Chapter 8: Little Liar: Chapter 8

Olivia is hovering above me, our pinkies hooked together, after I’ve told the biggest lie of my life about having no experience so she’d show me how to kiss.

Technically, it is a lie. I’ve kissed someone before. Her. While she was drugged and absently kissed me back, completely unaware that her brother’s fingers were in her pussy.

It was messy, definitely not something to brag about, but still a lie.

When her text came through, asking how my date was, I smiled at the screen, ditched my friends, and headed straight for home—her room window was open, and I climbed up and waited for her to get out of the bathroom.

The date was shit. It was planned to make Olivia jealous, and it worked. Anna asked me to go to her friend’s party when we met up. I had agreed, nodding because she hadn’t a clue how to sign, and I made sure Oliva’s friends saw me go upstairs with her.

It was perfect. Until I got into the room, the door closed, and Anna tried to kiss me. It wasn’t part of my plan, but for some reason, when I stepped away, she kept fucking coming at me until I put my hand on her forehead and shoved her back a few steps. She wasn’t happy about my refusal, but I gave no fucks and got the hell out of there.

My heart might explode through my chest because as much as I’ve been all over Olivia for years—as much as we’ve cuddled in bed since we were kids, and everything else, I’m so damn nervous, I struggle to swallow.

She tries to cover herself, tightening her towel around her body, but it barely matters. I’ve seen her naked too many times.

The fact she’s done this before, while awake, with someone who isn’t me, doesn’t sit right with me. I’ll blame Mom. That way I don’t need to blame Olivia.

All I can think about is her kissing someone else. I always knew, since I overheard on numerous occasions, but it still feels like a dagger to my cold, barely functioning heart. Especially hearing her say it—or even the fact she thinks she can “teach” me how to kiss because she has so much fucking experience.

Fuck. Now I’m mad again.

She leans up on one arm. “Are you sure? It doesn’t bother you that we’re brother and sister?”

I quirk a brow. This is the best day of my life—why is she even having to ask this? Was it an issue when we were in the tent, or when she was grinding her pretty little cheerleader ass against my dick while she thought I was asleep, or when she actually did touch me?

I think my little sister has a somnophilia kink. Not that I’m complaining.

Stop saying that.

A blush creeps up her chest and neck, her hair like a dark curtain around us. I wrap a lock around my finger, wondering if she can see how much my hands are shaking. I pull it enough to draw her closer to me. The redness spreads to her cheeks, and damn, does her nervousness make me feel less anxious about this entire thing.

“Remember Mom told us not to kiss on the lips when we were younger? You said we were allowed to because we were siblings, but it got us into trouble. This will, undoubtedly, get us into even more trouble.”

All I can think about is how kissable her lips are, how soft her facial features are, even when she comes. I keep playing with her hair, bringing it to my nose to inhale the scent that keeps me grounded. Her. All her.

Since I was a kid, it’s been a thing to seek out when I was feeling in my head—holding my new foster sister while sniffing her hair and feeling far too confused about why she was my anchor.

I’m tugging her hair harder, and she’s lowering onto my body, closing the infinitesimal distance. “Malachi,” she whispers nervously. “Are you sure?”

Shut up, I sign, needing her closer, closer, until we can’t even breathe without sharing the same air. She looks at the door, then back down at me before her nose nudges mine, sliding down further.

My lungs aren’t working, and I think I might go into shock—she’s right there, tilting her head, and everything ceases to exist as her lips press to mine.

I hope Olivia is aware that everything is now changing.

Us. Her life. Mine. Our future.

We’re going to be together now. I’ll make sure Mom and Dad understand, because Olivia’s willingly kissing me, and I think if she stops, I might die. Her kisses are soft, gentle, and I follow her lead while trying not to be pathetic and pant uncontrollably into her mouth.

There’s a sharp tug in my throat, and I think it might be a silent moan as she sucks on my bottom lip, scraping it with her teeth.

Olivia breaks the connection, looking down at me. “Will I keep going?” she asks, and I’m momentarily stunned, unable to communicate, as I study how beautiful she is.

I swallow. She wouldn’t be doing this if she knew the things I’ve done to her unconscious form, right?

Of course not. Why would she actually want to do this? I’m getting annoyed at myself. The voice in my head is mocking me that she’s being forced.

No. Olivia wants this. I know if I dropped my hand between her legs, she’d be soaked. She would. She’s always wet for me.

You aren’t allowed to stop yet. Keep going, little sister.

“Put your hand here,” she says, taking it and resting it on her cheek. “Or you can put your hands on their hips or in their hair. People like touch, especially while being kissed.”

What do you like?

For some reason, she’s speechless for a long second, and I want to narrow my goddamn eyes and tell her to answer carefully, but she only grabs my hand once more, my cock twitching as she places my hand on her throat.

Her fingers squeeze around mine, and fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I like to be choked,” she tells me. “I like rough kisses that hurt.”

I want to kill her.

She screams as I flip us over, so I’m hovering above her, grasping tightly around her fucking throat as I smash my lips down on hers.

