her buzzed enough not to taste it. Her stiletto red—the same shade as her lips—fingernails tapped a beat against the glass.

“You want another one of those?” he asked.

Even over the thrumming bass from the music, and the noise of the club, he could tell she had heard him just fine by the way her nose crinkled a bit.

“No, thank you.”

Caesar stiffened at her voice.

Soft, sure.

But silken.

Like the words stroked her lips with each one she spoke, and they probably tasted like sex coming out.

But it wasn’t even that which made him pause. No, it was the hint of the accent in the background of her words—Italian.

“Care to join me?” he asked.

The woman gave him a second look, and then nodded. It wasn’t a blink and a breath in time before she was gracefully standing from her own couch, and crossing to join him on his. He couldn’t help but take in the way her trim waist melted into shapely thighs. All that golden skin of hers looked good enough to fucking eat.

“You looked lonely,” he said to her after she had rested back on his couch. “Couldn’t have a beautiful woman being sad on my watch.”

The woman shrugged. “My husband flaked.”

Oh, Christ.

God was good to him.

He was the worst kind of sinner.

And God still loved him.

At least, for tonight.

“Shame,” Caesar murmured, “because I couldn’t imagine leaving someone like you alone to fend for herself. Someone might come along and corrupt you.”

The woman smiled in that wicked, sinful way of hers all over again. It was enough to make Caesar lean just an inch closer to her—the heady sent of her floral perfume soaking into his lungs with every breath. He didn’t miss how her gaze dropped to his mouth, or the way her green eyes darkened just enough to suggest she liked what she was seeing.

“A little late for corrupting me,” she whispered.

“Is that so?”