Lessons In Sin Pam Godwin Novels & Stories

“I—” He turned back, and the look on his face stopped my breath. Anger I would have liked, but not pity. Certainly, not pity. “You're a child, Nina. A stupid, reckless child who doesn't understand that this—” he gestured between us “—is wrong, and you need to grow the hell up.” I shrank at the words. “Get your clothes on,” he said, turning away completely. “Get out. And don't ever come near me again. I won't ask you to leave because I promised to house you until you can stand on your own. Just don't make me regret ever helping you.”

I'd gone to his study to surprise him, only to find him bent over the design schematics for our rings. The original "Amor Aeternus" was crossed out. Replaced by that new line of Latin: Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. My sin, my greatest sin. Five years. The guilt had never left him. Her shadow still loomed over everything between us. "Isabella?" the priest prompted gently. I lifted my head and looked out at the crowd. My father, Don Rossi, his eyes filled with expectation. The Moretti council, sitting ramrod straight, waiting for the answer that would end a decades-long war between our two families.

We lost a few people all because of the miss Hae Soo and Pamela drama but at least it didn't weigh us down, instead it made us push harder and want to become better people. Everything that has happened in my life now has made me realize that every single thing Allah brings towards someone's way is for a reason. Even though we don't like it at the beginning, we're going to end up loving it so much. Even though we sin, it doesn't mean we can't repent. I committed Zina with Pamela, but I am never going to stop asking Allah for forgiveness for it until the day I die. Allah hates sins but not the people that commit them. That's why I'm doing my best to change and get a good spot in Jannah with my

she sobbed, her pussy gushing juices down his shaft. Across the room, Chelsea and Damien approached the missionary statue. Chelsea's heart pounded, her small frame trembling as she lay back on the floor, spreading her legs wide to reveal her pink pussy, already slick from the room's influence. Damien stripped off his shirt, his muscular chest heaving, and dropped his pants to let his long cock spring out, veined and throbbing. He positioned himself between her thighs, leaning down to capture her lips in a rough kiss, his tongue pushing into her mouth while she kissed back hungrily, tears streaming down her cheeks.

People were punished for it … because everyone thought that speaking the devil alpha’s name would summon him. “Say it,” he said. “Alpha …” “Alpha?” “Zade,” I said, my voice just above a whisper. “And you know I don’t fucking allow that kind of shit to happen to anyone I care about, don’t you?” His fingers curled around my G-spot, and I grasped his muscular shoulder through his tight gray sweater, my legs shaking uncontrollably. “I know … oh Goddess, please don’t stop.” He massaged my G-spot with his two fingers as his thumb worked its magic over my clit.

He leaned in until their lips nearly brushed, his voice low and raw. “If it’s a sin, Sarang… then I’ll keep committing it.” He punctuated each word with a deep thrust, pulling a loud moan from her throat. Her body betrayed her again, clenching around him, closer and closer to the edge. “I…” she tried to speak, to tell him she couldn’t hold it... but he silenced her. “Hold it,” he commanded. He pulled back for a moment, then lifted her legs over his shoulders. Her eyes widened in shock just before he slammed into her again... deeper, sharper. She couldn’t stop the scream.

God, my feet. ​I looked down. Water and watered-down blood were pooling off my soles, staining the thick, luxurious black floor mats. ​A fresh wave of deep, agonizing shame washed over me. I was ruining his car. Just like I had apparently ruined Leo's life by being so painfully boring. ​"I'm sorry," I whispered. My voice cracked. I sounded like a dying animal. "I'm... I'm bleeding on your mats. I'll get out." ​I actually reached for the door handle, some delusional part of my brain thinking I could just walk home in the storm.

His fingers plunged inside me. I cried out. "Say it," he growled. "Please..." "Please what?" He twisted cruelly. "Say it properly." "Please, Dominus... touch me... make me come..." His smile was dark fire. "Good girl." His thumb pressed against my clit. Circling. Harder. Faster. I moaned. Bucked. My wrists strained against the leather. "Close," he murmured. "So close, little fox... but not yet." He pulled away.

My eyes shut tight, teeth digging into my lip to stop the sound. The burn was hot, unbearable and yet I wanted more. “Seven…” My voice cracked, tears stinging my eyes. “Don’t cry, Amara,” he murmured near my ear. “This isn’t pain. This is teaching.” Another lash. My back arched, my moan almost spilling. “Eight…” “Good girl,” he said again, rough, like gravel. The words made me melt. The ninth lash fell harder. My scream nearly broke out, but I buried my face against the desk, muffling it.

The tension thicker. We reached his study — the same room where, years ago, he’d first taught me how to aim without shaking. The room where he’d said, “Never point a weapon at something you’re not ready to destroy.” Now I wondered if he’d meant me even back then. He stopped in front of the window, sunlight outlining the hard planes of his shoulders. I stayed near the door, unsure whether this was another test or another punishment. “There’s a leak in the family,” he said without turning.