Tickling Submission -

Lyra flinched. A tiny, involuntary gasp escaped her.

Lyra lifted her chin, defiance still flickering in her eyes. “It was trite. The rhymes were forced.”

Finally, mercifully, Lady Vane stopped.

Lady Vane smiled, and this time it was warm. She untied Lyra’s wrists and pulled her into her lap, stroking her hair. “Good girl.”

She knelt down, her silk gown pooling around Lyra like a dark cloud. Gently, she reached out and brushed a lock of hair from Lyra’s neck, then traced a single, feather-light finger down her ribs. tickling submission

“You have a sharp tongue, little scholar,” Lady Vane purred, her voice like honey laced with frost. “You mocked my poetry at the salon. In front of everyone.”

The polished mahogany floor of the grand library was cold against Lyra’s bare knees. She knelt in the center of the room, her wrists bound behind her back with soft, unbreakable silk. The only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the slow, deliberate footsteps of Lady Vane circling her. Lyra flinched

“You’re holding it in,” Lady Vane observed. “Such discipline. Let’s see how long it lasts.”