Little Stranger: A Dark Taboo Romance

Mom is trying to fucking annoy me.

First, she arranges for Olivia to have dinner with Xander. Now, she’s emailing about setting a fucking wedding date for two weeks’ time.

Maybe I should kill her. Would the wedding still go ahead if the mother of the bride had been tragically ripped apart and fed to a pack of wolves?

Knowing my family, probably.

My tarantula is crawling over my hand, and I watch him explore my scent. He’s new. I bought him a few days ago, and I think he looks exactly like Spikey, my old pet—who Mom had destroyed when I was arrested.

They killed my fucking spider, the assholes.

I still want revenge for that too, because Olivia didn’t even try to stop them—going by her journal, she didn’t do much to stick up for me, only herself. In all honesty, everything I’ve read in that fucking book pissed me off. She talks about me a lot, about how abusive I was to her, yet she liked it. She liked when I was a manipulative dick and forceful.

Then why did you testify against me, sweet Olivia?

Why tell all those people what I did to Daddy then fill my phone up with voicemails of you crying and apologizing; why search for me when I was released?

Why act like you hate me when you miss me?

I’m a hypocrite. I internally rain havoc on any warm thoughts of Olivia, but deep down, I fucking missed her too. Being separated from her was like being thrown into the sea when you can’t swim. Drowning—I was fucking drowning until I set eyes on my Olivia again.

She currently has some spider webs on her. My pet crawled all over her body until he decided to try escape from the basement and made me chase the fucker.

“Ol-ivi-a,” I mutter to myself. I try to whisper it faster and mess up. I sigh and check her phone for any new messages, but even her social media is dead. Where has your exciting life gone, sister?

The chains rattle, and I lift my gaze to see her waking up. “Ah,” I start. “Good. You awake.”

I meant to say “You’re awake” but I guess I’m still learning that shit.

I stand and walk towards her while my spider scurries around my palm. He’s a baby still, furry, but the way she’s widening her eyes tells me that, one, she has no idea she has webs in her hair and on her body, and two, she’s still terrified of anything with eight legs.

Poor little guy. He just wants to be understood, just like me. Don’t you, buddy?

“Don’t you dare come near me with that thing!”

I smile, still in my balaclava. I fucked her ass all of yesterday, and while she passed out, I went for a sleep in our bed and showered. I tried to sponge wash her, but she got turned on, and I ended up fucking her ass again.

She even begged me to give her pussy attention, and I denied her of it.

I can’t help but smile at her. She’s beautiful—she has been since we were kids. I think since I met her in the airport, I knew how important she’d be to me, and when she learned sign language, and how to play “Happy Birthday” on the piano for me, I thought I was important to her too. Years passed, but I could never handle being far from her. I always wanted to kiss her and laugh with her, to lie in her bed and watch her sleep, sniff her fucking hair like the drug it is.

I was—technically—her brother. I’m still classed as one, I think. And as much as I wanted to be special to her, to be with her, I never wanted to be her brother. I wanted to be her first kiss, her first love, her first dance at Homecoming. I wanted to hold her hand and kiss her whenever I wanted. I was never normal enough for her—the freak without a voice.

Our parents hated me—I was the adopted kid they never should’ve signed for. She was the angel—still is to me, despite everything—and I was the mistake.

My parents were already concerned about my fixation with my sister, but when I was fifteen, I kissed her during a board game and was moved to the other side of the manor, so we had to risk our lives every time we wanted to sneak into each other’s room by walking across the roof ledge.

When I was nineteen, I knew the way I felt about Olivia was wrong. It was like an illness I had no idea how to treat. Olivia Vize was my sister, and I had fantasies of fucking her, of kissing her until we couldn’t breathe, of me hurting her and her liking it.

I was so dangerously obsessed with her that I planned to fuck her in her sleep, but I settled for going on a date instead to try to make her jealous.

That was my first mistake—everyone made up lies about me. I was the loser, the weirdo, yet all the girls wanted to suck my dick or try to make me fuck them to see if I’d moan their name. I never went near Anna. I didn’t kiss her, and I definitely didn’t fuck her. Olivia was my first—she’s the only person I’ve ever been with.

