Sinful Hands: (Lucas & Chanel #1)

by T. L Smith

  “It means ‘forever mine,’” he says simply, then kisses my belly. His tongue dips into my belly button and I squirm at the sensation before he drops lower.

  “Is that what I am to you? Yours?” He raises his head and rests his chin on my belly as he lies between my naked legs.

  “You won’t be anyone else’s.”

  I reach down and touch his face, my fingers trailing through his hair and down his cheek. “We are toxic.”

  Lucas leans into my touch. “I’m toxic, you are not. And…” he pauses, laying his head on my stomach, “… I will kill anyone who tries to take you away from me.”

  “Lucas.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Why aren’t you inside of me already?”

  He lifts his head and climbs back up my body, then leans down and kisses my collarbone, working his way around to my chin, and making sure he kisses every part of me. His hand comes up and his thumb slides over my lips before his finger slips into my mouth.

  “Suck,” he commands, and I do. His eyes darken as he watches the action before he pulls it out and puts it between us and rubs my clit. I feel his cock near my entrance. Lucas rubs, and rubs a little more, and soon my legs wrap around his waist, his mouth touching my skin, setting it on fire with his lingering kisses before he gently slides into me.

  How did I not know sex could be this amazing?

  How did I not know that there is pure, addictive pleasure in it?

  I had sex because it was my job. And sometimes I would start to become aroused, but the feeling went as fast as it came. And I fucked because I was paid to, nothing more.

  I don’t fuck Lucas for any of those reasons.

  He is one of the first men I fucked for the pure pleasure of it and nothing more.

  That’s a lie. There is more, but I’m not ready to deal with that ‘more’ word just yet.

  I shouldn’t have to.

  I don’t want to.

  His hand comes up to my neck, and he applies pressure. I bite my lip as he starts moving in and out.

  “If you stop…” I warn him.

  A soft chuckle leaves his mouth. “I couldn’t even if I fucking wanted to.” I can hear the desperation in his voice, and a part of me wants him to kiss me, but the other part that I’m keeping to myself—the one I don’t want to let him have—is screaming at me to say no.

  If I give him my all, he will break me.

  Lucas is known to break women.

  And most don’t come back alive.

  I want to continue breathing, so I keep my lips to myself and don’t go down that path.

  Mainly to protect myself.

  Because that’s all I have left.

  Myself.

  He has everything else. My body, my touches, my attention.

  But he will not get the kisses because those are mine to give.

  Lucas keeps up a perfect rhythm, and he does it ever so slowly, like he has to savor me. He’s never rushed because he knows how to please. And please me he has always done.

  “Mio per sempre.”

  I grip and kiss his cheek. Then I run my fingers through his hair. He stops, and I almost want to scream, but he gets up on his knees and lifts my legs over his shoulders before he slides right back into me. Not before he leans over and grabs something—a knife.

  That’s when I watch him fuck me. The way his muscles clench and move, his V arrowing down to his talented cock, the lines of tattoos covering every inch of his chest.

  I want to discover what each and every one of those inked images means.

  Why? A quiet voice asks me.

  I grip my tits, and he smirks as he watches me pinch my nipples. He picks up the pace. Not fast enough to ‘slam bam thank you ma’am,’ but enough that I can feel myself on the edge. And he’s right there to push me over.

  “Touch your clit,” he commands. I slide one of my hands from my breasts down to my clit, then I lean up and offer him my finger. He takes it and sucks before he realizes. Then he grips it and pauses while he’s inside of me.

  “Stay still,” he commands. I watch in horror as he brings that knife down to my stomach.

  “No,” I immediately say. He smirks then holds out his wrist in front of me, while his cock is still in me.

  “Watch,” he commands. He digs the knife in, it cuts his arm open and blood begins to pool, not deep enough for blood to gush, but enough that blood is evident. He places the knife down and puts his fingers on his arm where he cut and puts the blood on his finger pushing on his skin to push more blood out, before he pulls it away and smirks as he puts it between us and onto my clit.

