Sinful Hands: (Lucas & Chanel #1)

by T. L Smith

  “Do you plan to ask me questions? Because now is the time.”

  “Why am I here?” I spit out the one he still hasn’t answered.

  “So I can cook for you, obviously.”

  Huh? He’s really hitting me with all the unexpected tonight.

  “Why on earth do you want to cook for me?”

  Lucas stops cutting and looks at me. “I’m not sure of the answer to that, yet.”

  “I want to go home.”

  “After dinner, I’ll take you home.”

  “I’ve already eaten,” I lie.

  “No, you haven’t. Anyone ever tell you, you’re a shit liar?”

  “Anyone ever tell you, you’re a shit person?” I bite back.

  Lucas throws his head back and laughs. It echoes through the house, and I’m amazed by the sound. It sounds so good. How can one person’s laughter pull a smile from my lips? He shakes his head and looks at me once more.

  “You’re good. Really good.” He goes back to chopping. “But I already know that. Most people know that about me. I’m not on this earth to please anyone. I’m here to cause havoc and nothing more.”

  “Don’t forget the fucking,” I point out, because the man sure does know how to fuck.

  “Yes, about that…” He pulls the pasta from the stove and puts it all together in a large bowl. “You should sit, so we can eat.” He nods to the large wooden table in the dining room, and I walk over and sit on the white chairs—he seems to have a thing for white. He places the bowl in front of me, then sits next to me.

  “Where is yours?” I ask.

  “Oh, I’m not having that for dinner tonight.” I look to the bowl of delicious-looking pasta, confused.

  “Is it laced with poison?”

  “Nope.” He shakes his head.

  “Then, why?”

  “Because I plan to have you for dinner.”

  “That’s a bit cocky, wouldn’t you say?” I bite into the pasta. If I die, I die. I guess we’ll see. I try to hold back the moan, but it’s pasta, and I love me some good pasta. This is exceptional.

  “That’s why I plan to fuck you. Because of that sound right there.” He gets up and goes back to the kitchen while I finish eating. When I’m done, I find him watching me, his shirt undone, one hand leaning against the kitchen counter.

  “I think it’s time you lose the clothes,” he says boldly.

  “I think not. I didn’t come here so you could fuck me.”

  “But you did. You like the way I fuck you.” I can’t argue with that, because I do like it, very much so. Even though I think I got in that car without that thought.

  My gaze skims him. I can’t help it, he’s fascinating to look at.

  Why am I attracted to him so much?

  Why does he give me butterflies and make me nervous when no other man has ever been able to do that before?

  I hate that I have these feelings.

  I hate that he does it to me.

  I stand and head toward the door, but I don’t even make it two steps, when he speaks.

  “Chanel.” My feet pause, and in my head I’m screaming at them to start moving again. “I plan to slide my tongue over every inch of your body. To taste you. All of you.”

  Goddammit! Goose bumps litter over my skin.

  “That’s not going to happen,” I tell him.

  “You want it to happen, so why lie about it?” he asks. He removes the bowl from the table, leaning down, the necklace he always wears dangles within my view.

  “Who said I was lying?” My breathing is heavy. And I hate, hate, that I want him to touch me, to slide his hands around my body and do what he just said he wants to do.

  Taste me.

  I want him to taste me.

  Every which way.

  His fingers touch the skin on my arms, and he traces them up to my shoulders.

  “These do, the little bumps that cover your skin when I touch you. You like it.”

  “If you say so,” I say in a calmer voice than I thought I could manage. His body is now pressed against mine, and I can feel every inch of him. “I can feel you.”

  A soft, slow smirk touches those sinister lips. “Not that I’m not happy to be near you, but that isn’t my cock.” He reaches between us and pulls out his gun. Then presses his body back into mine while holding his gun in one hand. “Now, that’s my cock.” I watch as his eyes darken and the gun goes to the table, then his hands slide under my armpits and he lifts me effortlessly onto the surface as well, lying me on my back where he hovers over my body with his gun in my peripheral.

