Chapter 6: Little Liar: Chapter 6

I nearly got arrested for assault.

The guy was staring at Olivia like he wanted to taste every inch of her body while they talked, and no one fucking looks at her like that but me.

It bit me on the ass though, because in order for the family not to press charges, Adam and Olivia now have to go on dates, him being another potential suitor for my sister.

I was already planning the death of Parker Melrose, so this is just annoying.

Olivia did come to my room two months ago, and that seemed to have changed things between us. She was curled up in bed with me after nearly having a fucking heart attack when I tried to place Spikey, my new tarantula, in her hand, and she somehow stayed, even when I was rock solid and pressed into her.

She even pushed her ass into my dick while we slept.

It was a sign. The first cemented sign that there’s a chance for us. Even though she’s still in a mood about the whole Adam and Parker thing.

I don’t understand why she was so upset. It’s not as if she needs to fuck them or actually marry them. The kiss part pissed me off, but I can work past that if she doesn’t do it again, but no dicks will go near her.

She can say no.

Mom isn’t going to twist her arm and force her to spread her legs or push her into marriage—not at this age anyway. I’m still working on a plan to make her mine.

It’s been years of standing on the sidelines and watching her, touching her skin while she sleeps, kissing her cheek and smelling her hair, overhearing her and Mom discussing me going back to therapy, but I need more. The cameras, hiding under her bed and watching the phone screen while we both masturbate. I could actually hear her, and it only made the cum decorating underneath her mattress that much messier.

The drive to the mountains takes forever. I’m bored out of my skull, and I’m pretty sure I’m still fucked up from last night—Mason managed to talk me into taking a few pills, and honestly, the last thing I remember was me sneaking away so I could go see my sister and tell her I was into her.

She didn’t understand my signing. Neither could I. My hands wouldn’t coordinate properly, and I grew frustrated as I staggered around the room, pulling at my hair. I wanted to use my voice, but I couldn’t. And then she stripped me, gave me a glass of water, and put me to bed.

I was so fucked up, I nearly ruined it all by telling her how I felt.

Idiot.

Waking up with her body pressing to mine, on the verge of fucking her, I had to leave. It’s a good thing I did, since Dad went around hammering all the doors and demanding we all pack for this camping trip.

Now I feel like I’m on the edge of death—my head is falling off, my body hurts, and my vision is blurring.

Whatever Mason gave me was fucking strong.

Olivia is beside me in the car, checking her phone and huffing—I know it’s one of them. Adam or Parker. They’re both fighting for her attention and her approval. I don’t like them. I hate Parker more, though. He’s a sleazy bastard who I’ve already encountered a handful of times. Apparently, me standing outside his house while smoking a joint made him uncomfortable—Mom told me to back off and let my sister live her life.

But Olivia isn’t living her life—she’s in my mom’s shadow and doing as she says, obeying her every step of the way like the good little daughter she was raised to be.

It pisses me off.

The group chat is far too active—everyone’s sending memes and GIFs.

They’re still awake and partying. I left when the sun was starting to rise, and those assholes were still popping pills and taking lines from tits and dry-humping on the stairs.

I’m ignoring them. They’re trying to grab my attention, but I exit the chat and open my messages with Olivia. Call me needy, but I’m feeling rough, and I want to hug her in bed.

She looks at me after staring at her screen for far too long.

She chokes, and I try to hold in my smirk and look to the side.

Was that too far? It’s not a lie. Her hand slid under my waistband and touched me while she thought I was asleep. I’d basically kidnapped her from her friend’s house and made her come home because I was feeling off and needed her. That was the next sign that things had changed between us.

She never knew I was awake, but I was wide awake and desperate for more.

Dad glances over his shoulder. “Are you okay, angel?”

“Yes,” she replies, far too eagerly. “Perfectly fine.”

My phone vibrates again.

Why does the fact she thought I was unaware make me hard?

Always awake. When you drag your nails across my chest, lower your lips to my cheek for a fraction too long, pushing your leg between mine while pretending to still be asleep, even though my cock was stuck between your thighs.

