Page 117 of Little Liar
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.
