The violence of the act had reached a fever pitch. Rex was no longer just fucking Iris; he was claiming every inch of her reality.
The sound in the room was overwhelming: the wet, rhythmic thwack-slap of his pelvis colliding with her ass, the ragged gasping of their breathing, and the creak of the altar straining under Rex's powerful movements.
His thrusts were deeper than before, each one designed to shock her system, driving her further away from any semblance of her old self.
Mid-thrust, Rex's head snapped sideways. His dark, predatory eyes locked onto Veylor's tear-streaked, horrified face.
A cruel, knowing smirk spread across Rex's lips as he watched the ghost's suffering.
"Hey, Veylor," Rex called out, his voice dripping with venomous amusement as he continued to pound Iris without missing a beat. "Take a good look."
Then Rex looked at Iris. "I bet your ex-boyfriend there never gave you a chance to moan like this, did he?"