I know how much you stare at me without me being aware.

So many moments I’ve been awake, ever since that night she touched herself while I showered then grinded her ass over my dick when, again, she thought I was asleep.

I think my sweet, twisted little sister has a kink. Or multiple kinks, considering her slim fingers were wrapped around her brother’s dick, and she’s not even trying to defend herself.

We only really hold hands now if we’re calming the other down, or if we’re asleep and it unconsciously happens. Not like we used to. I like it though. I can protect her and feel at ease if I have her in my hold. It’s like being able to breathe that little bit easier.

I pull off my flannel and put it between us, and I fight a smirk as she lets me pull her hand underneath the garment. When I squeeze it, she squeezes back.

Rubbing my thumb over her skin, I draw my attention back to my phone, to the group chat that’s still just full of memes and ridiculousness from a bunch of high assholes. I can tell she’s trying to look, can sense it, and a part of me gets excited that she’s curious, maybe even jealous that I could be texting someone who isn’t her?

Technically, she has no right. She’s gone on dates for a while now, been out fucking kissing them too, and I’ve been doing fuck all and watching her from afar. The only orgasms I have are when I cause them, and the only time I think about sex is when my sister is lying beside me in bed, half naked most of the time, and rubbing against me like a horny sleepwalker.

For the next few hours, Dad and Mom talk over the music, argue over fuck knows what, and then Olivia nearly pulls her hand away when Dad mentions a girl he’s tried to set me up with, but she was too scared of me.

Good. The glaring worked, I see. Maybe she didn’t like all the tattoos and piercings I’ve been getting, or the joint hanging from my lips? Cutting lines in my eyebrows definitely sealed the deal of making her run in the opposite direction, and my dad never arranging that shit for me again. Olivia gets jealous, I fucking know it, even if she denies it.

When we reach the destination, we set up the tents, which are far too small for two teenagers or two adults to share. I’m not complaining. I get to be closer to her.

Plus, something is different. Everything is different, and I feel unsettled—unsatisfied with how we’re progressing so slowly, she might not even realize that we’re gravitating towards one another with a mighty pull that’ll clash and keep us together forever.

She’s laughing at something Dad says while I help her shove a marshmallow on the stick for her to toast over the fire we’re sitting around.

Olivia’s thigh hits mine.

My fingers curl in, making fists at my sides as my knees bounce.

I’m agitated.

I need something.

You need more, Malachi. Take more.

Take.

I blink a few times and glance around the darkness, then at the parents who raised me. They don’t want me here, not really, and Olivia… I’ll lose her soon.

She’ll forget about me.

I’ll be alone again.

Breaths growing heavy, I grind my teeth and stare at the flames.

Dad says something, and Mom laughs, but Olivia just hugs herself with one arm and continues to toast her marshmallow.

Mason told me last night that sometimes, I scare him, because when I focus on something in the room, my eyes don’t leave it, even when he’s trying to talk to me. Apparently my eyes go void, and I look like I want to be anywhere but there. Is that what my parents see whenever I’m around them? Void—and scary?

Olivia hasn’t ever mentioned being afraid of me. She seeks me out more than anything, but Mom hates being alone with me, and Dad avoids me at all costs.

They raised me, but they don’t love me.

I only care a little, so I internally shake my head and look at Olivia, and not the two older adults bickering over Olivia potentially burning her fingers on the stick. Her bottom lip is trapped between her teeth, a smile peeking through while she unravels herself and pulls the sugary goodness from the stick and sniffs it.

Her eyes flicker to me, and I dodge back when she tries to put the marshmallow to my mouth. I capture her wrist, and she giggles as I knock it out of her hand, dropping it on the dirt surrounding us.

“Asshole,” she mouths, giggling again as I find the biggest marshmallow and stab it with the stick before handing it back to her.

Smiling while she quietly laughs, she looks like she’s blushing.

Hmm.

I could listen to her laugh forever, but there’s something else I want to hear. For me. Caused by me. All for me.