  It’s sadistic. He’s a sociopath, of that I’m sure. But why, oh fuck why, does it turn me on as he rubs me with his own blood. My hips start moving and he whispers, “Don’t stop.” My hand wants to pull and clutch his hair. “Don’t stop,” he repeats.

  A soft groan leaves me as my other hand squeezes my breast to the point of pain.

  “That’s a good girl,” he says as I come, then his pace picks up and he’s coming right along with me.

  “You are my favorite show,” he says, coming back down to put his full weight on me. My clit is sensitive, but the warmth of his body feels good over me.

  “Hmm,” is all I manage to get out. Not even thinking about the blood, and I really should be. I’ve done some fucked up things, but that tops it all.

  Lucas lays his head between my breasts, and soon, we both pass out.

  It’s a normal day, as normal as any day could be, really. I come home from school to find Brody sitting on the steps. He should have been at school, he’s old enough, but he hardly went anymore.

  “What’s wrong?” I sit next to him, nudging him with my shoulder when he doesn’t speak. Sometimes he prefers to be quiet, because our father won’t hit him if he is. He learned that quickly.

  “I need to use the bathroom.” His legs are squeezed tightly together.

  “Okay, well, let’s go.” I stand, offering him my hand, but he shakes his head.

  “I don’t want to go in there. He kicked me out, and I couldn’t go to school because he wouldn’t give me my backpack. The kids at school already make fun of me for what I wear,” he grumbles, looking down at his bare feet.

  I picked up some part-time work as soon as I was old enough, which means Brody has to spend more time at home without me.

  And I hate it.

  But I have to do it because we need to eat, and all our parents’ money goes straight to drugs. And that’s where it stays. They haven’t changed over the years, and they never will. I came to accept that fact a long time ago.

  “Okay, let’s walk you over to Merci’s. I’m sure she and her grandmother are home. You can use their bathroom while I go and get some things.”

  He nods and leans on me when he stands. I have to go to work in a few hours, but if Merci is home, I’m sure he’ll be fine to stay there.

  When we get to Merci’s place, Brody knocks softly and she opens the door, smiling.

  “Grandma’s just cooked, perfect timing.” I push him in, and he heads straight for the bathroom. We stand there for a moment before she looks back to me. “It’s been quiet over there. I was wondering where he was.”

  “He’s been on the front steps.” She nods like she gets it, and she probably does. Her mother was the same, it’s why she lives here.

  We don’t have any other family to lean on, as far as I am aware; it’s only ever been us. No one else.

  No one has ever come to save us.

  And I always knew I’d have to do it.

  “I have to get a few things from home. Can he stay here tonight on your couch?”

  “What about you?” she asks, biting her lip nervously.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “You aren’t always fine. I see the bruises, Chanel. I know they hit you.”

  She’s right, they do. They throw things at me and laugh, thinking it’s some sort of stupid game. I’ve gotten to that age now, tho
ugh, where I can overpower them. The drugs have made them weak.

  That’s how I see them.

  Weak, weak, parents who couldn’t give a shit about anyone but themselves.

  It took me a while to view them as that, but now, that’s all I see.

  Who would bring children into this world if they don’t intend to do the basic things for them like feed and clothe them? Selfish assholes, that’s who, and I have two of them.

  “I’ll be back.” She nods and watches me walk to my door. I push it open, because it’s never locked, and I’m met with silence. Bongs sit on the coffee table in the living room and cigarette butts litter the floor. One time, I came home from school to find Brody drinking the bong water. Right then and there, I knew I could never trust them with him.

  “Hello.”

  No one answers.

  I walk farther inside and see the tap running in the kitchen. Turning it off, I hear a faint sound.

  The apartment has only two bedrooms.

  At first, Brody had their room, but now he shares a room with me. It’s safer that way. If they get high during the night, I barricade us in the room.

