Page 49 of Little Stranger

She’s annoying me at the same time as making me nervous. She’s basically asked me—someone she’s never seen without a helmet—on a date. I could be an ugly motherfucker, a predator, or a murderer, and she’s just given me a free invitation to meet with her.

I’m a little lost when it comes to socializing and living normally, but are we not a little old to be going to festivals like this? It’s more like a rave with a fairground that teenagers usually swarm. I’m twenty-eight, nearly twenty-nine, and I’m sneaking around, fucking my sister, and planning on going to a Halloween party to chase her into the darkness and fuck her some more.

I mean, I’ll go, but the idea of her so easily flirting with someone has me crushing the paper with her number, squeezing my throttle, and speeding down the street.

I glare at my phone—the new phone I had to go buy because I can’t use my own one. She still has my number after all these years, so she’d know it’s me.

Me: Hey, it’s Kai.

I roll my eyes at myself. Out of all the fucking names, I picked what people tried to use as my nickname? I hate it. It was either that or Vizey growing up, and I hated both. My name is Malachi, nothing else.

I’m surprised she didn’t put two and two together and realize who I was.

The stranger on a motorbike she just flirted with and asked out without knowing who she was talking to.

The phone dings, and I lean back on my bed with my towel around my waist, water droplets sliding down my chest. I just did a workout and ran on my treadmill for far too long, needing to expel some energy before tonight, but I still feel like there’s a lot more left to give.

Olivia: Hi! I didn’t think you would reach out. Are you coming tonight?

Am I so far from reality that I have no idea how to reply? Do I just simply reply “yes” and that’s it? How do I keep the conversation going? Do I ask her if she’s interested in sex? If she’s just looking for a friend? If her pussy is still tender from being pounded on her bathroom floor?

Me: Yeah. 7?

There. Simple and fine and in no way suspicious, right?

I glance over at my desk, my eyes zoning in on her sitting on her sofa, knees tucked up, chewing her fingernails while staring at her phone. She types but stops and throws her head back, as if she’s unsure what to say.

Smirking, I go sit at my desk and watch her fight her own strange little battle. It absolutely does not help my stiffening cock that she’s also in a towel, and that with her knees up, I can see between her legs.

When she still doesn’t reply, still fighting her demons, I type again.

Me: Are you single?

She bites the corner of her lip as she grins, a blush creeping up her throat and cheeks.

Olivia: My boyfriend would be furious if he knew I gave my number to some random biker.

My smile drops, and my brows knit together. She’s… not single? Since fucking when?

Olivia: I’m kidding. I’m not a very funny person. But yes, I’m as single as they come. How about you?

Technically, she’s half single. She’s neglected to mention that Mom’s lined her up with a husband. She also has a brother—me, by the way—who she has a fascination with. I can be cocky about that—she does have pictures of me on her phone, and I have more than enough voicemails as proof.

She fancies me but flirts with the biker?

Me: I don’t do relationships.

I grimace at my own words. I sound like a knock-off Christian Grey, without the whips and red room of sexual pain. Plus, I’m not a billionaire. I shake my head. Olivia made me watch all three movies back-to-back one night when we were teens, and I hated it, but I loved watching her watch someone get fucked.

Olivia: What do you do then?

I drug my sister nearly every night, cuddle her in her unconscious state, clean her apartment, and one time, I stuck my cock in her. I probably shouldn’t say that though.

Me: What do you think?

Olivia: My imagination is a little crazy. I’ll probably overstep and make you uncomfortable if I say what I think.

This is taking a different direction. My little whore of a sister is trying to dirty talk the biker—me, her brother.

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