  “It’s best you stay still.” Lucas moves forward, his lips meet the exposed skin on my stomach, and he places butterfly kisses everywhere, teasing at the edge of my pants before he leaves the elastic and pulls them down ever so slightly.

  “And what if I don’t,” I challenge him, peering down my body as he looks up at me.

  “You’ll find out when you find out.” That’s all he gives me before he drags my pants down my hips, taking my underwear with them. I’m now lying half-naked on his table.

  Lucas’ hands grip my knees and he spreads my legs open wide, baring all of me. I’m not self-conscious, but somehow, my thighs want to come back together, even though I know what he can do with his mouth.

  That glorious tongue, which should only be used for this one thing, tastes me. I hear his deep inhale as he breathes me in. Lucas has no shame whatsoever. He doesn’t care if you judge him—he literally does not give a fuck. Not many people can say the same thing. Lucas is in a world of his own, and I’m just a visitor.

  I want to move, but his command to stay still comes back to me. I don’t even know how moving would be possible when I can feel the pleasure rising and rising with each stroke of his tongue.

  He’s slow, taking his time. He never rushes. It’s like he’s perfected his technique and he knows with each little movement of my hips what he’s doing right. He slips a finger inside me and then another, and I can feel myself reaching that point. My hands try to find something to grip, but there’s nothing but the hard tabletop beneath my fingers. I reach for his hair, and as I do, my hips move.

  Then he stops.

  His fingers, his mouth, completely gone, no longer touching me.

  And I was so close.

  So fucking close.

  I scrub my hands down my face and hear him chuckle, so I look at him only to find he’s smirking, his lips wet, and a playful, sinful expression on his face.

  “I told you not to move.”

  “I didn’t,” I snap.

  “Oh, but you did.”

  I groan and tilt my head back so I’m looking up at the ceiling. Then, suddenly, he’s back. His warm mouth on my clit, his finger sliding into me, with slow, delirious licks of pure fucking pleasure, and it doesn’t take me long until I feel the build again. And when I do, I try to keep my hips still. I try with all my might, but they arch to meet him, and he takes one last lick before he’s gone again.

  “This is unfair.”

  “I’d say so…” He huffs, but this time he hasn’t pulled fully away. He’s still leaning over me, looking at me.

  “Get off of me, then.”

  Lucas pushes my hips back down to the table, and it’s then I realize what he’s doing.

  He’s edging me.

  “How would you like me to do the same?” I try to move, but he pins me with one hand to my stomach.

  “Be a good girl and stay still.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Oh, I intend to.”

  Lucas goes back down, and this time, I stay really fucking still, until I can no longer stand it. But he lets me come, and when I do…

  Holy mother of God.

  My legs quiver, my clit pulsates, my pussy is vibrating, and I want to do it all over again.

  “Mio per sempre.”

  “Hmm,” is all I can manage back. I wonder what that means. He’s said it to me a few times, but I can’t work up the strength t
o ask him. It’s probably something along the lines of I’m going to kill you. And here I am, thinking maybe it means something romantic.

  Romantic with Lucas?

  Now that’s a laugh.

  25

  Lucas

  She sits up, her ponytail hanging down her back, and I want to pull it. Hard. Her eyes lock on mine, and I can’t help but step closer to her.

  What is this woman doing to me?

  This is the third time I’ve been with her, tasted her, and I never want to stop.

  But I have to.

  We could never work.

  People like me can’t ever make it work.

  We don’t get happily ever afters like Keir.

  No, we die in a ditch and the world moves on with a care factor of zero that we’re gone. There is no saving a soul that is black and tarnished. Ruined. Destroyed beyond repair.

  So why am I so pulled to hers?

  She isn’t clean, we both know that. She may not have blood on her hands, but she isn’t a good girl either.

