Not for herself. She'd stopped saying please for herself weeks ago.
For the servant, maybe. Or for Yuxi. Or simply because the word was the only thing her ruined voice could produce that still meant something.
Cang looked at her.
His hips kept their rhythm. The bottle kept its angle.
"'Gluck — GGKK~!! — gluck—'"
"'HAANGHH~!! — it's — Master — it's all inside me now — the wine — I can feel it — warm — HIEEKK~!! — why — why does it—'"
The bottle was almost empty.
The remaining wine pushed forward with gravity and his hand's angle, the last dark pour running through the servant's stretched, bloody, overwhelmed entrance and down through her thighs in a long, thin stream that landed directly on Yuxi's upturned face — on her open lips, her tongue, the bridge of her nose — warm and sharp and sweetly wrong.
"'Mngh—'" Yuxi swallowed. Reflex.
