Page 2 of Deep Thr*ating Big Brother

God… I think he wants me too.

He held up a little dab of chocolate to me, and I went to take it from him between my thumb and forefinger. He tsked and shook his head, and I felt my eyes widened as he brought it right to my lips.

He wanted to fucking feed me? In front of our family?

“Frankie?” My voice was a whisper, but because his focus was trained on my mouth, I parted my lips so he could slip the chocolate between them.

The way he stared at me told me a hell of a lot without him saying anything at all. It burned with the forbidden and was undeniable. My chest tightened as his fingers trailed along my bottom lip before he brought his beer to his mouth again and took a long drink.

“Don’t swallow,” he said once the chocolate was fully melted and covering my tongue.

I snapped my head to left to then peer around the room, expecting our parents to be watching us as we acted this way, like our family would immediately know how wrong this interaction was.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he murmured. His voice had me looking back at him, but right away, I glanced around again, making sure no one was watching. But the crowd inside this room felt so far away. It was just us, and the air between us crackled like a livewire. I knew I shouldn’t feel this way. I shouldn't want my brother—much less this badly—but I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t control it or rein it in at all.

Especially not when he wasthis close.

“Bet you want to swallow right about now, don’t you?” His voice was low, and he leaned in, so I felt his warm, hoppy-scented breath as it moved along my neck. God, that felt good. “I know it’s uncomfortable holding that in your mouth. That instinct to swallow. It feels almost painful, doesn't it?”

I closed my eyes and felt myself sway, his words and the melted chocolate on my tongue almost too much for my senses to handle.

“Such a good girl, Saffa.”

I tipped my head back and opened my eyes to stare into his blue depths. He was so close to me that we breathed the same air.

“And when I come in your mouth and shoot my big wad down your throat, I’m going to make you hold it like you’re holding that chocolate—right on your tongue, so you’re forced to taste nothing but me for as long as I tell you to.”

I choked then, the chocolate sliding down my throat involuntarily as I tried to grapple with what he just said.

It was just him and me, suspended in this charged, forbidden space. His hand lingered on my back, the warmth of his touch branding me, before he finally stepped back.

He leaned back and smirked. It was slow. Deliberate. Full to the brim with nasty, taboo intent.

And I wanted more of it.

2

SAFFA

The evening had settled in deeper, and it didn’t look like the party was slowing down anytime soon. But we thrived on late nights with family, friends, and good food and wine. The latter was definitely doing the conga through our bloodstream.

But even though people were having a great time, and the noise was deafening, we all heard it when Aunt Rosa held up her fifth glass of wine and shouted, “Saúde!”

Everyone cheered before touching their drinks together and saying in unison, “Tchim-tchim,” as their glassesclinked.

But everything started fading into the background. Because all I could think about was what Frankie had said earlier. The air felt heavier, quieter around me, as I obsessed over the image of taking Frankie’s cock in my mouth and sucking him off.

But he’d wandered off after leaving me standing there with my mouth gaping open in shock after he said the dirtiest things I'd ever heard. And I hadn’t seen him since.

I left the great room and stepped into the hallway. The entryway had a warm, white glow from the lit fake Christmas tree my mother used as decoration.

My heartbeat had yet to settle from earlier, the moment by the window playing on a loop in my mind. My brother. Frankie. His name was like a curse on my lips, a forbidden sin that would send me straight to hell.

But thinking of him felt like an anchor I couldn’t break free from.

I rounded the corner and headed toward the kitchen but detoured when I heard my cousins in there playing drinking games. Finally, I found myself in my father’s study, one that was thankfully empty and quiet.

I snuck a glass of my dad’s expensive port wine he kept for special occasions, and I sat on his leather couch, staring out at the backyard and watching the snow fall.

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