Olivia moaning my name while she’s over me, dropping her sweet little ass down on my cock, telling me it’s too much even though she keeps going regardless until she comes—

“Who wants to take a walk?” Dad calls out, interrupting my thoughts.

Mom raises her hand. Olivia doesn’t.

So I don’t either.

“Come on,” Dad says. “I think we can get a better view of the stars near the cliff. Are you coming, kids?”

I shake my head, very aware that my sister is doing the same. My blood is rushing so fast in my veins, fucking burning, and if I don’t light a smoke within the next minute, I might throw myself in the fire.

Thankfully, my parents fuck off, and as soon as they’re gone, I pull my cigarettes out and light one, enjoying the way the toxicity burns inside my lungs.

My eyes close as I take another draw, and I open them again to see Olivia staring at me.

You aren’t allowed one, so don’t ask.

She scoffs. “I don’t want one. Smoking is bad for you.”

No idea what she says next because I feel like my soul is slowly connecting with hers—a connection that, I fear, may kill me one day. Her lips are moving, and I want to taste them. I silently laugh because the world certainly hates me. Why, out of the entire universe, do I end up adopted into the same family as the girl I’m madly in love with?

I can’t ever have her. Not really.

Now I’m mad. Who the fuck is anyone to say what I can and can’t have?

Tossing the smoke, I stand, grabbing Olivia’s hand and pulling her with me towards the tent. The same one we’re sharing, all night, just the two of us.

Once I throw her in, there’s no counting to three in my head or stopping to think about what I plan to do. I zip the tent back up, slip the padlock on, and then turn to her while she tries to figure out what the fuck is going on. “Jesus, Malachi,” she hisses. “Do you need to be so damn rough?”

Yes. You never listen, stubborn ass.

Despite being thrown around, she doesn’t look afraid of me. Good. It’ll make it easier for me to do what I want her to do. She’s given me more than enough signs that she wants me.

She says something, but I’m trying to figure out how exactly I start this off. Do I just kiss her? Pin her down, rip her clothes off, and do what I want with her? Do I ask her how she feels about me and if she wants to be a secret behind our parents’ backs until we’re comfortable to come forward about our relationship?

Do I ask her if she wants to see my dick, since she’s so engrossed in touching it while I’m asleep?

Maybe I should just kiss her.

I drop to my knees, chewing the inside of my cheek. A sudden weight is on my chest. How do I do this?

How do I kiss her?

I want to kiss her.

So. Fucking. Badly.

Unless we start slow. First base, I think it’s called.

Can I see you? I want to add that I want to see her naked, but nerves win, so I leave it at that.

Her brows knit together. “You can see me?”

Cute.

I tug her collar as I get closer. Without this, I sign, then touch her pants and raise my hands again. And these.

There’s a possibility I might die tonight. My heart shouldn’t be going as fast as it is. “Death by nerves” sounds horrendous next to my name on my headstone.

“Why?” she asks.

I want to see you. I promise not to touch you, I sign, now officially the biggest liar in her life. I’ll touch her. I’ll do a lot more than touch her.

She’ll love it too.

“I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of girls without clothes on. You don’t need to see me.”

How delusional is this girl? The only naked person I’ve ever seen is Olivia, but she isn’t fully aware of how much I stalk the living daylights out of her.

I have pictures, videos, and soon, I’ll have footage of me fucking her into one of our mattresses. Or both. Or maybe in multiple places. Maybe I’ll chain her up and record me fucking her ass while she screams for me.

Then I click on to what she just said and shake my head.

“You haven’t?”

No. Plus, it’s your body I want to see. Why won’t you show me?

Her nervousness makes my impending anxiety attack lessen, and I watch her fidget. “What if our parents catch us? You know it’s wrong.”

They won’t. We’ll hear them coming.

“But… I’m… Really?”

Why can’t she see what we are already? Without even being together, we are stronger than our own parents’ marriage—fuck, we’re more powerful than the entire world.

“I’m your sister.”

And that’s your war cry. Take your clothes off, Olivia.

My patience is vanishing with each word.

