For two hours, Jax showed no mercy.
The throne room echoed with the sounds of his conquest skin slapping, muffled cries, and his own low grunts of effort.
He pushed past his limits, fueled by rage and that last stamina elixir. A body built for five, maybe six rounds, had now delivered seven. And he wasn't done.
He was sitting on the throne, the cold stone firm against his back.
On his lap was Zoe, her hair matted with sweat. He gave her a rough shove, and she slid off him, collapsing onto the floor with a weak thud.
A diluted trickle of cum dripped from her well-used pussy onto the marble.
'Pathetic. Looks like a worn-out tavern whore.'
To his right, the peach-haired girl lay on her stomach, her ass pointed toward him like some twisted offering.
From the front, her chest heaved with ragged, shallow breaths.
Her small, cute asshole was twitching violently—a tiny, tight ring stretched beyond belief.