  Chanel comes from a dirty family, raising her brother herself, and she did what was necessary. Maybe that’s where the attraction comes from. She will do anything necessary to save herself and her family. And I would do the same.

  Her hands, so soft and tender, reach for me. When she pulls me to her, she wraps her legs around my waist, locking me to her.

  “I think it’s your turn, wouldn’t you say?” she asks, and I pull at her little excuse for a top and tear it over her head. She lets me without an argument.

  I like to know that it’s me who makes her come.

  I like to know that it’s me who can make her quiver.

  She manages to stand, her legs leaving my waist, and then she drops to her knees. She reaches for my waistband and pulls my trousers down until my hard cock is in her face. She licks the tip, then spits on it and rubs her hand up and down at a perfect pace.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  She does this until my hands grab her hair, and her mouth wraps around me. I don’t force her head because I want her to go at her own pace. She doesn’t need lessons on how to suck cock, she’s had enough experience and does that just fine all by herself.

  A humming sound escapes my mouth, and she pulls away, falling to her ass as she looks up at me from the floor.

  “Did you like it?” she asks with a coy smile, and I know what she’s doing.

  She wants to torment me the way I tormented her.

  But, baby, I live for this.

  My cock strains, and I wait for her to get up. She lifts back to her knees, and her mouth covers me again, taking me all in. Her head moves ever so perfectly and I know I don’t need to grip her hair and show her how I like it, because she does it so perfectly.

  “Mio per sempre.” I groan, and just before I come, I pull her off my cock. She looks up at me with shock, her pretty lips nice and wet and gaping open.

  “Get on the fucking table.”

  “Fuck you,” she spits.

  When she stands, I grip her neck and squeeze.

  “Open your mouth like a good girl.” She doesn’t. My cock rubs against her skin, and I reach down between us and touch her cunt. She’s wet. Very wet. I slip a finger in and feel her pulse around me.

  She’s turned on.

  She wants me to fuck her.

  She likes the games.

  Well, get ready baby, so do I.

  I squeeze her throat a little tighter, and she finally obeys, opening her mouth. I keep one hand around her neck, a finger of the other buried deep in her pussy, then I pull it out, put it in my mouth, and taste her.

  “Wider.” She listens, and I spit in her mouth. Her eyes go wide in shock. “Now give it back.”

  She goes to swallow, but I stop her.

  “I said…give it back.” I open my mouth, and she leans in close, careful that her lips aren’t touching mine, because we all know she hates to be kissed, and she does as I ordered, spitting back in my mouth. “See? You taste fucking amazing. Every part of your body. There is only one spot left to taste.” I release my fingers from her throat and see lust in her eyes before I grip her hips and turn her around, my hand moving to the back of her neck.

  “Now, bend over.” She does, my hand helping her lean forward. “Hands on your feet.” She moves her hands to her feet, and I slide my finger between her pussy lips, then inside. She lets out a soft moan before my fingers move back and into her ass. She tries to straighten, but I keep her in position, and push my finger in and out. The fingers of my other hand push into her cunt, and I fuck her with both my hands.

  The moans that leave her mouth are musical. It’s like poetry for the sex-crazed.

  Leaning forward, I lick her ass, making her moan louder and louder, and I feel her pulse around my fingers before I pull them away.

  “Why are you fucking stopping?” She groans and stands. Then she pushes me down until my ass meets the seat and climbs onto my lap. Her hand reaches between us and places my cock at her entrance, then grips the back of the chair when my tip is inside her.

  “Sit,” I command, but she doesn’t. Like a petulant child, she remains hovering over me. “Sit,” I tell her again.

  “Yes, Daddy.” Then, ever so slowly, she drops down, and I smack her ass for being a good girl.

  The urge to strangle her and watch the life fall from her eyes is not there with her.

  That’s the real dilemma with wanting her.

  I don’t know if I’ll be able to let her go.

  But I have to.

