Chapter 943. Even An Assassin Could Actually Performing Well By Giving Me Head!**
The wet, rhythmic sounds of Iris’s attempts to please him filled the space between them, but the sound drew a bark of cruel laughter from Rex. He looked down at her, his free hand gripping her hair as he watched her struggle to maintain any semblance of technique.
"You know, Iris," he mused, his voice laced with mockery, "for an experienced assassin who’s killed men with nothing but a hairpin, you’re an absolute amateur at this."
"There’s something almost... pathetic about it. So clumsy. So hesitant." He laughed again, a dark, grating sound. "But I suppose it’s not bad."
"In fact, the desperation makes it almost entertaining."
The insult stung worse than any blade, but before she could even process the humiliation, the atmosphere shifted from mockery to pure, unadulterated violence.
Rex’s hand suddenly clamped around the back of her skull with crushing force. His fingers dug into her scalp, forcing her face upward.
"But I’m getting bored of playing nice," he snarled, his entire demeanor darkening into something feral. "You’re just trying to fucking mess with me and waste time, hah?!"
With a sudden, brutal lunge, he drove himself forward. He didn’t just slide into her mouth; he impaled her throat with his cock, thrusting deep enough to hit the back of her esophagus.
"Ghk! Augh!"
Iris’s eyes flew wide, streaming with involuntary tears as her airway was instantly obstructed. The sensation was overwhelming, the sheer thickness of him stretching her jaw to the breaking point while his cock invaded her throat.
She couldn’t breathe; she couldn’t swallow. Her hands flew up to his thighs, claws digging into his skin as she instinctively tried to push him away to save herself from choking.
Her body convulsed in a desperate reflex, her throat seizing around him as she gagged violently.
"Nngh... cough... hngh!" The sounds she made were wet, strangled noises of pure distress.
When she finally managed to recoil, breaking contact to gasp for air, she collapsed forward against his knees, retching and coughing convulsively, her chest heaving as she fought to pull oxygen back into her burning lungs.
Rex didn’t even flinch. He simply sat there, watching her struggle with a cold, detached amusement, adjusting himself as if nothing had happened.
"Look at you," he said quietly, though the menace remained. "Pathetic."
"Now, don’t forget, Iris, this whole arrangement, this little deal we have?"
"It only exists because I’m being a good guy here... I’m the one offering you a connection to your precious dead lover." He leaned forward slightly, his shadow engulfing her broken form. "But if you’re going to be this difficult, and if you’re really going to act like this is some kind of burden..."
"Then I’m perfectly fine with calling off the deal right now..."
"We can just walk away, and you can spend the rest of your life wondering what Veylor would have said to you."
The threat landed like a physical blow. The silence that followed was filled only by Iris’s ragged, wet gasps for air.
The terror of losing Veylor again, of losing that final chance at closure, overrode every instinct of self-preservation she possessed. The humiliation was secondary to the void he was threatening to leave behind.
"I’m... I’m sorry," she managed to choke out between ragged breaths, her voice raw and broken. "Please... don’t."
"I’ll... I’ll get it together... I’ll do it properly... Just... please don’t take it away."
She looked up at him through tear-blurred eyes, her face flushed and damp with sweat and tears. The assassin was gone; in her place was something far more malleable, a woman broken by grief and held hostage by desire and desperation.
"I’ll be good," she whispered, a vow that tasted like ash. "I promise."
Slowly, she crawled back forward. This time, there was no hesitation, no attempt to maintain her dignity.
She approached him like a devotee approaching an altar of sin. Her tongue flicked out, tasting him again, but this time with a practiced, lewd hunger.
She began to lap at him with long, deliberate strokes, swirling her tongue around the swollen head before sliding her mouth down the shaft.
"Mmph... ahnn..." The moans she made now were different; they weren’t cries of pain but wet, needy sounds that she couldn’t suppress.
She focused on the friction, using her tongue and the suction of her cheeks to create a rhythmic, obscene wetness. She worked him with an intensity that bordered on manic, her eyes half-lidded as she surrendered to the act.
