Minutes later, the room was a humid tomb of spent adrenaline and raw musk. The frantic violence of Rex's outburst had settled into something more controlled, more deliberate, a slow, grinding cruelty that was somehow more exhausting than the rage.
Rex lay flat on his back against the disheveled pillows, his massive frame taking up most of the mattress, but he was far from passive. He had Iris straddling him again, her body draped over his like a broken marionette, but this time he held her captive.
One of his hands was wrapped around both of her wrists, pinning them high above her head against the headboard, while his other hand roamed freely, claiming her flesh.
He drove upward with slow, agonizingly deep thrusts that made Iris's entire body convulse with every stroke.
"I bet... I know what you're thinking right now," Rex murmured, his voice dripping with venomous amusement as he watched her face contort in pleasure. "I bet you're thinking about him... About Veylor."
