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My new brother.
Daddy throws open the door, and my mommy snatches me up into her arms. “I told you not to be trouble!” Daddy yells at me. My eyes shut, and I wait for him to yell some more, but he doesn’t. “And you,” he snaps at the boy. “You’re on a strike, little man. Two more, and your ass is going to another new home. You’re Malachi Vize now, and the Vizes don’t step out of line, so get used to it.”
He pulls back and does something with his hands again, and I grab some paper and hand him a pack of crayons. “Can you write? If not, I can teach you that too.” I watch him take the black one and write down one word that makes no sense. Mine.
And I don’t think he likes Dad very much. Malachi ran out of his office with a black eye the other day.
He signs, Teach me? He watches my fingers as I play to him what I just learned, and his eyes light up when he realizes what it is. I grin and shrug. “Happy birthday,” I say quietly. “It was supposed to be a surprise.” He signs, Thank you, then gestures to the piano again. Play.
Pulling back, I stare at him, wide-eyed. “Mom told me not to let boys kiss me! You’re a boy!” I’m your brother, so I’m allowed.
Later that night, Dad comes home and drags Malachi out of bed, and when I try to ask what’s wrong, he yells at me to go back to sleep. When Malachi comes back to our bedroom hours later, he’s visibly shaking and apologizes to me using his hands, and I hug him until he falls asleep.
“Aw, is my big brother going to miss me?” He gets up from my bed, and I gasp as he grabs my hair and pulls my head back. Taking my cheek with his other hand, he swipes the sticky lip gloss across my mouth with his thumb. My brother pulls my bottom lip down, watching it snap back. He looks… mesmerized? And for some reason, I’m stuck in a trance too as he grabs my chin, pulling my hair hard enough that I hiss, yet I don’t fight him or tell him to stop. A part of me wants him to tug harder—I want him to… something. What’s happening? He releases me and backs away, his chest rising and falling as
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I did go to my friend’s house the other night, but I snuck out when everyone fell asleep, and instead of climbing in my own window, I climbed right into Malachi’s. But that’s a normal thing siblings do, right?
“Mom wants me to find a boyfriend because apparently I need a man to look after me.” I roll my eyes. “She said they’ll partner me up with that weirdo Parker.” Malachi’s eyes darken, his jaw clenching. You’re only eighteen.
“Tell her that!” Twisting on the gas cap, I pat his shoulder. “Count yourself lucky Dad thinks men are power, or you’d be forced into marriage at a young age too.” He snatches my wrist before I can pull away then drops it to sign a reply. No, you aren’t getting married.
He slams Adam’s head into the wall with enough force that I cringe at the cracking sound. Once, twice, three times, and blood splatters as Adam goes limp on the ground. My eyes are wide, no sound coming out of my parted lips as the cashier runs to call the cops.
“Adam’s family did say they’d drop the charges under certain conditions.” “What conditions?” I ask, and she gives me a warm smile. “One condition. We promise Olivia to Adam.”
“Thanks,” I snap, moving away from his hand low on my back, leading me up the grand staircase. “Because of you, Mom is going to force me to date him too. I hope you’re proud of yourself, big brother.”
“Malachi isn’t like us, Olivia. I’m not sure why we thought we could handle someone like him. So troubled and so… I don’t know. His controlling and possessive tendencies over you are dangerous. Even when your father kisses your forehead, Malachi glares at him like he wants to slit his throat. He won’t speak to a therapist and won’t touch medication, and I fear he really needs both.”
“If he goes, I go.” “Don’t be stupid, Olivia. Why would you do that? Malachi needs space and no restrictions, and if he’s living under our roof, he needs to abide by our rules. Your father can’t even be in the same room with him without feeling uncomfortable. You can’t leave—you have… ties to our family. You’re a Vize.” “I promise you, Mom, if Malachi goes, I will leave with him.”
“Malachi is your son.” “He is, and I love him; we all do, but he’s dangerous and unhinged and unpredictable. He can’t feel remorse or empathy or regret or even love someone properly. He’s a weapon.”
