Page 25 of Little Stranger

“Will I keep going?”

You aren’t allowed to stop yet, he signs, his sleepy, hooded gaze flickering to my mouth.Keep going, little sister.

Our faces are millimeters apart once more, our noses touching as we fight for air, and I wrap my fingers around his wrist. “Put your hand here,” I say, placing it on my cheek. “Or you can put your hands on their hips or in their hair. People like touch, especially while being kissed.”

He pulls his hand away and I halt, thinking I’ve done something wrong, but then he moves both to communicate with me.What do you like?

My lips move, but no sound comes out; I’m still on cloud nine from this moment.

The depravity going through my mind right now… I like things that are frowned upon. I have fantasies I return to again and again, and my pursuer always has the same face.

I’m staring right at him.

But then I snap out of it and take his hand again, his eyes following my movements as I place it on my neck, putting pressure over his fingers so they clamp around my slender throat. Enough to make me need to crush my thighs together with how large his hand is, and the way his pupils expand; the sight of him tightening his jaw and narrowing his hold.

“I like to be choked,” I admit, feeling miles more comfortable with him than anyone else. “I like rough kisses that hurt.”

I let out a shriek as he pushes me onto my back and slams his mouth on mine—his grip on my throat hard enough to stop me breathing and make me see stars behind my eyelids.

My lips part, and he doesn’t need any lessons on how to shove his tongue into my mouth, or the way he sucks on mine and devours me. He kisses me like I’m his—like I’ve belonged to him since I was seven and he was eight. I hum into his mouth, tasting that mint and smoke andhim. His teeth nip at my lips, stinging, and his grasp gets firmer.

Needing more, I wrap my legs around his hips; my towel creates an annoying barrier between us, but I can still feel the hard length of him pressing against my inner thigh.

He nips my lips more, sucks on my tongue, and uses his free hand to pin my hands above my head, pressing them into the pillow. He captures both in one grip, the other robbing me of air and making the dizziness start to take over.

The number of times I’ve imagined Malachi doing this when I’ve been with someone else is embarrassing. Kissing someone but tricking my mind into believing it was my brother, every touch and lick and suck and the way my orgasm rushed through me—it was all for him.

I have an illness. And usually someone would try to treat it, or find ways to help, but the only thing I want is for Malachi to pull his briefs off so I can feel him inside me.

Which is insane, considering this is just practice for him.

As soon as the underside of his cock grazes over my aching pussy, I whimper and fist my hands, sinking my teeth into his lip, hard, and making him bleed—the copper taste filling my mouth.

I moan again, and Malachi pulls back, staring down at me while he keeps sliding his cock against my core. A thin line of blood drips down his chin, and he looks like a psychopath, his eyes burning as he thrusts harder, rubbing against me.

He has to let go of my throat and cover my mouth with his palm to stop me alerting our mom that her son is currently driving her daughter into an orgasm just by dry-humping her through a damn towel.

My eyes roll as he keeps going, and I moan into his hand, meeting each rock of his hips and tensing all over as my high builds, my spine twists, and the coiling sensation burns deep within. I nearly scream as he sinks his teeth into my neck, my ceiling blurring in and out of focus with a mixture of pain, pleasure, and almost passing out from his tight grip.

Before I can reach my orgasm, he flips us again, the towel gliding from my body completely. Naked, and extremely soaked in his lap as I straddle him, I grab fistfuls of his black hair and crush my lips back down on his while his hands explore my body—touching, grasping, caressing my hips as I rock them forward absently.

For being inexperienced, he sure knows how to make me feel like I’m falling from a damn cliff just by kissing me, feeling his hardness through his boxers, searching for the friction that had me oh so close to erupting seconds ago.

His gusts of breath would be audible if he’d never chosen to keep his voice to himself. Each rock of my hip, I feel the silent groans, the gripping hands, and the thickening cock.

He’s so reactive to me; everything I do to him, he reciprocates, following my lead as I gasp into his mouth and tug at his wavy strands. He fists my hair at the back of my head, using it to drag me down against him, his fingers slipping to my nape, holding me there.

I should stop—I’m his sister. We’re siblings, whether by blood or not, we are the Vize children, and we shouldn’t be dry-humping while our tongues tangle, tasting and devouring like we’re each other’s favorite meal.

But against all the alarm bells ringing in my head, I need more—Iwantmore.

His mouth connects with my throat, replacing his hand, and I groan.

“I can show you how to do this,” I say, grabbing his hand and pulling it down between us, spreading his fingers then pressing two of them to my clit and circling. He pauses kissing my neck, breaks his mouth from my raw skin, and looks down, watching the way he rubs my sensitive spot.

“Have you done this before?” I ask, because he’s picking up the technique really fast, but he shakes his head, watching his fingers.

“Girls love this,” I breathe. “Do it while you kiss them. If you do it right, you can make a girl cum on your fingers.” A whimper pours from my mouth. “Fuck, yes. Just like that, Malachi.”

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