  Passing our room, I go straight to theirs and push open the door slightly.

  I pause.

  Well fuck! I didn’t expect to see this.

  I mean, I had a feeling one day it would happen, but I was hoping it would be after I was eighteen. Not before.

  Stepping in, I find my father—the piece of shit that he is—eyes wide open and froth at his mouth. Clearly, he’s overdosed. I lean down and check his pulse. When I feel nothing, I kick him. Asshole. The fucking asshole. “I hate you,” I scream, kicking him again.

  “Chanel.” I jump at the sound of my mother’s voice. She’s on the bed, while my father is on the floor. Stepping over him, I go closer to her. She reaches out to touch me, but she’s too weak and gives up. “Help.” The voice she uses rocks me. A part of me wants to go and get help. While the other part…

  Smack.

  Useless piece of shit you are.

  Smack.

  I wish you were never born.

  Smack.

  I hate you.

  Smack.

  That’s what I remember when I look at her—the way she is when she isn’t asleep.

  She’s an evil bitch.

  Just like that piece of shit lying dead on the floor.

  “No.” The word falls from my mouth, and shock shows in her eyes, but she is too weak to move or do anything. I sit on the edge of the bed next to her. “Brody and I, we are going to have such a better life without you two in it,” I tell her. “You are poison, and I hate you with every fiber of my being.”

  “Chanel.” Her voice comes out soft. “What about Brody?” And that’s the card she will always play with me—my little brother.

  “No one will know. I’m eighteen soon, then I’ll report you.” I stand and lean down over her. My hand shakes as I reach it out and touch her face, gripping her nose and covering her mouth with my palm. She’s too weak to fight me. “Burn in hell, Mother. I’ll see you real soon.” I hold on tight. She struggles, but not too much as the drugs having taken a toll on her. I watch as she tries to catch her last breath and happiness fills me when she can’t.

  What does this make me?

  A killer?

  When she stops moving, I remove my hand and check her pulse.

  Dead.

  Good.

  Stepping over my father, I turn and walk out of the room, shutting the door and locking it so Brody won’t go in and find them.

  Then a smile touches my face.

  It’s done.

  They are done.

  All the pain and suffering…

  … it’s over.

  31

  Chanel

  “Chanel.” Hands grab me. I try to move, but Lucas keeps me still. “Chanel,” he says my name again, and when I open my eyes, I’m not stuck in that shitty apartment I called home with my dead parents.

  “Sorry, bad dream.” I rub my eyes.

  “You have them often?” he asks in a softer voice.

  “Who are you?” I ask him. “You aren’t the man you made yourself out to be,” I say without thinking, the strange comfort I feel in his arms making me want to understand him even more. I can’t imagine him killing me now, or that he would actually harm me.

  I could be wrong, but I hope I’m not.

  “And what type of man is that?” he questions, his hand tightening on my bare hip as he keeps me pinned to him.

  “They call you the viper. They say you collect. Have you collected me yet?” I ask.

  “Do you think I haven’t?”

  I think on that for a second.

  Has he? He has, but I think I like the way he did it.

  “Maybe you have.”

  “I have.” He strokes the hair away from my face.

  I go to get up, but he holds me still. “I have work today.”

  “Call in sick.” He plays with a piece of my hair, twirling it around his finger.

  “I only just got this job. I need it.”

  “I’ll call in sick for you. Tell Sailor I need your assistance today.”

  “No, don’t.” I shake my head and try to get up again, but he just pulls me right back down.

  “Okay, how much longer do we have, then?”

  I roll over and check the time. “I have to leave in an hour,” I reply, turning back to him.

  “I can deal with an hour.” He pulls the duvet up over us and then scoots down and pushes my legs apart. I go to stop him, because of what we did, but when I look to the side there’s a wash cloth covered in blood and I realize he cleaned me while I slept. His mouth doesn’t waste a second before it lands between my legs. I groan as I slide farther into him and reach under the blanket to grip his hair. His hand snakes up my body, finding my breast before he grips my nipple, squeezing and tugging it.