My tongue pushes past her lips, and I suck on hers, kissing her deeper while she struggles for a full breath. I can hear her choked gasps as she wraps her legs around me, my dick stabbing into her thigh.

I snatch her wrists and pin them above her head, using my hold on her to keep her in place as I grind the underside of my cock between her legs—she whimpers; sinks her teeth into my lip until it hurts.

She rips the skin, making us both taste copper as a trail of blood drips from my small wound.

It’s not sore, but it aches, and for some reason, the pain has me growing even harder while I lean up, watching her as I drag my cock against her core. Her moans are driving me insane—I might accidentally make her pass out from how tightly I’m gripping her throat.

She moans louder, and I have to cover her mouth. Our mom is next door painting with music playing, probably too loud to actually hear us, but I can’t take any risks. Doing this, and being caught, is a one-way ticket out of this house, and it’s the only thing keeping Olivia strapped to me.

Whimpering into my palm, she meets each thrust, her eyes rolling, and she tenses up everywhere when I lower to her throat and sink my teeth into her flesh. I suck on the skin, tasting her, devouring her, her muscles going rigid. She’s seconds from release, but I’m not ready for this to be over.

I flip us until she’s on top, straddling my thighs—her towel gone, so I can get a full, perfect view of her body.

The body I own.

Before I can take control, Olivia fists my hair and brings her mouth back to mine. I touch everywhere I can. Her hips, her breasts, her thighs, her neck and face. My tongue moves with hers, following her, copying her, and she starts rocking her hips, grinding herself down on my cock. Needing more friction, I grab a fistful of hair at the back of her head and drag her down harder, firmer, until she’s lightly groaning when I suck on her throat again.

This is the most explicit kissing lesson I’ve ever heard of. We went from our lips touching to seconds from fucking within minutes.

We must have that much chemistry. We’re going to screw like rabbits soon, if not now.

“I can show you how to do this,” she says, taking my hand and guiding it between us. She presses my fingers to her clit, teaching me because she has so much fucking experience.

The more she talks, the more she shows me how to circle my fingers around her clit, the more a dagger buries into my chest and buries deep.

Does that mean she’s been touched by someone who isn’t me?

I stop kissing her and look down between us, imagining someone else doing it. It’s not my hand; it’s someone else’s, and I have to grit my teeth and blink so I can see my own hand again.

Why is there pressure behind my eyes? Why, while I pleasure my sister, do I feel like running out of this room and finding who the fuck has touched her before?

“Have you done this before?”

Fuck. I need to lie again. Or should I tell her the truth? I can’t look up at her—I watch my fingers circle her clit as I shake my head.

“Girls love this,” she continues, making me want to murder someone. “Do it while you kiss them. If you do it right, you can make a girl come on your fingers.” Despite my apparent inexperience, she whimpers so loud, I fear for our privacy. “Fuck, yes. Just like that, Malachi.”

I guess, in a way, I am inexperienced. I’ve only fucked around with her body a few times since the first time I drugged her. I’ve licked her, had my tongue inside her, and even nearly tongue-fucked her ass.

I kiss her again to stop her asking any more questions. Harder. Taking her throat because I love how she sounds when she struggles to breathe—I love having control of her life force, not that I’d ever risk it.

“Faster,” she moans. “You’re doing so good.”

Maybe, just maybe, she’ll let me fuck her tonight. And maybe, just maybe, I don’t use protection. And maybe, just maybe, she’ll fall pregnant and never be able to leave me.

Irrational, but realistic.

Fuck. No. That’s ridiculous.

“Malachi,” she gasps as I pinch her clit between my fingertips. “You’re making me so wet.”

Her pussy rocks against my fingers until she sinks down on them a little, and though I’ve already fucked her with my fingers and thought it was heaven, having her lucid and awake and moaning above me has me nearly coming in my boxers from the feel of her.

I need my clothes off. My dick is rubbing against her ass with each gyration of her hips, deepening my fingers, and I need to go further. Anything. My balls ache, my lip is pulsing from her biting me, and I think I’m falling more in love with my sister every time she drops her hips onto my fingers.

Her eyes are glazing over, her pussy tightening around my fingers, and I know from before that she’s about to reach her euphoria. I grab her neck, kiss her, her moans against my tongue making precum leak from my tip.

I’d fuck her ass. I love her ass. Imagine having my cock inside it?

I want to so badly.

Would it be too much to tell her that it wasn’t true? That I don’t need lessons and that I’m in love with her?

Then I’d ruin the moment.

Fuck. My mouth connects with hers again.

A picture falls from her hand slamming against the wall above us as her body convulses through her orgasm.

“Fuck,” she pants, her voice shaking. “Keep going.”

My girl is so vocal. I’m so glad my camera is recording all of this, but it’s a shame there won’t be any sound when I watch it back. I should really update my system and buy cameras that also record noises.

Just as I’m about to remove my boxers and fuck her through the rest of her high, a knock sounds at the door. “Sweetheart? Are you okay in there?”

Olivia freezes and tries to get off me, but I catch her by the hair and arch her back enough to suck a nipple into my mouth. I suck hard enough to mark the skin around it, my fingers curling inside her pussy until she’s trembling.