I expect her to slap me, but she only chews her lip nervously. “I’ll do it, but under one condition.”

Fuck.

Did she just say… She’ll do it? She’ll actually do it?

Now what the fuck do I do?

“We make a game of it.” She’s grinning, tipping her head, leaning back. “I ask you questions, and if you answer them honestly, I’ll take something off. If you don’t answer, or I know you’re lying, then you take something off.”

Shit.

Fine, ask me something.

Her few seconds of confidence slips as she hugs her knees. “Did you take drugs last night?”

I expected questions a little more… explicit. What the fuck is this?

And how the hell does she know?

Wait. What if she’s stalking me the same way I stalk her? What if she has cameras, hides in the shadows, and sneaks around to watch me dress and work out and even jerk off?

Yeah. Some of my friends were trying it, so I did too. I pinch the sleeve of her hideous sweater that would look better set on fire. Take this off first.

“I think I get to decide what item of clothing comes off first, thank you very much.” She’s smug as she kicks off her shoe. “And don’t take drugs. They’re bad for you—way worse than smoking cigarettes.”

The silent laugh shocks me. It’s unintentional, and I almost forget I’m terrified of what the fuck I’m doing right now.

Ultimately, I want her naked.

Then what?

“Do you remember how to talk?” she asks, her tone full of curiosity. “Like, do you know how to pronounce words and stuff?”

I haven’t heard myself speak in years. I tried once, and it felt unfamiliar, and I hated it. Trying to talk to myself in the mirror at the age of ten and needing to seek out my sister for comfort after isn’t something a guy my age should be proud of.

A little. I haven’t spoken out loud for a long time.

Her other shoe comes off.

“Is your voice deep?”

Mason asked me the same thing. His voice is deep, and so are the guys’ voices, so I assume mine would be too.

I think so.

Her sweater comes off, and I want to rip her shirt off too. It’s tight against her body, the curves I want to drag my tongue against, to hold on to while I shove deep.

“Can I hear it? Even just say my name. Or, like, laugh.”

No.

I draw closer, nudging her with my shoulder. You need to take something off.

“You said no, so you take something off.”

Would she hate me if I strangled her?

I answered your question honestly.

When she takes off her sock, I imagine all of her clothes in the fire outside, melting into nothing, while she lies exposed to me.

But then her next words catch me off guard.

“Do you see me as a sister? Because a lot of my friends have brothers and they’re… different than what we’re like together. I can’t imagine them cuddling in bed or playing this game, for example. So, yeah, am I a real sister to you?”

Without thinking, because am I fuck going to answer that, I remove my flannel and drop it with her clothes.

“You won’t answer my question?”

No.

I play with my rings for a second, watching her gawk at me. I need more. I need her to ask me something that triggers me to kiss her. Not ask me if I see her as a sister and then have her run away from me.

Your questions are boring.

Her eyes roll, and I want to spank her. “Do you have any piercings?”

Not visible to the everyday person, no.

Yes.

Her brows narrow. “What? Where?”

I pull off my shirt, anxiety starting to disappear at her cheeks going a bright red. She’s affected by me. That’s a good thing, right?

Or is she embarrassed?

Fuck.

Just when I start to abandon ship, her eyes drop to my chest, my abs, studying my ink. Her breathing is growing heavier.

Why are you staring?

“I wasn’t.”

Liar.

“Mom and Dad are going to be so weirded out if they walk in and see us.”

I shrug. I’ll blind them if they see her like this. Ask me something else.

“Why do you want to see me?”

I already told you. I want to look at your body.

Her face is even redder now. I’m not sure how it makes me feel.

“Why? You’ve seen me in swimwear, and there was that time you walked in on me in the shower.”

And when you’re not aware. I have close-ups and everything, but none of that is enough.

I want to see all of you.

I need to. I think if I need to wait another day, I’ll do something I’ll regret and she’ll never forgive me. My urges are bad, extreme, and powerful. The strength I have not to just make her mine already is hanging on by a thread.

My brain short-circuits as she hesitates only for a second before taking her shirt off, sitting in her sports bra.

