Sinful Hands (Chained Hearts Duet 3)

“That’s unfair,” she mutters, her voice strained.

I smile and push my fingers back in, two of them, with my thumb circling her clit. She is ready for me, and she can feel it too as her other hand moves to my wrist to try to get me to keep going. To not move as she’s coming. “Don’t stop, Lucas. I don’t want you to stop this time.” She’s talking about how I used to fuck her.

“But remember how hard you would come, Doctor… all over my hand.” There’s no other part of me touching her apart from my hand in her pussy. Her hands, though, are all over me.

“Not this time. Don’t tease me this time,” she almost begs, her hands gripping my jacket and legs trembling as she gets closer.

“Okay, only this time.”

Sarah sighs, and her head lolls back to my chest while I pump my fingers in and out of her. When I feel her tightening around my fingers, I use my other hand to push her chest back. “Watch me, Doctor.” Her crystal-clear eyes link to mine. “You thought you could be the one to cure me, to make me better, didn’t you?” I pause my fingers when she doesn’t answer.

She whimpers.

“Answer me.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she replies, bringing a smile to my face. My fingers begin moving again, curling to brush that spot which will push her over the final edge.

“You can’t fix me, dear. I’m already amazing.”

It’s then she sees the real me, even in the midst of coming.

My free hand now holds a knife.

“It’s impossible to fix something already perfect, Doctor.” Then, ever so lightly as she comes, the knife slides across her throat while my hand continues to fuck her. Her moan is interrupted when she chokes on the blood quickly cascading down her chest, her eyes never leaving mine as they grow wider with shock. “See, perfect.”

I pull my fingers free and feel my smile spreading as she tries to move away with her hand now firmly grasping her throat. “And you thought you could try to pass on my notes to the police. How stupid do you think I am?”

I step closer as she takes another step back, her hands on her wound trying to stem the blood flow as the river streams behind her.

There is no escaping.

“You were fun, though. I learned so much about myself.” I wink, huffing a laugh. “But all good things must come to an end. Goodbye, Doctor.” I give her shoulder a gentle push.

Both of her hands leave her neck, as she tries to grab me to stop from falling in, but I step aside and watch. Her mouth opens to release a pointless, garbled scream as she stumbles and plunges into the murky depths of the water below.

Wiping my hands on my trousers, I take one last look at her disappearing form, then leave.

Goodbye, Doctor. It was fun while it lasted.

It always is until they no longer interest me.

1

Chanel

He grunts—I hate him.

Grunt.

Grunt.

Grunt.

Just imagine it.

But he isn’t the worst.

He’s just… a grunter.

Again, it could be worse.

Tonight isn’t a typical bad night, but I’m over it already.

His grubby hands grip my waist, and I instantly want to roll off and tell him he needs to go home and fuck his damn wife. Stop being unfaithful. Go home to his kids and spend the money on them.

But why would I do that?

That would be like cutting off one’s nose to spite one’s face, right?

He pays nicely, and I’m a whore. A hooker. A trollop. A prostitute. Whatever they like to call those of us who let men pay us for sex.

The client always takes off his wedding ring, like it’s sacred to him. Like this little soirée is meant to be some sort of secret that the ring might give away, but we always know the truth.

Let’s face it, it’s mostly married men who engage in our services. The ones who want things they are too afraid to ask their partners for but are more than happy to request from us. Probably because they’re paying and trust that no matter how much we might think of them as scum, we aren’t going to voice it.

And believe me, I’ve wanted to voice it.

Many, many times.

But then again, I have no right to say shit.

Why even stay married, though?

If you’re not happy, just leave.

Not one person in the world is stopping you, except you!

I don’t ever see marriage in my future. I’m what you’d call ‘from the bottom of the barrel.’ Trash. I know it, and I also know that no respectable man will ever want me.

And I’ve come to terms with that.

I’ll let you in on a little secret—the respectable men usually stray. Yes, I know, not what you wanted to hear, right? It’s not always what you think…or should I say, who you think would use our services.