Sinful Hands (Chained Hearts Duet 3) - Page 18
But I’m not.
“I eat women like you for breakfast,” he snarls in my face. I go to put my hands on his chest to push him away, but he shakes his head. “I wouldn’t touch me if I were you, unless you plan on me fucking you for free.” I gasp, then catch myself and roll my eyes. “Because I sure as shit do not pay for sex.”
“Like I’ve said, you couldn’t afford me anyway.”
He chuckles, and his gaze falls to my lips. “I could, and I will.”
“I’ll never fuck you.” My voice is low, but I’m afraid to raise it. Not because I’m afraid of him, but because he might be able to tell what his nearness is doing to me.
It’s…dare I say it? Turning me on.
And I hate that.
“Your smell changed.” Lucas steps back but keeps his hands on either side of me. I try to shake my head at him, but he moves forward, his face burying into the crook of my neck.
“Get off of me before I knee you where the sun don’t shine,” I growl. He chuckles again, ignoring me, and drags his nose down my neck until he reaches the swell of my breast, then his hand sneaks out and cups my sex. I gasp at the contact through my jeans.
“The dress gives better access.” He peers at me through his lashes, then pulls his hand away and brings it to his nose and sniffs. A slow but steady smirk plays on his lips. “You’re turned on.”
How the fuck does he know that?
“No, I’m not,” I argue back. He can’t know that.
“Should we find out?” His hand reaches for the waistband of my jeans and he yanks.
I push his hand away, launch off the door, and poke my finger in his face. “Stop smelling and touching me, you fucking creep.” I reach for the door handle, but he’s faster than me. He pushes me against the door again and cages me in once more. But this time his front is to my back, and I can feel his cock pressing against my ass.
“But you smell so fucking good.” He leans in and doesn’t ease up on the pressure I feel behind me. Then he takes another deep breath, and a shiver runs rampant all over my body.
“I’m sure this is classified as assault,” I mutter, barely controlling the shakiness of my breath, turning my head and trying to look at him.
“Even if you like it?”
This time he licks my ear.
Is he… tasting me?
“You have the wrong impression. Now I understand where you got that wrong. You think all these women like you, when in reality, we all despise you.”
Lucas pushes off me and I feel the cold hit my back. When I turn around to face him, he’s staring at me. His brows furrow as if he is trying to work me out.
“I’m always right when it comes to people,” he states.
Is he… defending himself against my words?
“No, I feel they let you believe you’re right out of fear.”
“You’re telling me you don’t fear me?” he asks, his head dropping slightly to the side as he quizzes me.
“I feel sorry for you,” I reply, standing tall.
This puts a smirk on his lips—not quite a smile, but something more sinister.
“Sugar, you don’t feel sorry for me. You want me. But you just don’t understand it. Probably because you’re so used to spreading those legs for every Tom, Dick, and Harry.”
“Sugar?” Distaste fills my mouth. “You don’t get the privilege of calling me a nickname.” I shake my head. “One…I am not fucking you. Two…you can’t pay me enough. And three…” I pull open the door, step out, and glance back, “… I fucking hate you.”
Walking straight out, I spot Merci and Brody at the bar. I grab both their arms on my way by and pull them toward the door. I look back and Brody starts to protest—until he sees the look on my face.
As soon as the night air hits us, so does the cold. I take a deep breath and hurry to the car, opening the passenger door for Brody. He pauses, looks over my shoulder, and I know who’s there before he says anything. Then, before I can utter a word or even turn around, something hits my head and everything goes black.
My head is sore. That’s the first thing I think when my eyes open a tiny crack. I know I didn’t drink much, so why does it hurt so badly? I go to lift my hands to touch my head, but I can’t. They’re stuck. My eyes spring open, and all I see is a white ceiling above me. Moving my head to the side, I’m in a bed, but it’s not just any bed, it’s the same one I used with my last client. My usual spot.
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