Chapter 12 #2
His arm clamps around my waist like an iron vise, anchoring me in place as my breath shatters. I brace myself against the altar as each thrust slams through my body. But it’s the cruel contrast, the devastation paired with desire, that shreds me.
I hate how much I can feel him. How my body aches for more even as my mind claws for escape.
“Do you vow to claim her pain and pleasure alike, to enslave her will and make her body your altar?” The priest’s voice slices through the thick air. “To mark her with pain and pleasure, to possess not only her body, but the remnants of her soul?”
“I do,” my Groom growls.
“And do you, Eve Mortis, vow to be taken and transformed, to surrender your freedom to the one who now claims you?”
I shake my head violently, my jaw tightening as I prepare to unleash a torrent of words that would tell him exactly where he can shove that vow. But instead of the searing reprimand I intended, a strangled moan escapes my lips.
A wave of overpowering sensation crashes over me as my Groom strikes that electrifying spot within, making my vision explode into a dazzling array of stars.
“Then let this blood become the bond. Let this taking become the seal.”
Around us, the stage blurs with motion—robed figures dancing, writhing, simulating acts of violence and sex that mirror what my Groom is doing to me.
The candles flicker more frantically now, shadows leaping and twisting across the stage. I want to shut it all out. The drumming, the chanting, the swaying bodies grinding in mimicry. But something deep inside me won’t let go. Won’t look away.
“You feel so good,” he groans. “So tight. So wet. So fucking perfect.”
I hate the way my body yields, responding eagerly to his words, as my muscles involuntarily tighten around him and a warm, insistent heat gathers low in my belly.
I loathe how my hips seem to have a will of their own, instinctively tilting to meet his every thrust, a rhythmic dance beyond my control.
The sounds that threaten to spill from my lips, those soft whimpers of pleasure, press insistently against the back of my throat, demanding to be swallowed back before they escape into the charged air around us.
He groans low in my ear, a deep, primal sound more animalistic than human, resonating through the air like a growl from the depths of a forest.
His hips hammer into me with ruthless rhythm, each thrust punching the air from my lungs, the tip of his cock battering the spot that makes me cry out. I moan, unable to hide how deep he’s fucking me.
One of his hands ventures upward, sliding over the fabric of my dress to gently cup my breast. His thumb begins to circle my nipple with deliberate, teasing motions. Oh, God. It feels incredible.
My Groom’s thrusts grow relentless, plunging deeper and harder, thick and punishing, dragging a choked moan from my throat every time he bottoms out.
My thighs are on fire, muscles locked in a feverish grip as a scorching heat spirals tight within me. The intensity is overwhelming, rising with a ferocity that threatens to consume me. I fight desperately to delay the inevitable—but I’m helplessly slipping over the edge.
A figure steps forward, cradling a black velvet cushion. Upon it rests a ring—a band of dark metal inlaid with what looks like obsidian. He’s quick to take it, holding it up so it catches the candlelight.
His movements slow but don’t stop as he takes my left hand in his, holding it steady as he slides the ring onto my finger. It’s heavy and cold, feeling like a shackle more than a piece of jewelry.
Another attendant approaches with something that glints in the candlelight—a thin black chain from which hangs a sm all glass vial. Inside, I can see a dark liquid swirling. Our blood. My Groom pauses long enough to cut the medallion from my neck, replacing it with the new chain.
Then he grinds deeper, his cock thick and twitching inside me, his breath rasping over my skin like a brand still smoking. I can feel every twitch, every pulse, like I’m being marked from the inside out.
The crowd watches, their attention fixed on what appears to be a solemn exchange of tokens, unaware of the true consummation happening before their eyes. At least I hope they’re unaware.
I bite down on a whimper as he shifts his angle, finding that devastating spot again. “N-no.” My fingers curl into fists at my sides, nails digging half-moons into my palms as he thrusts slowly and deeply, dragging pleasure from my body like a confession.
“Yes,” he growls, voice thick and ragged. “Come on my cock, wife. Drench my fucking balls with your arousal.”
I’m not his wife. I’m just… not.
I hate him. I hate him for doing this. For… my thoughts are cut off as pleasure detonates inside me—violent, electric, absolute. My vision whites out, and my knees go weak.
“Fuck!” I cry out as I shatter, loud, broken, and raw.
My body convulses around him, back arching as my sobs dissolve into filthy, half-formed moans. I can’t stop. Can’t stop pulsing around him, spasming so hard it hurts. My gasps and moans echo across the stage, into the watchers, into the dark.
He holds me through every humiliating second of it, murmuring that I’m his and that there’s no escape. He keeps me standing through it, grinding slower now, cruel in his tenderness.
I don’t know where I am anymore—on a stage, in his arms, in a nightmare I almost begged for. The crowd feels unreal. The heat between my legs doesn’t.
As soon as my breathing returns to normal, his movements become erratic, his control finally breaking as he drives into me harder, faster. His cock swells, stretching me wide and brutal, each inch a demand my body can’t refuse.
I bite down on a cry as heat pulses between my legs again, shame curling tighter with every surge of him inside me.
The hard edge of the mask bumps against my neck as he breaks with a groan—rough, raw, guttural—his cock jerking as he pumps thick, scalding cum into me wave after wave. My pussy clenches around the heat like it belongs there.
Then, with a final rasped breath, he pulls out of me, and I feel him tucking his cock away. “Fuck, your cunt’s something else.” The deep timbre of his voice makes my inner walls flutter in response.
After rearranging my dress so the skirt covers my ass, he repositions us so we’re face-to-mask. I don’t know how to feel as I look at my Groom now, after he just fucked me like that.
A bright light blinds me, and I close my eyes for a brief moment. Just as I’m about to open them, his distorted voice rasps through the filter, “Till death, Eve.”
The hooded priest lifts his arms, voice cutting through the murmur of clapping like a blade through silk. “It is done. What was separate is now bound. What was free is now claimed for all eternity in this unholy matrimony.”
When the priest steps back, my Groom reaches up and removes his mask… and the world tilts.
Jack Knight stares back at me, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth as if this has all been a private joke. “Surprise, wife.”
My knees threaten to give way. I don’t even have time to curse before his lips crush against mine, sealing not just the marriage, but my fate.
He kisses me hard, brutally so. Each swipe of his tongue against mine is like a brand burned into my soul. My gasp gets swallowed by his mouth, my protest silenced by the sharp crush of teeth and tongue. I lose myself for a second in it—shocked, breathless, overwhelmed.
I hear a click, but then it’s drowned out by applause from the audience I’d forgotten about. Jack breaks the kiss and turns us so we’re facing the onlookers below the stage. My lips are parted, kiss-bruised and stinging.
“You’re mine now. Let them see it.” His voice is silk soaked in ash.
For some reason, I nod. I fucking nod like I agree, which I don’t.
“Do it,” Jack says.
“Do what?” I ask, confused by what it is he wants me to let them see.
But when I feel someone move behind me just as Jack winds his arm around my shoulders and holds me close, I realize he wasn’t talking to me at all. I try to look behind me, but Jack’s words stop me.
“It’ll be easier if you stand still,” he growls.
Then a thick leather gag is pressed against my mouth, shoved between my lips before I can twist away. It silences my cries as I try to pull back, but Jack doesn’t let me move. The straps are drawn tight, buckled with swift precision behind my head.
I scream into it anyway, muffled and broken. No one reacts. Their silence is reverent. As if this, too, was scripted.