I’m still screaming when Malachi climbs on top of me and covers my mouth with his hand, fingers digging into my cheek. He raises his finger to his lips, telling me to be silent, but all I can focus on is his body layered over mine—the hardness pressed against my inner thigh. He’s… hard. Aroused.
I won’t scream. He twitches again, and before he gets off me, he pushes down so his cock runs against my clit, and I bite my cheek to suppress a moan.
Get into bed. I’ll be there in a minute.
My skin tingles, and the butterflies are going insane, my thighs rubbing together as I lie under the covers and wait. They smell like him, and the way I’m feeling, the scent only makes me worse. I slip my hand between my legs, letting out a soft moan as I finger my wetness. With my eyes glued to the door of the bathroom, where he’s naked and wet, I picture him on me again as I sink two fingers inside myself.
“Promise me you won’t beat anyone else up.” No, he signs.
Stop being a brat. “Every time you attack someone, Mom is probably going to try to arrange a date for me. She’s desperate for me to get married young because she did.”
How many dates has she arranged? “I’ve been on four so far. Two to go. Yay me.”
So far? You’ve been on dates already? Rolling my eyes, I huff. “I’m eighteen.” And? Did you fuck them? I gasp. “I’m not t...
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He shifts, and his hand drops to my inner thigh, gripping it, and I stifle a whimper as his fingers dig into my skin.
He releases my inner thigh and his fingers twist in my pajama top, causing a button to pop.
“We can’t,” I say firmly. “You know it’s wrong.” Don’t grind your ass on my cock and I won’t accept the invitation.
“Do you see me as your sister?” Without looking at me, he lifts his free hand and signs one last thing before falling asleep. You’re mine.
Malachi: Hold my hand. I reread it three times, then glance at him, but he’s looking at his phone. Malachi: Don’t make it obvious. Me: Why do you want to hold my hand? Malachi: Do I need a reason? Give me your hand, or I’ll tell Mom you touched my dick while I was asleep.
I heard you snoring. Even over Mom’s ridiculous singing. I narrow my eyes. “I do not snore.” “Yes, you do, angel,” Dad says, chuckling. “It’s quite unladylike, dear,” Mom adds.
I want to see all of you.
No. You were mine when we were kids, and you’re mine now. You’ll always be mine.
If I asked you to touch yourself, would you?
“I think I’d do anything you asked of me,”
Should I be looking at my brother’s dick like it’s my favorite meal? Probably not. I lick my lips, imagining the thickness of it sliding down my throat, making me gag as he forces each thrust, silencing my cries, robbing me of air as he slaps me across the face and growls at me to take every inch.
Can I taste you?
I’m not allowed to touch you, then you need to do it yourself.
“Okay, okay, okay. But you need to promise not to touch me.”
I won’t. Our secret, little sister.
“Please don’t call me your little sister right now.”
But you are my sister. My dirty little sister who’s going to touch herself in front of me. Show your big brother w...
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Can I touch you? “No,” I pant. “Please don’t.” Why?
“Do you still want to taste me?” He nods, and his pupils blow as I lift my glistening fingers to his lips, swiping them across them. He captures my wrist and sucks them into his mouth, my fingers sliding against the warmth of his tongue as he takes them to the knuckles, sucking hard, and I tremble as he bites lightly. If he used his voice, I know I’d hear him hum right now with the way his eyes roll closed, his other hand gripping himself.
But the torch is flicked back on, and I freeze when Malachi grabs my throat and pulls me up to my knees in front of him—my airway cut off. There’s pressure behind my eyes, and my lungs struggle for air. He releases me, but I stay put, trembling from the orgasm, the fear, and the need for him to take. Don’t silence me like that, he signs furiously. Don’t ever fucking silence me, Olivia.
You aren’t fucking marrying anyone.
“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?
“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.
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 and him. His teeth nip at my lips, stinging, and his grasp gets firmer.
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.