Another knock, and I switch to the other breast, giving it as much attention. She’s silently crying, her pussy gripping my fingers like a vise while her ass rubs against my cock.

I’m not sure if another orgasm hits, or the first one is just exploding, but she tenses all over, as if she’s been turned to stone. I go to kiss her again, swallowing her moans while our mother knocks on the door. My tongue lightly grazes hers as her muscles start to weaken, her inner walls gripping me, my hand and fingers soaked with her cum.

She shoves me away as much as she can. She’s breathless, her eyes wide as they study my mouth.

Does she want to kiss me again? That’s fine. I’m all hers.

“No, I think she’s snuck out with Parker. I’ll be calling his parents to tell them that we’re setting them up for an arranged marriage, not to fuck around at all hours. Plus, she was with Adam last weekend, remember? I had to go get her the morning-after pill.” There’s a long pause while I think my brain fails to work. “Is Malachi in his room?”

I’m certain I heard that wrong. I must have.

There’s no chance in fucking hell Olivia would need the morning-after pill, right?

Then Dad replies, “I’ll go check.”

What the fuck did they just say?

Olivia gets her towel and jumps off the bed. “Go!” she says silently. “Hurry before Dad gets to your room.”

I’m tasting her from my fingers at the same time I’m trying not to lose my shit. My heart was already racing from what just happened, but now it’s accelerating to an unhealthy pace, black dots obscuring my vision. I rise from the bed and walk towards her with my fingers in my mouth, cleaning them of her taste.

Why did you need the morning-after pill?

I back her into the wall. So many voices are going wild in my head, but I manage to angrily sign, Fucking answer me!

She’s shaking, covering her breasts, looking innocent and shy and fucking guilty. She’s not telling me because that means she needs to admit that she’s fucked someone. That she lost her virginity to someone else. That she’s been intimate with somebody who isn’t me.

I pull on my shirt, getting the fuck away from her before I strangle her. I don’t want to hurt her. I love her. Why do I want to hurt her?

Will I go out there right now and ask them why you needed a plan B?

Her eyes are watering. “They wanted me to sleep with him to prove my loyalty.”

Glaring, I crush my teeth together, grinding them to dust as the black dots nearly take over my vision from the rage filling my veins.

What?

“Don’t look at me like that. You know what they’re like when it comes to me being partnered up with someone wealthy. I wasn’t going to tell them no, Malachi,” she hisses, like I’m the one in the wrong. “I don’t have that luxury.”

I look at the door, deciding which parent to bury first—maybe Dad, so our mom can have the horror of watching me skin him alive, ripping away the love of her life like she’s trying to do to me.

Was Adam your first? The one who made you realize you liked to be choked?

“No,” she replies.

My heart sinks, needles stabbing into my eyes. No to which part, Olivia?

Who else has she slept with? Why do I feel like I’m about to pass out?

You fuck him again, or anyone else, and I’ll kill them.

“I’m supposed to marry one of them,” she seethes, like she has any right to be mad at me. She should have told me these fucking dates were more than just going out for dinner together or watching a damn movie—if I knew Mom was arranging for her to fuck people to prove her loyalty, I would’ve put a stop to it.

Fuck. Even now, I want to go out there and trail our mom all over the house, but then that means I’d hit a woman, and as much as I can be a dickhead, I wouldn’t stoop so low.

This is Olivia’s life. She’s been raised this way by this fucking witch.

For what? To have her marry the wealthiest family to make sure ours stays out of debt? Dad doesn’t even know how much she’s driving them into being broke.

My sister looks terrified, so instead of getting even angrier, because I know it isn’t her fault, I go to her, slide her hair behind her ear, and kiss her lips before I grab my clothes and disappear out the window.

I balance across the ledge until I reach my balcony, drop my clothes, and lean against the brick wall. Lowering my head, I squeeze my eyes shut.

My body is confused. My heart even more.

I’m in fucking heaven because I have the taste of her on my mouth and my fingers, and I’ve never felt more alive—but I also have a twisting feeling in my gut.

Betrayal, it feels like.

I think.

It must be.

I can’t be Olivia’s first because someone else got to have her before me, and I don’t know if I’m angry, jealous, or if I’m slowly dying inside that she didn’t wait for me.

My phone dings with a new message. I hold the smoke in my mouth while I read it.

He’s attached a picture of the handlebars hanging off—the wheel beveled. It wasn’t my fault. I had to get home to Olivia, and the gate was in the way. I’m unharmed, but I can’t say the same for my damn bike. I crash it all the time, so it’ll be another bill they cover since they refuse to let me get a job.

The only time he contacts me is to yell at me, or to express his disgust. It’s been gradually getting worse. He didn’t even ask if I was okay. I could have a broken fucking arm or a missing finger, and he’s more concerned about a damn motorbike.

His next message has me grinding my teeth and throwing my half-smoked cigarette away.

Despite needing to have space, I shower and head downstairs, and for the fifth time, we arrange for a mechanic to come fix my bike while I sit in silence, trying to calculate when and where and who got to have Olivia first.