Page 17 of Little Stranger

Those seven words send my body into overdrive, and my brain short-circuits, blood pounding in my ears. Hesitantly, I pull off my shirt and drop it beside his, hating myself for wearing a sports bra and not some lacy red number that makes my breasts look at least a little better.

He shakes his head.Another. I answered two.

The logical thing to do would be to remove my pants so I’m sitting in my underwear, but it seems I’m going down a dangerous path as I pull my sports bra over my head and hold it to my chest.

Give me it,he signs then tries to take the fabric concealing me, but I hold it tighter.

My nipples are hard, and I’m not sure if that’s because of the cold weather up in the mountains, or if I’m just heavily turned on that I’m stripping in front of my brother. If I give him my bra, he’ll see the stiffness of them, the blush creeping up my chest, and as much as Iwanthim to look, I could be calculating this entire game wrong.

He might instantly assume I’m horny and be weirded out. Yeah, he wants to see me, but maybe he’s just curious about the female anatomy. Or maybe he’s trying to fuck with me.

I read that people with ASPD like to play games with people’s heads. Is that what Malachi is doing with me?

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

Why the hell would I laugh?

“They’re… small.”

Show me,he harshly signs.Or I’ll make you show me.

I think I’d like that. “Stop being a caveman.”

My sports bra drops onto my lap, and I avert my gaze, keeping it on the torch dangling from the top of the tent, my face most likely going the reddest shade of red—like a strawberry or a tomato.

He’s right in front of me, and my breasts are free. My nipples are pebbled, and I’m starting to shake—but I don’t think I can blame the cold. I ache between my legs, and as I bring my eyes back to his, I glance down and see the hardness of him through his pants growing more rigid.

His hands are shaking nearly as much as I am as he signs,Ask me something else.

I want to cover myself, hike my legs up to hug my knees—something I do a lot when I’m nervous—but I dig my nails into my palms and try to think. My mind isn’t working at all, especially with the way his naked chest is rising and falling under the torchlight.

Fucking ask me something, he pushes.

If I ask him something easy, then I’ll be nearly naked, so I go deep, knowing he won’t answer and will need to remove another item of clothing—maybe his sweats.

My voice betrays me, cracking as I ask, “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,” I reply and regret it instantly as a shadow falls over his face.

“I’m your sister—that’s all,” I add to make things worse, to anger him further. “We’re the Vize kids.”

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

“Do you see me as a sister?” I ask him again.

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

My heart stutters in my chest. “Okay,” I whisper.

His nostrils flare, his jaw clenched as his gaze flicks to my pants, and I take a deep breath, hooking my fingers into my waistband and sliding them off, inwardly praising myself for going for a wax with Mom a few days ago.

I’m only in my little pale-pink thong, the straps barely visible against my nude skin. I press my thighs together—the temperature in the tent is rising, and I’m seconds from ruining this game and our relationship and throwing myself at him.

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

He raises his shoulder.If I asked you to touch yourself, would you?

---