The conquest moved to the garden. Under the ancient oak tree, where the soil was soft and damp, Rex claimed them both in a display of raw savagery.
He had Diana kneeling in the dirt while he fucked her, her breasts swaying wildly as she begged for more, while Lily hovered close, her mouth open in silent, awestruck worship.
The sounds of the night—the crickets, the wind—were drowned out by the obscene noises of their coupling: the wet squelching of flesh, the tearing of fabric, and the wet, rhythmic sounds of Rex's cock sliding in and out of them.
The garden floor became a macabre tableau of scattered petals, disturbed earth, and the unmistakable sheen of spent seed.
Finally, Rex dragged them both back to the primary bedroom, the epicenter of their ruin.
He threw them onto the massive bed with no ceremony. They were broken, their bodies mapped with bruises, scratches, and blood.
