Chapter 9 SLIPPERY SINS
SLIPPERY SINS 1
PAMELLA KENT(FL) — 22YRS
ENZO BLACK (ML) — 40YRS
PAMELLA
“Oh, Bella… I’m gonna come inside you—”
“You drive me fucking crazy… yeahhh…”
His voice was gravel and silk, a growl wrapped in lust. His cock drove deep, pounding into me with brutal precision as his balls slapped wetly against my ass. Every thrust sent my body unraveling.
His lips crashed into mine—hot, rough, soaking me in his heat. His thumb circled my clit, fast and sloppy, relentless, dragging broken moans from my throat.
The sounds we made were obscene. Wet. Slippery. Unholy.
My core clenched around him, milking him, drawing him in deeper.
He groaned. “Beg for my cum, Bella. You want it, don’t you? You want me to fill this greedy pussy.”
Jesus.
“Yes—fuck—fill me. Fill my cunt with your hot cum.”
“That’s it, baby.”
And just when I was about to come—
BZZZZZZZZ
The alarm screamed in my ear.
“No!” I gasped, my eyes snapped open, chest heaving, soaked in sweat—and slick. The dream had vanished in smoke, ripped away like a cruel joke. I reached for the alarm and hurled it at the wall. It shattered. Good.
My pussy throbbed with rage and need. I could still feel his weight on me. His hands. His voice.
Same dream. Same man.
Three months now.
The same godlike face. Long dark hair, obsidian eyes, thick cock I could still feel inside me. And that voice—low, accented, and obscene—made my core throb every time.
He’d fuck me all night in my sleep—and disappear every morning. Leaving me empty. Raw. Starved.
My fingers dipped between my thighs—wet, aching, hungry. Damn it. I reached for the vibrator I kept hidden under the pillow, the one thing that had kept me sane for the past few months.
This had become my morning routine—chase the ghost of a man I only knew through lust.
I came, but it wasn’t enough. It never was.
“Pamella!”
“Pamella Kendra Kent, get your ass down here!”
Mama’s voice sliced through the air like a whip, and dragged me back to reality.
I was being handed over today.
I hissed and slid my legs off the bed. My thighs were still slick from climax, my heart still aching for the man who existed only in my dreams.
I took a long shower, but even the hot water couldn’t wash away the ache between my thighs—or the anger buried deep in my chest.
For six months, I’d been under lock and key. Grounded. Watched. Punished.
All because I had sex. One night. One choice.
I didn’t even love the guy. I just wanted to feel something—wanted to know what it felt like to be touched, to be taken.
I knew I wasn't supposed to want that. Not as a Kent daughter. Not as Papa’s only child. Not when I was still unmarried.
But Papa found out the next morning, and sent his men to retrieve me like I was some runaway whore.
The news spread through the city.
It brought shame and disgrace to the family. Papa was so furious and that’s when he made the deal.
A way to "save face." To cleanse the shame I’d brought on the family.
They called it a marriage, but it was anything but. A deal. A transaction. A price tag for my ruined virginity.
I didn’t know his name. I hadn’t seen his face. All I knew was that he was older, rich, and dangerous enough to make Papa bow.
Mama entered the room without knocking, just like always. Her eyes scanned me, her expression cold and unreadable. She was still mad at me, same as papa.
And the worst? I don't feel remorse, even one bit.
I hadn't expected it would turn out like this. But the sex was my choice and shouldn't be such a grave sin.
"Sit. Let's get you prepared." She said, her lips barely moving.
I sat in silence while she brushed my hair and painted my lips. The silk dress she laid out was yellow, but it felt more like a shroud than a gown.
“No tears, Pamella." She warned, like she noticed the bitterness in my eyes.
“But Mama—”
“You chose this path when you chose to defile yourself.”
The slap of her words stung harder than her hand ever could. I bit my tongue. If I opened my mouth, I’d scream.
I stared at myself in the mirror. Pale. Beautiful. Empty.
The dress fit too perfectly. It clung to every curve, like I was dressed for seduction, not for marriage. Maybe that’s what Papa promised the man—a body that still had value.
"You should be grateful, the don is a good man. He still wants you... Even with your past."
That word 'past' cut deep. As if one night had rewritten my entire worth.
“Pamella,” she continued, tightening the necklace around my throat like a leash, "He will be here shortly, behave."
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My throat felt too tight.
Moments later, I walked down the stairs. I was dressed in yellow, but didn’t feel happy or bright. I felt miserable, like I was walking to my execution. The hallway felt longer than it ever had. My heart pounded in my ears. My palms were clammy.
The living room was quiet.
Papa sat on his usual couch, and mama sat by his side.
They weren't alone.
I noticed the man that stood at the far end, by the fireplace. Tall, Broad-shouldered, dressed in black suit. He was speaking to someone on the phone, and somehow that voice sounded familiar.
I mentally scolded myself, and shot the thoughts out.
Finally, he turned.
My heart stopped.
I blinked. No. No fucking way.
Long dark hair.
The darkest Obsidian eyes.
Sculpted mouth.
The very man who’d been fucking me in my dreams for months—whispering filth, taking me without mercy, till I came—stood in my living room. Real. Alive. Watching me with the same hunger I’d only ever seen behind closed eyes.
My knees nearly buckled. I pinched my hip so hard, just to be certain... But, it was real.
Everything inside me ignited. My skin burned. My core pulsed. I was wet again, instantly. No dream could compare to the way he looked at me now—as if he already owned me.
Papa stood up, “Pam, meet Don Enzo Black,” he said, pride dripping from his voice. “Your husband.”
My husband? God. Is this real?
My mouth fell open, but no sound came. He stepped toward me slowly, confidently. Like he’d walked through my mind and body a thousand times. Because he had.
“Bella,” he said, and reached for my hand. His fingers brushed mine—warm, strong, familiar.
I couldn’t breathe.
My thighs clenched instinctively. My whole body remembered him.
“Hi,” I finally managed to speak, my voice barely above a whisper.
His smile was slow. Dangerous. Wicked.
Then he lifted my hand and kissed my knuckles. His lips were warm and sinful.
"We met at last, beautiful
one." He murmured in his thick accent, and locked his eyes to mine.
That face. That goddamn voice.
I didn't know if I should cry or laugh.