The Devil’s Bride

Chapter 12: Punishment Dynamics

Moore’s POV

I waited in the master bedroom like a prisoner awaiting a public sentencing.

The black silk dress from earlier had been replaced by a simple, delicate silk nightgown that Ethan had explicitly demanded I put on. It was short, fragile, and left absolutely nothing to the imagination. My body still throbbed with a dull ache from being roughly bent over his office desk earlier that evening, and the memory of his fluid slowly leaking down my thigh during the gala made my stomach twist with a fresh wave of shame.

The kitchen incident replayed in my mind on an endless loop. Connor’s gentle, steady voice. His quiet concern. That tiny, brief moment of human kindness. And then, Ethan’s suffocating, terrifying presence instantly filling the room.

I knew with a certainty that there would be severe consequences.

The bedroom door opened with a soft, distinct click that sounded like a gunshot in the dead silence.

Ethan stepped inside, closing the door behind him with an unsettling, deliberate calmness. He had already removed his tailored suit jacket, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his powerful forearms. His eyes—dark, stormy, and entirely possessive—locked onto me immediately.

“On the bed,” he ordered, his voice low, controlled, and empty of warmth. “Now.”

My heart hammered violently against my ribs. “Ethan… about Connor, please. He was only—”

“I said on the bed, Moore.”

I obeyed, climbing onto the massive king-sized mattress with trembling limbs. The black silk sheets felt like ice against my overheated skin. Ethan walked slowly around the side of the bed like an apex predator circling a trapped prey, his expensive dress shoes stepping off the cold marble onto the plush rug.

He stopped at the nightstand and opened the top drawer. My breath caught in my throat as he pulled out a pair of sleek black leather cuffs lined with soft fur. My stomach completely dropped.

“Ethan, please,” I whispered, desperately scooting back toward the headboard. “He was just helping me get a glass of water, nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened ?” He let out a low, dangerous laugh that sent shivers straight down my spine. “You smiled at him, Moore. You let a common servant get close to what belongs strictly to me. You looked at him like he could actually save you from my world.”

He climbed onto the bed, trapping me beneath his weight and grabbing my wrists before I could even think to pull away. The cuffs clicked into place with a sickeningly final snap, securing my hands high above my head to the ornate iron headboard. The position left me completely vulnerable, my body stretched out entirely for his appraisal.

“I bought you, Moore,” he said, his voice deceptively calm as he straddled my hips. His fingers slowly traced the neckline of the nightgown, and then he ripped it down the middle in one brutal, effortless motion, completely exposing my chest and stomach to his gaze. “That means every single part of you is my property. Your tears. Your fear. Even your f*****g smiles. Especially your smiles.”

I shivered violently as the cool air hit my naked skin. “I’m sorry… I won’t ever talk to him again. Please—”

“It is far too late for sorry.”

He leaned down and bit my neck hard, right over an existing bruise he had left the night before. I cried out, arching my back helplessly beneath him. His hands roamed possessively over my body, squeezing my breasts and pinching my n*****s until tears of pain filled my eyes, before sliding down to grip my thighs and force them wide apart.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick with a dark, clinical satisfaction. “Already wet for your owner. You you, your body knows exactly who it belongs to, even if your stupid foolish little heart keeps looking for kindness elsewhere.”

His fingers found my entrance and pushed inside roughly—two at once. I gasped at the sudden intrusion, still swollen and sore from earlier. He pumped them deep and fast, intentionally curling them to hit the exact spot that made unwanted pleasure spark fiercely through the physical pain.

“Ethan—ah!”

“Yes say my name again,” he demanded, adding a third finger and stretching me painfully. “Louder. I want to hear exactly how my property sounds when she’s being punished.”

“Ethan!” I cried out, the tears finally spilling down my cheeks. My hips twitched despite myself, my body traitorously responding to his touch even as my mind recoiled in deep shame.