  “Lucas.”

  “Hmm,” he hums into me.

  “Someone is at your door,” I tell him, hearing the faint knocking.

  He doesn’t stop. In fact, he doesn’t seem to care at all that someone is here.

  I giggle as he slaps my nipple, then moves his hand back down to slide his finger into me.

  “No giggling,” he commands, and that automatically brings up another giggle, until his mouth does that thing where it licks with his whole tongue, incredibly slowly over my clit. Then I shut up and moan. “That’s better,” he says, then continues with what he’s doing. My head lolls back on the pillow, and I can’t help but call out his name as he makes me come.

  The knocking grows louder, but my moans drown them out.

  “Chanel.”

  “Hmm,” is all I can manage as he spreads my legs and puts himself between them.

  “You weren’t mine. Did you know that?”

  I don’t know what to say to that, so I keep my mouth shut, my eyes asking all he needs to respond.

  “You were his.”

  This makes my eyes open wider. “What?”

  He pauses inside of me and leans forward, his mouth hovering before he leans down and kisses my chin and then bites my ear. “But I think I may keep you. Maybe.” A soft groan leaves him as he pushes all the way in. I dig my nails into his back as he takes me, and I let him because he knows what he’s doing.

  Lucas is a good lover. No, Lucas is a marvelous lover.

  No man I have ever been with has fucked me the way Lucas does.

  And that’s saying a lot considering I’ve slept with my fair share of men.

  “Tell me it’s me you want,” he says, pushing in and stopping. He gazes down at me, and I reach up to push some of his hair away from his face.

  I hate that this man, who is so evil, is so damn beautiful.

  He can fool the best of them.

  When God created Lucas, he said, “I’m going to make you so fine, that women will drop at your feet.”

  Literally.

  Dead.

&n
bsp; And Lucas said, “Challenge accepted, bitch.”

  Well, in my head that’s how it went.

  The knocking continues.

  Lucas is still waiting for my words.

  “It’s you,” I whisper, which makes a small, sinister smile touch his lips before he starts moving again. He leans down, and this time when he comes to my lips, I let him. He halts, as if he isn’t sure. He’s giving me time to push him away, to tell him no.

  “Lucas.”

  He freezes, and so do I.

  The knocking has stopped, and now that person is in the house.

  Lucas pulls out of me, throws the duvet over me, picks up a pair of pants and slides them on, then looks back at me. “Do not move. Stay in this room.”

  I nod as he looks me in the eyes one last time.

  “You’ll forgive me.” Then he walks out.

  What is that supposed to mean?

  I stay there, frozen in shock until I hear talking. So I decide to get up and get ready for the day since I don’t plan on missing work. Lucas mentioned earlier he’s had some clothes brought over and they’re in a bag in the closet. I find the bag and open it. The outfit is long work pants with a silky black singlet. After getting dressed, I go to his bathroom and fix my hair. Once it’s styled enough, I walk back into the bedroom to find Lucas sitting on the bed, with the door open.

  “Plans have changed,” he states, standing and walking to his closet. He gets dressed, and I watch him, confused by his words. When he turns back to me, he’s doing up his buttons. “You should leave.”

  “Okay.” I reach for my cell and walk out of his bedroom with a little bit of anger, pain and rejection hitting me at his words. I stop short at the sight before me blocking the front door.

  “Hello, Chanel. That’s your real name, correct?” My eyes go wide, and I clutch the cell in my hand. “I mean, I didn’t really think Mandy was your name, so it was harder to find you.” I step back as he steps up to me.

  I bump into something and am relieved to feel it’s Lucas. His hands come up to my arms and he grips them.

  “Chanel, meet my father, Malik.”

  A small gasp leaves me.

  This man is not his father, he can’t be.