More. I need more. Now. I can barely breathe properly without her realizing my restraint is wavering.

Another. I answered two.

My dirty little sister takes off her bra, holding it to her flushed chest. Her nervousness makes my balls tingle, and I can feel my cock thickening in my briefs. Her nipples are hard, from what I can see, and fuck, I want one in my mouth again so badly, it waters.

Give me it.

She hesitates again then quietly says, “Promise you won’t laugh?”

Is she fucking joking? In what world would I laugh about anything about Olivia or her looks? She’s beautiful—every atom of her being was made for me and only me.

Why the hell would I laugh?

“They’re… small.”

They’re perfect. I might need to check this girl’s head if she thinks anything about her is bad.

Show me. Or I’ll make you show me.

“Stop being a caveman.”

Her head turns, averting her gaze as she drops her sports bra, and everything around me stops. The world grows quiet now I’m allowed to look at her exposed beauty with her permission. Her nipples are hard, pebbled, flushed pink, her breasts big enough for a handful. Her little tremors of nerves have me coming closer, my dick fucking solid as she looks back at me.

Ask me something else.

Her silence, the way she’s just looking at me… I’m about to break. I’m going to grab the back of her head and kiss her if she doesn’t do as I say.

Fucking ask me something.

“Why did you attack Adam in the gas station? We were just talking, and you stormed in and went crazy.”

He was trying to take what was mine.

“I’m not yours,” she replies, and the world goes dark.

She keeps talking, making the hole in my chest grow more hollow.

“I’m your sister—that’s all. We’re the Vize kids.”

No. You were mine when we were kids, and you’re mine now. You’ll always be mine.

Even when we’re dead, our souls will belong to one another.

The sooner she realizes that, the fucking better.

“Do you see me as a sister?”

Don’t cheat your own rules. I already answered a question.

She lets out a low “okay” and slowly takes off her pants.

Her pussy is right there, hidden behind a scrap of pale pink material, and I’m in front of her. My sister is basically naked, and my dick hurts with how hard it is. I wonder if she’ll tell our parents she’s finished with the dates and that she’ll just marry me, or will we run away?

How many kids will she want?

Does she want the life we’ve had growing up, or do we get an apartment somewhere, a small kitchen and bathroom, with a spare room for any guests?

Precum is leaking from the tip of my cock, my sweats not even slightly hiding the evidence of how much I need her.

“I think you need to start asking questions. I’m one answer away from being naked and that’s not fair.”

Technically she is naked.

Enough for me anyway.

She likes to masturbate. Olivia does it a lot when she’s lying in her bed, all alone, either watching porn or reading a book, with her big brother watching her fingers slide in and out of her perfect little cunt.

My jaw tenses, and I push myself to sign the words that might ruin this entire night.

If I asked you to touch yourself, would you?

Her silence is deafening, her mouth parted as she stares at me. Maybe she’s waiting for me to say I’m joking or to move on to the next question.

I’ve watched you before. You fuck yourself with your fingers a lot with your curtains open.

“You’ve watched me through my window?”

And with cameras in your room.

I just gave away one of my biggest secrets. Such a fucking idiot.

The shock is evident all over her face. “You have cameras in my room?”

Yeah. Stop changing the subject. You didn’t answer my question. If I asked you to touch yourself, right now, would you?

“First, you’ll remove the cameras!”

Not a chance in hell am I removing them. They’re my safe haven when she isn’t around, or when she’s in a mood with me and I can’t go to her.

She slaps my arm after I shake my head, and I grit my teeth, wanting her to hit me harder. Slap my face. Spit on me. Fucking pull my hair and call me the best big brother ever.

Answer.

Her next words light something inside me. “I think I’d do anything you asked of me.” She pauses. “Under the condition that it stayed a secret.”

Am I dreaming?

Did the drugs I took last night put me into a trance? Am I hallucinating this all? Is Olivia… agreeing to this?