Rex let out a low growl of approval, his fingers tangling in her hair again, but this time he didn’t push; he simply guided her rhythm.
"That’s more like it, Iris," he purred. "That’s the girl I wanted to see."
Iris pushed past the lingering ache in her throat, channeling every ounce of her discipline into the act. If she were to survive this, if she were to earn that final glimpse of Veylor, she would become the perfect instrument of Rex’s pleasure.
She opened her mouth wider than she thought possible, stretching her jaw to its absolute limit, and slid down the length of him.
Gulp.
She took him all the way in, the tip of his cock pressing against the back of her throat as she swallowed the sheer mass of him.
The sensation was overwhelming: the fullness, the heat, the way his cock seemed to claim every inch of her interior, but she didn’t flinch. She kept her eyes locked on his, her throat working rhythmically as she gulped around him.
Rex let out a surprised, booming laugh that rumbled through his pelvis and directly into her mouth.
"Well, well! Look at you go!" he crowed, his hands gripping her hair to steady her as she worked. "There she is."
"You actually do know how to do it right!"
"You’re really guzzling it down like you’ve been waiting for this your whole life."
He leaned back, watching her with a sadistic glint in his eyes. "Though I’m pretty sure you don’t actually enjoy this shit, do you?"
"All this performance for a ghost."
Iris didn’t respond verbally; she couldn’t, but her expression shifted. Even as she continued to suck, her lips wrapped tight around him, her eyes transformed.
The desperate, grieving woman vanished, replaced by the cold, calculating gaze of the assassin. Her pupils narrowed, and her stare became sharp, lethal, and utterly devoid of emotion.
It was the look she gave targets before she slit their throats, a predator studying its prey, even while kneeling in submission.
Rex’s laughter faltered for half a second before breaking into an even louder guffaw. "Holy fucking shit, Iris!"
"Just a joke! Don’t glare at me like you’re planning my assassination while you’re balls deep in my cock," Rex laughed. "Lighten up, darling."
’Let him laugh,’ Iris thought fiercely behind the barrier of her own mind. Let him think he has won. ’Let him think I am nothing but a tool...’
Her inner voice was a steel blade cutting through the fog of arousal and humiliation. ’Everything is fine...’
’This is a transaction... This is for Veylor...’
’For him, I would endure hell itself...’
’For him, I will swallow every bit of this filth...’
Fuelled by that desperate resolve, Iris increased her pace. The wet, sucking sounds became more frantic slurp, schlick, and mmmph as she moved her head up and down with increasing speed.
She wasn’t just licking anymore; she was using her entire mouth, her tongue, and the suction of her throat to create an intense, vacuum-like pressure.
"Fuck." Rex’s breath hitched. "Goddamn, Iris."
"You’re getting way too desperate now."
"It’s fucking hilarious!" His hips bucked involuntarily as she hit a particularly sensitive spot. "Is that how much you love him?"
"You’re sucking like your life depends on it, just to get a fucking goodbye?"
Iris didn’t stop. If anything, she sucked harder, her cheeks hollowing out as she drew him deeper.
She wanted to prove she could handle it. She wanted to prove she could dominate even this moment of degradation through sheer competence.
"Fuck, you’re really doing it now," Rex groaned, his voice dropping an octave as his control began to slip.
His fingers dug painfully into her scalp, but he wasn’t pushing her away; he was holding her close, needing the friction. "That assassin’s instinct... it’s no fucking joke, is it?"
"Even when you’re being a lewd little slut, you’re precise... You know exactly how to hit it."
The sounds in the room became a chaotic symphony of debasement: the wet slap of her lips against his skin, the guttural moans escaping her nose as her throat was filled, and Rex’s increasingly ragged breathing.
"Nnghhnnn!" Iris cried out muffled against him, a sound that was half sob and half moan.
The friction was starting to overwhelm her own body; despite her hatred for him, the sheer physical intensity was triggering involuntary responses. Her hips swayed slightly with the motion, and her eyes began to glaze with a treacherous heat.
"That’s it," Rex growled, his hips beginning to thrust upward to meet her frantic descent. "Take it all."
"Show me how fucking good an assassin can be at being a whore."