Sins Of The Flesh.
Angel's Point Of View
The VIP section of the restaurant was as extravagant as expected—soft golden lighting, velvet seating, and a live guitarist strumming a slow Spanish melody in the background.
Nickolai ordered a Spanish dish, something rich and traditional, while I went with an Italian classic—spaghetti politaine, paired with a bottle of fruit juice.
For a while, we ate in silence. It was almost… comfortable.
Then, he spoke.
“Tell me, Angel, what made you become a stripper?”
The question came without warning, blunt and shameless.
There was no filter. No hesitation.
I set my fork down, and looked him dead in the eyes.
“I needed the money,” I replied, my voice deliberately blank.
“So, you decided to sell—”
“You don’t have to worry, Mr. Nickolai,” I cut him off, my voice sharp, my fists clenching under the table.
“I may have been an exotic dancer, but I never had to sell my body.”
His words stung in a way I hadn’t expected. A part of me knew people thought that way, but hearing it aloud, from him, made my stomach turn.
“I’m sorry, Amoré,” he apologized, his voice softer this time.
I rolled my eyes and pushed my plate aside. My appetite was gone.
“Angel—”
I grabbed my bag, ready to leave, but his hand caught my wrist before I could take a step.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his grip gentle yet firm. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, Cariño. Please, just sit down and enjoy your lunch.”
I stared at him, debating whether to walk away or give in. Eventually, I sighed and lowered myself back into my seat.
He tried to keep the conversation going, shifting to lighter topics, but I barely engaged, answering in short, clipped words.
Then, I felt his hand brush against mine.
“Are you really going to give me the cold shoulder, Angel?”
I exhaled, pulling my hand back. “Because you ruined my mood, Nickolai. I wasn’t expecting you to judge me.”
I was hurting, but I refused to cry in front of him.
His expression softened.
“Amoré, I’m sorry. What can I do to make it up to you?”
I studied his face. He seemed genuine.
“It’s fine, Nickolai,” I murmured, deciding to let it go.
Slowly, I relaxed, and the conversation flowed more naturally. We talked about little things—nothing too deep, nothing too personal.
By the time I glanced outside, the sun was already setting.
“It’s getting late. I need to go,” I said, smiling as I reached for my bag and pulled out my card.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said before I could hand it to the waiter.
“But—”
“No, Angel. I’ll pay. And I’ll also drop you off.”
I sighed, knowing there was no use arguing with a D’Amano.
He settled the bill, and we left.
The ride was quiet—awkward, but not unbearable.
“This is the way to Raul’s penthouse.” Nickolai pointed out after a while.
There was something about the way he said Raul’s name. Something I couldn’t quite place.
“Hmm,” I hummed in response, not wanting to press further.
Thankfully, he didn’t push the conversation.
When we arrived at the hotel, he walked me to my room. I could feel the weight of lingering stares—the silent whispers of what people might assume.
First Raul, now Nickolai.
I ignored it.
“Thank you, Nickolai,” I said as we reached my door, offering him a small smile.
“Don’t mention it, Amoré.”
We stood there, neither of us moving, just staring at each other.
The silence stretched.
“A-alright, I’ll go now,” I whispered, shifting awkwardly.
Before I could turn, he pulled me into his chest. The sudden closeness caught me off guard, my hands instinctively pressing against the hardness of his torso.
“You’re so beautiful, Angel,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper—so low that if I weren’t this close, I wouldn’t have heard him.
“Nickolai—”
His head dipped, his lips barely brushing the corner of mine before I could move.
“Good night, amorè.” He whispered against my skin, then stepped back, leaving me standing there, breathless.
I touched my chest, trying to steady my racing heart.
Why couldn’t I move when he was so close to me?
Sighing, I discarded my outfit and stepped into the shower.
The warm water did little to wash away the thoughts plaguing my mind. The thoughts of Raul.
I wondered how long it would take before he came back. A part of me missed him already.
Shaking the thought away, I shut off the water and wrapped myself in a towel.
As I went through my nightly routine, my phone buzzed.
I glanced at the screen.
Raul.
His name glowed against the dark screen, standing out like a shooting star in the sky.
I hesitated before opening the message.
“I won’t be back until 21 days. I expect you to be familiar with a part of your lines, Angel.”
I rolled my eyes. Typical of him.
Arrogant. Cold.
He didn’t even ask how I was doing.
That’s not his business, Angel. And he’s married.
My subconscious reminded me.
Exhausted, I crawled into bed. I checked in on my mother and Luca before finally allowing sleep to take over.
But I almost wished I didn’t have to sleep at all. Because when I did… I was taken to another world entirely.
A world I had no desire to wake up from. A world I wish I could swap with my reality.
\~~~~
He held my wrists above my head and locked a cuff around it, keeping it in place.
“You look so beautiful, Caramella,” Raul’s voice was low, deep—dripping with something dark and sinful. It sent a sharp thrill down my spine, making my stomach churn.
“Raul—” I moaned, my back arching instinctively.
His warm palm pressed against my hips, holding me down effortlessly.
“You know you’re a very naughty little slut, Angel,” he murmured, his fingers tracing a slow, torturous path from my thighs up to my slick folds.
My skin erupted in goosebumps.
“Y-yes, Daddy. I’m a naughty little slut,” I gasped, barely able to get the words out.
“And you know what that means, right?” His hot breath fanned over my aching core, sending a violent shiver through me.
“Y-yes, Daddy. You’re going to punish me,” I whimpered, my thighs trembling as his smirk brushed against my skin.
“That’s right, tesoro.” His voice was like molten honey, dark and intoxicating.
“I’m going to punish you, put you in your place. Because you—” his grip tightened around my jaw, forcing me to meet his gaze, “—are Daddy’s little Angel. My naughty, perfect slut.”
Then his lips crashed against mine, fierce and claiming. His teeth scraped over my skin, leaving marks that burned in the best way possible.
I wanted—no, needed—to grip his thick, soft hair, to push his head between my breasts, to feel his tongue and lips everywhere.
But his next words stopped me cold.
“Control your sounds, darling. Catalina isn’t far off.”
And then—he was buried inside me.
“Raul!” I moaned, and jolted awake.
My body was hot, my skin burning. My breath came in short, shallow pants.
I folded my knees up, wrapping my arms around myself as if it would somehow contain the chaos swirling inside me.
Why do I keep dreaming about him?
And worse…
Why does it feel so damn real? And so good.
My chest tightened as confusion warred with desire, guilt creeping in like an unwelcomed shadow.
Heaven help me, I thought, swallowing hard. Because I’m about to commit a sin.
And I prayed that, somehow, my mother would find it in her heart to forgive me.