If she’s answered honestly, I need to strip off another piece of clothing. I stare at her, unblinking. Did she actually say those words, or did I imagine them? Can I ask her to repeat it? To clarify she did, in fact, say she’d do anything I asked her?

Olivia goes to grab her clothes, but I stop her, getting to my knees to pull down my sweats, not caring how hard I am—my cock is pitching my briefs and I’m struggling to conceal what she’s doing to me. My precious sister, naked before her deranged big brother, telling me she’ll fucking finger herself for me as long as I don’t tell anyone.

The fact she’s staring at my dick and licking her lips has the tip throbbing.

There’s a long, dragged-out silence between us, yet everything is so damn loud in my head—she’s looking at me in a way she’s never done before, and I feel… nervous.

She terrifies me.

What do I do now? Tell her to do as I say and lie back, stick her fingers in her hole and show me how she gets herself off?

“Should we get dressed?”

Not yet, I sign, anxiety building in my gut because I haven’t the faintest clue what to do here. And that was another question, which I answered.

I don’t give her a chance to argue—I tug the string of her panties and snap them right off her body as she gasps out my name, but I cover her mouth with my hand and push her down onto her back.

I part her legs, so fucking close. Would she let me fuck her? What if I hurt her? We’re virgins, inexperienced, but we can learn. I’ll teach her what I like, and she can do the same.

I sign to her to stay still, kneeling between her legs, my heart accelerating as my eyes land on her pussy. My mouth waters; every hair on my body rises. She’s wet. I can see how much her pussy needs attention. Even as she tries to shut her legs, I keep them open.

“You said you wouldn’t touch me.”

I’m not a good guy—I don’t keep my promises, and I lie. I lie every single day. Because I don’t want to be the son of a Vize; I want to be married into the family. I want her. All day. Every day.

She shakes as I nervously place a kiss to the side of her knee.

Can I taste you?

“You said you wouldn’t touch me,” she says again, trembling even more as I kiss her other knee, trying to hold it together—my heart might blow out of my chest, and I need a smoke to calm me.

Or something else—her.

Then touch yourself.

“Really?”

Yes.

“You’re not trying to mess with me? If you’re fucking with me right now, Malachi, I will hit you.”

I want her to hit me. I want it to hurt too. If I’m not allowed to touch you, then you need to do it yourself.

“What if I say no?”

I love this girl, but she sure knows how to push my buttons. She won’t say no. She wants it as much as I do.

“Okay, okay, okay. But you need to promise not to touch me.”

I raise my pinkie, hooking it with hers like we used to do as kids. Is that fucked up? I used to do this when we’d keep petty secrets from Mom, or when we’d promise to always be best friends—now I’m doing it to prove I won’t touch her while I watch her fuck herself with her fingers.

I never usually break a pinkie promise, but there’s always room for more firsts between us.

“And don’t tell anyone. This isn’t what siblings do. We’ll be in a lot of trouble.”

I won’t. Our secret, little sister.

She slaps my hands from her in disgust despite blushing more as her pupils expand. “Please don’t call me your little sister right now.”

But you are my sister, I sign, smirking, my own words driving me fucking insane. My dirty little sister who’s going to touch herself in front of me. Show your big brother what you sound like when you come.

My heavy gaze follows her movements—movements I never thought I’d get to witness in the flesh. Her fingers slide down, parting herself, and I struggle to breathe as she gives her clit the attention it deserves.

Mason’s pills have fucked me up because there isn’t a chance in hell this is happening right now. My sister isn’t pleasuring herself while I’m between her legs. She can’t be. If I blink, she might vanish, so I keep my eyes focused between her legs as she speeds up. Her back arches a little, her eyes closing, and my skin grows far too fucking hot despite having no clothes on.

Olivia has no idea of the danger she’s in. I could pounce, shove deep, make her come all over my cock, and she’d have no choice.

I eventually blink because I’d never do that to her. I want her permission. I want her to want me back.

Am I forcing her right now?

Does she want to do this?

My body absently draws closer, magnetizing to hers like it belongs. I need her to tell me what she wants me to do to her. I need… something.

