KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
The sound was like a thunderclap in the heavy, musky silence of the room. It wasn't just a knock; it was a demand, a rhythmic intrusion that shattered the hazy, post-coital fog of the bedroom.
Elizabeth bolted upright, a sharp, strangled gasp escaping her throat. For a terrifying second, her mind was a blank slate of pure sensation: the feeling of her skin being raw, the heavy ache in her core, the lingering phantom of Rex's weight.
Then, the reality of the world crashed in. The morning light, the scent of their shared filth, and the unmistakable, authoritative cadence of the knocking.
"Alexander," she whispered, her voice a frantic, cracked rasp.
Her eyes went wide, darting around the room in a sudden, jagged panic. She looked down at herself, at her bare, sweat-slicked skin; at the sodden, semen-stained sheets that were a testament to her total degradation; and at the way her thighs were still trembling uncontrollably.
