Chapter 32: Chapter Little Liar: Epilogue I

“

lose your eyes,” Malachi tells me, and when I shake my head, he adds, “Trust me.”

The tone of his voice has my eyelids closing, and the world around me goes dark. He takes my wrist, twisting it so my palm faces the ceiling.

“Don’t pull away,” he warns me, clearly remembering that moment in his room years ago, when he rested Spikey on my hand, and I dropped him and ran for the bed.

I gulp. “I won’t.”

As soon as his pet crawls onto my hand, my entire body freezes. “Malachi,” I say, my voice breaking as tears instantly spring to my eyes. “Take her back. Please.”

“Keep your eyes closed.”

Against my entire being—which is desperate to throw her at his face and run for my life and never return to this damn house he rebuilt two years ago—I nod as a tear slides down my cheek.

He wipes it with his thumb, then I feel his breath against my mouth as his lips draw closer.

Malachi kisses me softly as his spider starts to move up from my palm to my wrist, my skin sizzling with the need to rub at it as his tongue slips between my lips and finds my own.

Mouth opening to taste him too, I kiss him back, focusing on the warmth of his tongue moving with mine, the way he sucks on my bottom lip and sinks his teeth in—it’s not enough to hurt but enough to make a little whimper escape.

I try to pull my mouth away when I feel his pet nearing my shoulder, but he grabs my jaw and forces me back to his mouth at the same time he presses his hand to my chest and pushes me to lie flat on my back.

Intent on devouring me once again, he unfastens the buttons of my sleep shirt, opening it to expose my breasts. The coldness licks my skin, and my nipples harden—maybe at the feel of the frigid air, or the fact Malachi is now sliding my sleep shorts down my legs.

The absence of his mouth brings my attention back to Cordelia, my heart nearly beating out of my chest as my body seizes. She’s gravitating towards my face. Every time I look, no longer able to keep my eyes closed, she’s closer.

Tears sting my eyes when she passes my shoulder. “Malachi,” I whisper, fear lacing my tone. “It’s going to crawl to my face.”

His eyes lift to see Cordelia resting near my left breast, then flicker to my horrified gaze, chest heaving erratically in terror. He doesn’t take her off me, and he doesn’t tell me to calm down, to stop crying, or to remain calm. No, instead, he lowers his hungry gaze between my legs, pushing his thumb against the flesh above my clit, and lets a drop of spit fall from his lips to my clit, making me tense everywhere with a moan.

My neediness and the way my core clenches have my hips rocking absently, and he rewards my bravery by parting my lips and allowing another drop of spit to land at my entrance.

Despite Malachi constantly trying to build against my fear of his pets, and this being the tenth time he’s tried it this way, I can’t seem to ever lose my terror of spiders. But when he’s distracting me like this, I can pretend she isn’t there.

“More,” I moan. “Please.”

Cordelia scurries back down my arm, and I try to shake her off, but Malachi glares at me, so I stay still.

Chest rising and falling in both fear and anticipation, my cheeks soaked with my tears, I rock my hips again, wanting his mouth on me regardless of my terror.

Then she moves again—she crawls off my arm, and her little legs are at my side, and when she manages to climb onto me again, I nearly die from the view of Malachi between my legs and his pet tarantula at my navel. The push and pull is there—the pull to get away from her and the push to get my husband’s lips around my clit.

Technically my husband. I have a ring. I have his name, but since Dad refused to reverse either of our adoptions, we decided not to legally get married. Not that it changes anything. We still love each other dangerously.

“Such a good girl, my little sister,” he says quietly then fucks his two fingers into me so hard, I gasp and nearly knock his spider off my body.

I’m shaking, I realize—I’m terrified, and my body is rattling like I’m cold, but I’m also in desperate need of more as my pussy clamps around his fingers like a strong vise.

But when he vanishes from my sight and drags his tongue against my inner thigh, not moving his digits at all, my inner walls crush his fingers more. I try to move, to rock my hips into his touch, but he bites harshly enough to stop me.

“Don’t move,” he says against my skin as he pushes his fingers deeper. “Or I’ll put her on your face again.”

He knows I love fear. My pussy just tightened around his unmoving fingers, throbbing and needy and soaked.

I’m going to die tonight. I think I might need to disobey his command and jump him, screw the repercussions of what he’ll do to me for it.

I could trap his face between my legs and demand an orgasm—or wait till he’s asleep and fuck him like I’ve tried to do on countless occasions, but he’s a light sleeper and always wakes up.

He got the fun of taking from me—when is it my turn?

Then again, I like when he scares me—in fact, I love it.

It’s always more intense when the fear comes from something he’s doing. Whether I’m tied up in a basement, being tortured by him not fucking my pussy and only giving my ass attention, or when he chases me down and chokes me with a gas mask on, deep in the middle of a cornfield.

I try to rock into his hand once more, but I huff as he pulls his fingers out of me completely.