  Her head drops back on a moan, exposing her beautiful throat. As she starts to move, I lean forward, biting and sucking her neck. I want to kiss her, but I know she won’t let me, so I get as close to her lips as possible. Just when I think I may be able to kiss her, she turns away, giving me her cheek.

  “I’ll never allow you to do that,” she whispers in my ear, riding my cock even harder.

  “Those lips will be mine, make no mistake,” I threaten.

  She has no time to respond as we both come.

  26

  Chanel

  Shit! I wake in a bed that’s not my own. My clothes are gone, and a hand rests possessively on my hip.

  “Go back to sleep.” Lucas pulls me closer to him. I’m stiff, not sure what’s happening. When did we get to the bed, and why am I still naked? “You passed out after we fucked. I carried you in here a few hours ago. Go back to sleep.”

  “I’m not sleeping with you,” I say, trying to move, but he doesn’t let up.

  “Too late for that,” he mumbles into my hair.

  “Lucas.”

  “Mio per sempre.”

  “What the hell does that even mean, and why do you keep saying it?” I ask, confused and beyond annoyed at myself for letting this happen.

  A soft snore leaves him, but his grip somehow tightens. I pull out from under the weight of his arm and replace myself with a pillow. When I peek at him, he’s naked as well. His smooth, muscular ass is on display, and it’s really unfair to be that beautiful and so damn homicidal.

  Searching the room, I find my things neatly piled onto a chair. I slide my pants on, followed by my shirt. Then when I go to leave, curiosity gets the better of me. While he snores away, I sneak into his closet where his clothes are all neatly hung, but in the corner are photos.

  Of me.

  Some are from that night at Keir’s house, some even more recent. All from times when I was with him.

  How did I never notice him taking photos of me?

  But the weird part is that next to each photo is a painting, exactly the same as the photo.

  “I like to paint you.”

  I jump at the sound of his voice and spin around to find him in the doorway, still naked. His hard muscles covered in all that inked skin making me swallow, hard.

  “You paint?” I question. “Me?”

  “I used to paint when I was a kid, but I haven’t for years.”

  I look back at
the paintings and they are amazing, so lifelike.

  “How is that possible? They’re so good.” I look back at him. “A little creepy, though.”

  “You are incredibly inspirational,” he mutters, stepping into the small space until he’s standing next to me. He opens a cabinet and I glance inside, immediately wishing I hadn’t.

  Pictures of other women line the cupboard.

  “Did you paint them as well?” I ask.

  He picks up the first one and shows it to me. “This one liked to be choked until she passed out and demanded that I keep fucking her, so when she woke, she came.”

  I stare at him, not knowing what else to do because I certainly have nothing to say.

  “I killed her.” He shrugs, like it wasn’t a big deal.

  He pulls out another. “This one…she was quiet, shy to begin with. Until she got in the bedroom. Then her freak flag flew.” He pauses, dropping it. “I killed her too.” He looks at me now.

  “Why?” I ask on a breath, feeling heat rising into my chest at his admissions. Why would he do that?

  “I like to watch the life leave their eyes while I fuck them, and I didn’t like the way they smelled anymore.”

  “What did they smell like?”

  “Betrayal,” he remarks in a voice that sends shivers over me, and my brows quickly squish together. My end looking a lot closer than I was anticipating.

  “Do you plan to add me to your collection?” I nod to the cabinet. There are multiple photos of some of the women, but others just have one.

  “No,” he answers simply. “Now, how about some food?” He turns around without another word, walks out, and leaves me in his closet, with too much to think about.

  “If you really want to find the good stuff, open the cupboard on the top in the wardrobe.” He chuckles, and I turn, looking up to the only one with a handle, and I reach for it. My hand pauses, wondering if this is a good idea or an incredibly stupid one.

  Biting my inner cheek, I do it anyway. Inside, I find a box. Pulling it down and opening it, there are whips, handcuffs, dildos, and other devices I could never name, as well as photos of naked women, dead. Quickly putting it back, I hurry out to find him at the kitchen counter, making coffee.