He withdrew his fingers suddenly and flipped me onto my stomach, yanking my hips up so I was on my knees with my face pressed flat into the pillow, my wrists still securely cuffed above my head. The position was entirely humiliating—completely exposed and vulnerable to him.

I heard the heavy sound of his leather belt being unbuckled, followed by the slide of his zipper.

“Please… I’m still so sore—”

He didn’t care.

He gripped my hips with a bruising force and thrust into me in one savage, uninterrupted stroke, burying himself to the absolute hilt. I screamed directly into the pillow as he tore through my sensitive walls. He was too thick, too deep, and the humiliating angle made every single friction point feel twice as intense.

“f**k,” he groaned, immediately starting a brutal, unrelenting rhythm. “This tight little cunt is mine. Say it, Moore.”

“It’s yours,” I sobbed, the words completely muffled by the black silk pillow.

“Louder!”

“It’s yours! I’m yours!”

The heavy sound of skin slapping skin filled the luxurious bedroom. He f****d me like he wanted to punish every single cell in my body for daring to accept mercy from someone else. One hand fisted tightly in my ponytail, yanking my head back to expose my throat, while his other hand slapped my thigh hard, leaving stinging, red marks.

“You think that Connor could ever f**k you like this?” he growled, pounding deeper into my core. “You think that servant could make you cream around his tiny c**k the way you do for me?”

“No—ah!—no, I don’t—”

“But you smiled at him.” Another hard, deep thrust. “You let him touch your hand Moore.” Thrust. “You looked at him like he was your savior.”

Tears thoroughly soaked the silk pillow. Intense pleasure mixed with raw pain in a dizzying, shameful spiral. My body clenched around his length involuntarily, betraying my mind yet again. Ethan reached around his frame and rubbed my c**t roughly, forcing the physical pleasure to a breaking point.

“Come for me, Moore,” he commanded, his voice dark, ragged, and intensely possessive. “Come on the c**k of the man that owns you.”

I shattered.

The orgasm crashed through my body violently, my inner walls pulsing tightly around him as I cried out his name in complete defeat. My entire frame shook with the force of the climax. Ethan groaned loudly and followed right after, burying himself to the very root and flooding me with hot, thick ropes of his claim.

But he wasn't done.

He pulled out, flipped me onto my back again, and pushed my legs wide apart. His fluid leaked out of me onto the expensive sheets as he stared down at my ruined core with dark, supreme satisfaction.

“Look at that,” he murmured, running two fingers through the mess and pushing it back inside me. “Marked. Claimed. Thoroughly filled.”

I whimpered, oversensitive, completely exhausted, and broken.

But he was not done yet.

He spent the next hour using my body in every way he demanded. He made me ride him while my wrists were still cuffed to the iron, gripping my hips and forcing me to bounce on his length until my thighs burned like fire. He took me against the headboard, then bent me over the side of the bed. Every single time I thought he was finished, he would start again—slower, deeper, whispering cruel, narcissistic reminders directly into my ear.

“You exist solely for my pleasure.”

“You are absolutely nothing without my name.”

“My f*****g money bought every single moan, every tear, and every orgasm.”

By the time he finally collapsed beside me, I was a trembling, sobbing mess. My body ached everywhere. My voice was entirely hoarse from crying his name. His fluid leaked steadily down my inner thighs.

Ethan finally uncuffed my raw wrists and pulled my shivering frame against his chest almost gently. For a fleeting moment, his fingers stroked through my hair in something that almost resembled tenderness.

Then he spoke, his voice dropping right back into a cold, corporate clip.

“Next time I see you anywhere near Connor, I won’t be this gentle. Do you understand me, wife?”

I nodded weakly against his chest, far too physically exhausted to do anything else.

As Ethan’s breathing eventually evened out into a deep sleep beside me, I lay awake staring blankly at the dark ceiling. My body was used, claimed, and entirely marked, my heart heavy with a paralyzing fear.

I had to protect Connor from his wrath.

And more importantly… I had to find a way to protect myself before Ethan completely destroyed whatever was left of my soul.