Looking down, I see his gaze is glued to mine as he sucks his two fingers into his mouth, tasting me like he has a million times already. His eyes close, as if he’s savoring it, wrapping his tongue around each finger.

It’s far too early in the morning to be doing this—I’m about to explode from the view alone.

“Why are you teasing me so much? Fuck me already.”

He shakes his head and moves up my naked body, and as Cordelia moves up my ribs to my shoulder again, he’s kissing the trail he’s following, dragging his tongue across the underside of my breasts. The intensity of his touches have me arching my back as he takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks.

I don’t know whether to moan from the intensity or scream at the feel of the spider so close to my face.

“If you don’t take her off me, I’ll scream.”

Laughing against my skin, his gaze clashes with mine. “You’ll definitely be screaming.” he says breathlessly then signs, But not because of her.

He palms my other breast aggressively, his spider staying in place while he squeezes and kneads and sucks and bites. Malachi’s other hand slips between my legs again, and he breathes against my sensitive, pebbled nipple.

“You’re terrified,” he groans as he eases his fingers into me again. “But your pussy is soaked.”

I whimper as he slides back down my body and drags his tongue up my inner thigh, dodging where I want him to bury his face as he ventures to the other thigh. My legs are trembling, my fingernails nearly cutting half-moons into my palms.

“Pl-Please,” I cry in desperation as heat grows all over me. “I want you.”

He hums and looks up at me through his dark lashes. “Am I your brother or your husband?”

“My…” I start, my voice shaking. “My husband.”

I gasp as he sinks his teeth into my clit—the pain mixes with pleasure, and I think I come a little against his hand.

“Try again,” he warns, breathing heavily against my pussy as he slowly starts to curl his fingers deep and thrust.

“Both,” I moan, shaking as he licks, soothing the assaulted area, lapping at my clit and around it, leaving a red mark on my inner thigh before starting to tease me all over again.

Only when we’re in the bedroom will we ever refer to each other as brother and sister. It’s too confusing otherwise. It’s more of a dirty secret for us now. In the new town we live in, we’re a couple, not the Vize siblings. No one looks at us and thinks we’re weird. Molly’s friends think we’re married. She’s adjusted to it all, and Dad also accepted us. It’s like the divorce from Mom made him a better person.

Mom’s gone. She’s probably on husband number three now, which is sad, since her and my dad were childhood sweethearts, but I guess money and power went to her head, and she lost everything. She hasn’t tried to contact me once.

Malachi’s pet crawls down my ribs, grabbing my attention, and stops on top of his hand on my thigh—maybe she can smell his scent? It causes him to pause his teasing, and when his hand vanishes from my view, along with his spider, I sit up quickly. “Don’t you dare put that thing there. It’s basically animal abuse!”

He narrows his eyes then huffs and stands, going to Cordelia’s tank—next to the other three furry spiders—and settling her inside. I sit up, naked, waiting for him to give me some attention again.

Malachi’s eyes find me, and I watch as he pushes down his boxers, his thick pierced cock springing free. My mouth waters, and I want to taste the bead of precum at the tip, but I also want him to fuck me.

He’s on me again in a second, the air robbed from me as he takes my throat and shoves his tongue into my mouth in a feral kiss while spreading my legs even further. Then he drags his mouth across my jaw, releasing my neck to kiss my throat and down my ribs to between my legs again.

I swear, if this asshole goes back to teasing, I’m going to—

The shrieking of my phone cuts through the room, and though I ignore it at first, whoever it is isn’t taking no for an answer—a moment after it stops ringing, it starts right back up again, every time. Annoyed, I reach for it while Malachi’s hands are tight on my thighs.

Then I see the name on the screen. If she’s repeatedly calling, then there must be an issue.

Malachi looks like he wants to strangle me.

“Hey. Abbi. Hi.”

“I’m going to kill him.”

“Who—”

I’m silenced when Malachi shoves his tongue into my pussy, causing me to slam my hand over my mouth to stop my friend from hearing me moaning. He doesn’t stop when I let go of my mouth and try to push his face away while Abigail yaps in my ear.

But I’m not paying attention—Malachi is full on fighting against me as I try to close my thighs, to push my palm against his forehead.

He takes my clit into his mouth and sucks while digging his long fingers into my thighs, stopping me from slamming them shut and parting me more.

He’s finally giving me what I want, and I’m desperate to ride his face, to have his tongue fucking me, but words fail me when I try to tell my friend to call back. The phone slips from my ear, lying on the pillow as he parts my entrance with two fingers then pushes his middle finger inside, curling it then hammering hard enough that my body moves, the headboard slamming against the wall.

He pulls his mouth away from my clit and climbs up my body, and in one harsh thrust, he buries his cock inside me. “I’ll fuck you into a coma if you don’t hang up.”

“Ew!” she yells loud enough for us to hear just before I snatch the phone from my pillow and hang up, tossing it aside then wrapping my arms around his neck.

