Page 24 of Dishonored

“Stay there and let me fuck you like you want,” he murmured.

Her body shuddered.

His thrusts came harder.

“Y-yes.”

Caesar grabbed the back of her neck, and squeezed hard, but she didn’t flinch or even tense from the touch. “Yes, what?”

She was perfection, really.

She knew, now.

“Yes, please.”

“And once I finish with you, what are you to do?” he demanded.

“Ask.”

One brutal thrust answered another before he uttered, “Ask, what?”

“Ask nicely to finish you.”

“With …?”

“My mouth.”

“There’s my good girl. I bet you’ll taste sweeter on my dick. And then I’ll see how good you taste after I’ve been fucking you, too. Remember that.”

A sore Caesar first thing in the morning was a happy Caesar. It always meant good things—either he fought his way into pain, or he fucked his way into it. Either way, he was good with both.

Groaning, he stretched his back against the softness of his bed, and stared up at the ceiling of his penthouse’s master bedroom. Living right in the heart of Philly provided him with an automatic alarm—he called it the fucking city. The sounds woke him up almost every day, but he couldn’t imagine it any other way.

Today, though?

This morning it was a fucking knock echoing through his goddamn place that made him open his eyes. Frustrated, he kicked the comforter off, and only briefly thought to hide his nakedness with a pair of boxer-briefs that he shuffled on as he headed out of his room.

He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, and cracked it open as he went for the door, and the persistent fucker knocking behind it.

“Calm the hell down,” Caesar barked.

He flung open the front door of his penthouse to see a familiar pair of people waiting. Cain, and his wife, Gina. The only fucker Caesar considered a friend, the one wife of a made man he hadn’t fucked—or even tried to, for that matter—and two people he didn’t mind waking him up after a night like the one before.

Cain looked him over. “Don’t you have fucking clothes?”

Caesar looked to Gina. “Why’s he fucking talking? Doesn’t he know it just sounds like whining in my ear?”

Gina smiled a little. “He does have a point.”

“My place, and it’s morning.”

“Eleven, actually,” Cain said.

Really?

Well, shit.

Cain gave him a second look. “Fuck, you look rough. Late night?”