Can I touch you?

“No,” she pants, still circling her clit. “Please don’t.”

Why?

I don’t get a response—Olivia is far too deep into a trance. Her other hand slides down, one working her clit while she sinks two fingers into her pussy. My dick pulses, and I can’t take it any longer. I wrap my hands around it, over the material of my boxers, and squeeze. My balls ache, my brain is short-circuiting again and again, and I feel like if Olivia even as much as put her lips anywhere near my body, I’d come.

She’s whimpering, and I imagine she’s saying my name, fucking moaning it while I stroke, listening to how wet she is as her fingers plunge in and out of her depths until she hits her climax.

Fuck me. I want to be the cause of that heavenly sound.

Her mouth is open, her back arching, her little gasps and cries making me squeeze my dick hard enough to hurt. I refuse to come yet. I want her lips around my dick or her fingers replacing my own.

She’s staring at me through her orgasm, sinking her teeth into her lip, her inner voice tormenting her, probably giving her shit for her position and the way I’m so fucking close to being on top of her.

Each breath is forced out of me—I could die right now, and I’d be borderline happy about it.

“Do you still want to taste me?” she pants.

Is she delusional? Why would I say no?

I nod because I’m not a fucking idiot who would ever turn down that offer. My heart ricochets all over my ribcage as she lifts her fingers to my mouth, and I pause as she rubs them across my lips.

Whatever drug is still in my system could never come close to the hit I’m getting right now. I grab her wrist and take her fingers into my mouth—licking, sucking, biting—her taste exploding on my tongue as my dick fucking begs for her warmth. Anything I can get from her is more than enough.

I inwardly groan, my eyes closing, my free hand hardly able to move around my dick from the sensations running through my veins. Too sensitive. Too fucking much.

As soon as her fingers vanish, I’m on her. She stops me with a hand over my mouth before I can kiss her. “No,” she gasps, her eyes wide. “We didn’t agree to that!”

I frown, because she’s saying these words, yet I can see all over her face how much she wants me to keep going. I can feel the way her body is beneath mine, how hard my dick is stabbing into her thigh. I snatch her wrist, removing her hand from my mouth and taking her jaw. My mouth lowers to hers a second time, and something deep inside my hollow chest, my fucking black heart, snaps in two when she dodges my kiss by moving her head sideways.

“No, Malachi.”

She’s fucking with my head.

She’s… killing me.

I get up, figuring out what I want to say but not knowing how to explain it—she’s hurt me. She’s making me feel shit I can’t control, and I don’t like it.

I hate myself for not being able to just tell her how I feel and why we should be together. Rather than running away, like I want to, I lift my hands to sign, but she obliterates every ounce of my confidence by turning around.

“Let’s just go to sleep,” she says, bathing us in black by turning off the flashlight above us. “We’re obviously not thinking straight.”

In an instant, because rage and pain and sadness win over every emotion, I turn it back on and snatch her throat, feeling her pulse fucking racing until I squeeze. Her lungs will start to struggle. Her eyes will go wide and red and bloodshot. Her lips will turn blue. Then she’ll grow cold. Unseeing. Unblinking. No air passing her lips. No more love to throw out to everyone except the brother who would literally die for her.

Realization washes over me that Olivia is struggling. My Olivia. My girl. My sister. I let go of her, and she’s shaking, trying to clear her throat quietly after a few seconds of strangulation.

Don’t silence me like that. Don’t ever fucking silence me, Olivia.

How dare she look confused? How fucking dare she, not even a minute after breaking me?

“I… I didn’t.”

I gesture to the flashlight. I can’t fucking talk to you if you can’t see me.

How ridiculous is this? Why can’t I be normal? Why?

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I did that. Just… We can’t kiss—it’s not what siblings do. Regardless of what just happened. Please don’t make this awkward.”

I’m giving myself internal whiplash. Running is all I can think about. Vanishing from this shit. But I grab her hair and pull her to me, closer, but not close enough. Never close enough.

Never.

You used to always kiss me.

“When we were kids, and the kisses were innocent. You… We… No, Malachi.”

