“Certainly,” Lucian said pleasantly. He changed the angle of his swing and the length of the cane struck the metal plug, a quiet “clink” echoing in the room in sync with Shea’s gasp. “Something like this, perhaps?”
Shea stared at the mirror, and Lucian put more force behind the ensuing blows, rattling the plug and slapping sweetly across Shea’s backside in repetitive impacts that did not waver, did not deviate, did not relent. “Oh, I see, perhaps you’d rather…” Lucian aimed carefully and struck harder, but the plug took most of the weight, not Shea’s skin. Shea moaned, arched, and hissed in surprise. “There we go.” Lucian praised, doing it again and again without pause.
Flexing against each of the small invasions, grunting in time to Lucian’s rhythm, Shea’s hands clenched around the chai