He used to rarely fuck me in the missionary position before our entire lives changed. If he did, it was never romantic or slow or lovingly. He’d fuck me like he hated everything about me—he loved it when I cried, when he could taste my tears, and when I begged him to either stop or go harder.

But in the last two years, he’s gone slower, taking his time with me while we had time for us. Right now, he’s unmoving, throbbing within my core while he kisses me.

“We need to hurry,” I mutter as my heels dig into his ass, trying to make him move. “Hurry up and fuck me like a bad little sister, Malachi.”

He groans and thrusts deeper, sliding his hand from my knee to my ass, bringing me to him as each inch pushes into me.

We melt into each other’s touches as he slides in and out, and I beg for more as he gives me it. He fucks me with my legs on his shoulders, on all fours, and then pushes my front down on the mattress while he fingers my ass, still burying his cock deep inside me.

When I come, he comes with me and collapses on my back. Breathless, kissing my shoulder, sweat mixing together as the temperature rises.

We don’t get to have sex often, so when we do, it’s always intense, and I fall asleep pretty much as soon as I finish.

“Daddy?”

At the sound of our son’s voice, Malachi closes his eyes and drops his head onto my shoulder.

Isaac calls for him again, but this time his voice is shaky. He’s had another nightmare. “I fucking knew we shouldn’t have let Molly babysit him. She’s a bad influence.”

We go on dates every Thursday. Molly always babysits and Malachi, being the protective dad that he is, always blames her for his nightmares. No matter how many times he suggests someone else, he gives in when Molly calls him.

He sits up and tucks his cock into his shorts, his eyes staying on me. My husband’s gaze lights up as I smile up at him. “I love that he always calls for you, but I’m starting to get a little jealous.”

Rolling his eyes, he kisses my cheek and climbs off the bed, throwing his shirt on before heading to Isaac’s room. I get up too, pull my sleep clothes back on, and make my way to the bedroom filled with trains and cars and boats.

Isaac is rubbing his eyes in his father’s arms when I push his door open, a line of light from the hallway falling on his face.

Malachi doesn’t need to say anything—not that he does much of that anyway. The odd time he’ll read him a book to try to get him to sleep, and other times, we’ll sing a lullaby—not the spider one—yet most of the time, being cuddled by his dad is enough to get our son to calm down.

I’ve been replaced as Malachi’s number-one priority—I used to be his entire world, but now I’m only just a part of it, and I’m perfectly okay with that. I think he needed to feel what it was like to be loved by someone else, and Isaac loves his father unconditionally.

We’re even teaching him signing. Malachi’s speech has come on, but me, Isaac, Molly, and sometimes our dad are the only ones who get to hear his voice. Not because he struggles with others, but because not having a voice was his way of protecting himself, so it’s saved purely for the ones who mean the most to him.

Malachi turns to face me, his hand rubbing up and down our son’s back. The softness in his eyes and the gentleness of his touch speaks a thousand words for him. He’s an amazing dad, and I don’t think he even realizes it.

When I found out I was pregnant only a few months after the Reznikovs were dealt with, I was already far along, probably from when we were together in the car. We stood in the bathroom with ten tests, and one by one, we turned them over. He was pale, terrified, and so nervous yet went back to his therapist to ask for more help. He even asked our dad for help.

He said if he was going to become a father, the kid needed the best version of himself, and he thought no one had ever met that person. But he was wrong. No one truly has a “best” version of themselves—it’s just one of life’s learning curves, a feeling, an emotion, and Malachi is overflowing with them.

My bump grew, and he became obsessed with our unborn child. He made sure I was eating, drinking, resting, and even went and got a job to make sure he could lead by example.

We have more than enough money, but I knew he needed to do something. He got some training, and now he’s in an animal sanctuary not far from here, much to my dad’s dismay. He wanted Malachi to work with him, but since they’re still building their relationship, it was best not to cross ties and create any further issues.

They’re doing great, Dad and Malachi. They meet up every Tuesday and Friday at the park with Isaac, and they talk—mostly signing—and Dad will tell him about his new girlfriend and how she makes him happy. They’ll push Isaac on the baby swing, and Malachi will come home and tell me that it’s weird, that he’s finally feeling what it’s like to have a father, and how it’s helping him learn how to be a father himself, despite two and a half years of being Isaac’s hero.

Dad’s forgiven him for what he did, and I think along the way, Malachi forgave himself too.

Mom is gone—she’s not been in contact at all since Isaac was born. I thought she’d reach out when she found out she was going to be a grandma, but nothing.

I’m still not sure how I feel about that.

When Isaac was born, me and Malachi’s entire existences changed. We were, are, still head over heels for each other, worshiping the ground the other walks on, and neither of us thought we could love someone else even close to the way we feel about each other.

But then this kid came along and grabbed Malachi’s finger, and life has never been the same.

He’s our son. But he’s Malachi’s best friend. His number-one reason for living.

Most nights, Malachi will sleep beside him if he wakes up, so when he lies down, and Isaac rests his head on his chest, I wait until they both fall asleep before I slip away from the door with a smile on my face.