Kiaan lay completely drained, his body trembling under the relentless storm that was Rex. Yet Rex showed no sign of fatigue—his movements unyielding, every breath steady, never once pausing to grant Kiaan a moment's respite. Through the haze of exhaustion and pain, Kiaan's mind sharpened with grudging admiration and wariness. This man wasn't some reckless brute—no, Rex's strength, control, and precision told a different story. He was neither too young nor too old, Kiaan guessed, somewhere between 25 and 30 years, tall and powerful beyond measure. And one thing was painfully clear: Rex's dominance wasn't just a threat—it was a force that overwhelmed every inch of him, leaving Kiaan acutely aware of the sharp edge of both pleasure and pain.
When Rex finally pulled away, his voice cut through the silence—dark, low, and charged with a promise that was no joke. His words were equal parts warning, threat, and challenge. "I like your smartness… your daring. That's why you're still breathing, little agent." The words dripped with menace, but Kiaan, his tongue still heavy and his body weak, couldn't resist the spark of rebellion. With a faint, defiant snap, he jabbed back at Rex, the fire flickering despite the weight of his chains and blindfold.
Rex chuckled—deep and amused, as if the challenge only made the hunt sweeter. "Careful, Kiaan," he purred, voice a silky threat. "You're playing on my nerves… but I like it." His gaze hardened, and he leaned closer. "I have a gift, specially for you."
Kiaan's heart skipped—not with hope, but confusion and dread. Blindfolded, cuffed with hands behind his back, he could only wonder what this 'gift' might be. Was it a trap? A new form of torment? Or something darker, more twisted than he had yet imagined?
The room thickened with tension, every breath heavy, every heartbeat loud. The night was far from over, and Rex's game was just beginning.