Page 32 of Little Liar
But if she’s asleep…
I could kiss her, and she couldn’t tell me no.
It might stop my obsession. Stop the craving for my little sister. Scratch the itch to stick my dick in someone I grew up with as a sibling.
I pop four tablets in then a fifth, leaving them to sit until they’re fully dissolved. Stirring with a spoon, I add in a few ice cubes, the smallest amount of orange juice to hide the medical taste, then head upstairs to Olivia’s bedroom.
Thankfully, she’s still not out of the bathroom, so I place the glass where it was, hurrying into her closet when I hear her music stop.
Her footsteps might as well be on my chest.
A towel around her, she rubs a second one into her hair. There are little droplets leftover from the shower making wet trails down her skin, and my mouth waters, my breaths heavy through my nose.
She takes forever to dry her hair, my throat closing as the towel wrapped around her body drops to her feet. Her breasts, her pussy, her fucking body.
Fuck.
Sadly, she pulls on a nightdress, my entertainment keeping me awake as she practices one of her routines in the mirror beforeshe calls Abbi, tells her to meet her tomorrow at the mall, then downs the glass in one go, making the remaining ice cubes hit her teeth.
Her nose crinkles with a grimace, and she glances down at the empty glass. She licks her lips, then goes into her bathroom to rinse the glass and set it aside.
It’s done. Pretty soon—in minutes even—Olivia will lose consciousness.
My cock shouldn’t be hard. Nothing has happened, yet it’s standing at attention, nearly nudging the closet door open. Maybe I should be honest and tell her she’s mine instead of drugging her into a sleep for my own enjoyment?
I shrug to myself. Too late.
I stare at the clock opposite where I’m hiding. The arms seem to be taking forever to make their way across the face, and tick by tick, Olivia’s breathing grows heavy as she bundles herself under the duvet.
I should feel bad. I should feel disgraced with myself for drugging my sister, but there’s only so much control I can have until it snaps. I’m not a good guy—never have been. I’m an asshole, controlling, and I don’t deserve the life I have. I’m certain I should be locked up in a psych ward or something.
I think, by the way my excitement is growing the less lucid she becomes, I’ve definitely snapped and dropped off the cliff with no return to reality.
The door creaks open, and I leave my hiding spot, moving to the side of her bed before slowly lowering to my knees. I’m nervous. I’ve never been so nervous in my life. Because I can do what I want, but I have no idea where to start.
Olivia’s face is sweet and relaxed. Beautiful. Stunning. Breathtaking.
Anyone would be lucky to call her their wife, mother of their children, the person they get to grow old with.
Her chest rises and falls with each breath she pulls into her lungs. Her lips are so full, and I want to kiss them. I want to hear her gasp against my mouth as I devour her, to feast on her tongue and trap her bottom lip between my teeth. I’d rather she was aware that it was me, that she could watch me as I slid down her body to taste her, but this will do.
Dad’s voice is in my head, telling me to stay away from Olivia. He’s never really trusted me around her. Ever. And he isn’t wrong—but now she’s just turned eighteen, me about to turn twenty, the innocence is gone, and I know exactly what I want.
I adored my sister. She was, or is, my anchor. She’s the only person in the world I want to communicate with or care about. But I don’t want to cuddle her and talk and act like I don’t want her. I want every inch of her more than I need air.
It’s not right, but I don’t give a fuck. I’m well aware that it’s not allowed, that my dick shouldn’t twitch and harden at the thought of sticking my cock between her tits until I paint them with my cum.
I slowly pull down the blanket, my breaths catching in my throat when her soft, delicate skin comes into new.
Olivia’s nightdress has ridden up to her hips. She’s intentionally been wearing less and less clothing to bed, and I can’t say I have any complaints. She could be completely naked and I’d still need more. Watching her naked, showering and even pleasuring herself isn’t enough. I need to be the cause of those fucking beautiful moans.
I’ve never touched a girl before—never felt the need or wanted to. But I want to touch my sister so badly that I can’t stop myself as I pull the blanket completely off her and stare at her bare legs; at those perfect damn thighs that I want wrapped around me as I drive into her hard enough to smack the headboard off the wall.
The desire is too much. I let my fingertip drag over her collarbone, hooking under the strap of her nightdress andpulling it down off her shoulder. The curve of her breast appears, then her pink nipple, and a thud hits my balls. A pulse. My dick is struggling in my boxers, especially when the pad of my thumb circles her nipple, making it pebble.
It’s still not enough. I pull down the other side, both breasts free, and shift myself onto the mattress, between her legs, and pull the nightdress completely off her. Her panties are plain, white and innocent, and I remove them too, my tongue swiping at my lips as soon as my eyes land on her pussy.
I glance up at her face, still asleep, and keep my gaze on her as I press my thumb to her clit. If she wakes, she can slap me, and I’ll apologize. Her brows knit together a little, furrowing deeper as I apply pressure, slowly circling around the sensitive area.
