Page 23 of Dishonored

His hands finally dropped from her face to pull the skirt of her dress up. He didn’t even need to fuck with her thong because he’d already taken that off downstairs, and shoved it into his back pocket. He had a plan for that.

She was shameless grinding against his hand when he dared to put it back between her thighs, and those soft sounds of hers filled his ears like rushing water. If his fucking cock didn’t punch a hole through his zipper, he would be lucky.

“Is this the part where I ask nicely?”

Caesar groaned before he crashed his mouth against hers, and found the lingering taste of her pussy on her lips. “All the fucking time—always.”

“And they can all see?”

“If they look up.”

“Jesus.”

“I love the look of shame on a woman,” he murmured into her ear. “Now give me what I want, and you’ll get what you want.”

The words slipped past her swollen red lips easily.

“God, please fuck me.”

Fucking yes.

“Turn around, and bend over,” he demanded.

When had his voice gone hoarse?

And why?

Her breath caught with anticipation even as she turned around, and her gaze caught his over her shoulder. Lowered lashes, a mouth begging to be fucked, and her ass bare under his hands … what could be better?

Oh, yeah.

Her cunt squeezing him dry.

Caesar smacked her ass hard enough to leave a pink imprint of his hand behind, which only earned him one of her deep moans, before he made quick work of shuffling his pants down. The three-pack of condoms he always kept in his pocket came out to play, and soon enough, he had tugged his length out of his boxer-briefs, and encased his dick in latex.

“Widen those legs,” he said with a smack of his palm to her inner thighs.

She did.

And Christ, she was wet. The sliver of her sex glistened under the red warning light, and he could see her arousal slick on her thighs, too. Nothing got him harder, really.

“Like what you see?”

“Not even a question,” he returned.

He fitted his cock between her thighs, and grabbed firmly to her tight ass until his fingertips left pink spots behind on her golden skin. He heard her one sharp inhale of breath before he shoved in with enough force to send her up onto her toes—even in her heels.

“Oh.”

“Try again,” he grunted, pulling out of her wet, tight cunt to slam right back in again. “Give me the right words, donna.”

Oh, those words came.

Jumbled, and fast, and willing.

“Please … harder, please.”

Caesar started a slow, torturous pace as his hands slipped around her waist. He pulled her hands from the death-grip they hand on the bar, and kept hold of them with one hand. Reaching back, he tugged that thong of hers from his back pocket before bringing it out to play, too. In a couple of quick motions, he had tied her hands together in front of her with her underwear, and then he lifted them against the glass.