Iris watched, mesmerized by the horror of it, as Diana's body shook with the force of her orgasm, her screams echoing off the ceiling. And then came Rex's response, a series of deep, animalistic growls as he buried himself to the hilt one last time, his body tensing with the force of his own release.
The sound of his ragged breathing filled the silence that followed, leaving Iris alone in the hallway with the echoing memory of their pleasure and the crushing weight of her own solitude.
...
Iris had lost all sense of time. Minutes had bled into an hour, a liminal space where her duty, her training, and her identity as an assassin had dissolved into nothingness, leaving only the raw, voyeuristic torment of what lay behind that door.
She couldn't move. She couldn't even bring herself to breathe properly.
She was a prisoner to the sounds, a captive audience to a ritual of flesh that seemed to have no end.