No? You just— I stop, defeated. My chest hurts.

“Mom has me going on dates with guys for me to marry them, Malachi. I can’t chance being caught kissing you.”

If she doesn’t understand that she can’t be with anyone else but me, I might need to kill everyone in the world so it’s only us two remaining. Then she’ll have no choice but to be with me. It’s not exactly a good or healthy way of starting a relationship, but she sure as hell ain’t marrying someone else.

Imagine her having a different surname from me? Not a damn chance.

You aren’t fucking marrying anyone.

Her eyes are watering like she’s trying to make herself cry. They’re fake tears. Or pity tears. Or she’s upset because her dreams of marrying her prince have been crushed by her lunatic brother. She feels sorry for me. The lost kid with no life ahead of him—the defective, black sheep with more baggage and psychotic tendencies than most teenagers. She doesn’t want me—she’s been put in this position. By me. I made her do this entire thing. This isn’t consensual.

My teeth grind together, and my muscles burn with the need to explode—why is she doing this to me? Why doesn’t she want me the same way I want her? Her next words only cement it all as her lip trembles.

“We can’t,” she whispers, making my thoughts worse—shoving the dagger deeper into my chest. “You’re Malachi Vize and I’m Olivia Vize. We’re sister and brother.”

Why did Jamieson and Jennifer need to adopt me?

Fucking why?

Stop saying that. We aren’t blood related. You aren’t my real sister, so what’s the goddamn problem?

She covers herself with the sleeping bag as if I haven’t just been all over her, my eyes taking in every inch and curve and random freckle on her naked skin. “This was a mistake.”

I need to recalculate how to win her because this isn’t working.

“Are they already sleeping?”

Mom is coming. I can hear Dad’s footsteps far behind her.

She’ll see how dirty her daughter is if she manages to get in. She won’t. I have it padlocked, but I secretly wish I’d forgotten, so I can see the embarrassment on her face when our parents catch us naked together.

I want them to see that their perfect little fucking angel is messing with their son’s head—that she’s making their son worse; that his sickness is manageable, without Olivia as a factor.

I shake my head. Ridiculous. Olivia is the reason I breathe.

She hides under the sleeping bag, pretending to be passed out.

“Are you guys asleep?”

She looks up at me. I want her to tell me she’s sorry, that she feels the same, that we can be together. To kiss me and fucking choose me.

“They must be asleep,” I hear Mom say in the distance. “Since when are we the ones staying up late? Grab the beers!”

Raising my hands, I contemplate apologizing for putting her in this position. Then I drop them because fuck her for making me feel this way. Fuck Olivia Vize for making me fall in love with her when she has no intention of doing the same with me.

I lie down, but I don’t want to be here. She’s too close. I can hear her adjusting her clothes, her breaths, until she falls into a deep sleep and her breathing turns heavy.

It takes me an hour of calming myself to the sound of her light snores before I unzip the sleeping bag and get the hell out of the tent. The fresh air hits me, and I run my hands through my hair, grasping the strands hard and not letting go as I head straight for the woodland.

My lungs burn from how much I need a good breath. My brain hurts—pressure all over—and my mouth is dry.

As soon as I’m a few yards into the forest, I give in to the attack and drop to my knees, head still in my hands. I can’t breathe. Everything is tight as fuck, and my head is lowering, burying into the dirty forest floor.

“Breathe, son.”

A hand rests on my back, but it doesn’t make anything better—I still feel like I’m spiraling, like I’m losing my fucking mind while Dad kneels beside me.

“Slow your breathing. You’re hyperventilating.”

I try to push him away and fail—he’s gripping the back of my neck, trying to make me calm my overworked lungs, to listen, to do something other than lose my shit.

The world ripples as I fall in and out of consciousness, a fucking battle to stay awake as he rubs my back, saying something else in my ear as he tightens his grip on my nape and shakes me.

I think he’s saying my name. I can’t understand him. I try to focus, to slow down my breaths, but then I give in, slipping into the darkness of the void where I belong.