I tried to tell Olivia, but she kept grabbing my hands when I was signing, and I couldn’t say her name, never mind all those words. She slapped me, yelled at me, then I got sensory overload and snapped.

And I guess I saw red and ruined it all.

Now, my sister is pulling away from me, as far as she can in her chains, while I drag my palm over her tits, my creepy-crawly spider settled on top of my hand. She’s shaking so much, and her little whimpers are making my dick hard. I fix it in my pants, tucking it up into my waistband, and she glances down.

“W-Wait…” She hesitates, and the look in her eyes tells me this is a fear she may not get off on. Good thing this isn’t about her—this is for me. For the years she took from me.

I tilt my head the way I always do when I look at her and drag my palm up and over her web-covered breast.

She freezes all over as I let the spider crawl onto her face.

I don’t think she’s even breathing as I tilt my head further, watching it scurry over one of her eyes. “Beau-ti-ful.”

“Pl-Please take it off. Please, Kai. Please. I’ll do anything.”

I capture my lip between my teeth and walk behind her. “I like the way—” I stop, gathering my courage to keep the words coming, sinking my teeth into her neck to buy me some time. She whimpers and pulls on the chains. “You scream,” I finish, licking a trail from her collarbones, over her nape, and biting the other side of her neck.

I move her hair over to the other shoulder, tugging down my pants to free my cock, and press it to her entrance. “Scream louder,” I add as I force my cock into her pussy from behind, and her lungs expel the most arousing fucking sound, her head thrown back.

My pet is crawling up the side of her face, and I can see the fear in her expression—it makes me chuckle.

“The itsy bitsy spider,” I whisper against her ear, sliding in and out of her cunt. “Climbed up the waterspout.”

My tone is surprisingly good, considering. Maybe it’s the fact I’m distracted by my body pressed against hers, or the way her pussy clutches at my cock as I keep thrusting, her breaths gasping out of her in both fear and pleasure.

“Down came the rain,” I say slowly, biting my lip and groaning as I get deeper into her depths. “And washed… the spider… out.”

“Oh God,” she moans, the chains rattling as she pulls at them just as my little furry friend crawls up into her hair.

“Out came the sun,” I whisper, dropping my hand down the front of her to pinch her clit while I twist her nipple. “And dried up… all the rain.”

I feel my spider scurry onto my neck, settling there as I fuck my girl with more force, a shiver shooting down my spine to my balls as I force out the rest of the lyrics through gritted teeth. “The itsy… bitsy… spider…”

She explodes around my cock, her inner walls clenching my thickness, and I pinch her clit harder, thrusting deeper and making her scream through her orgasm.

My balls tighten more than they ever have, and I still inside her, my cock pulsing strings of cum with each twitch of my own release.

My vision blurs, and I nearly collapse against her as I catch my breath.

She goes limp again, and I sigh and pull out, pressing my forehead to her back as I spread the sticky substance leaking from her over her cheeks, slapping one hard enough to leave a mark.

The tickling at my nape where my balaclava isn’t covering has me carefully reaching back for my tarantula.

I hold him in my palm and chuckle as I grab a chain above me for support, since I’m a little dizzy. “Climbed up… the spout again.”

He crawls up my arm while I circle my sister.

I go to smell her hair and frown. It doesn’t smell like strawberries like it did when we got here. The burns look like they could use more cream too. And her wrists are all red and raw from the chains.

Have I had her chained up for too long?

I’ve been more than happy to clean her up when she wet herself, feed her when she needed food, but I think my girl needs a good scrub. She’s covered in dried blood, webs, cum, cigarette burns, and bite marks.

Fine.

Maybe she’s had enough.

I know I have. I kind of want to just lie with her—cuddle her, even if she hits me in the process.

I free her wrists and catch her in my arms. My spider sits on my shoulder as I carry her out of the basement. I let him come with us to the bedroom while she snores against my chest, lifting her higher so I can flop her over my shoulder then settling my pet into his tank.

I take Olivia into the bathroom and fill the tub while I sit her on the ground, her back to my front, and run a comb through her hair. She’s whimpering in her sleep, rubbing her thighs together, so I lower my hand and cup her pussy, and instantly, the greedy little stranger pushes against my palm.

“Nope,” I say, taking it away. “Not yet.”

I lift her into the tub, not climbing in behind her like I would whenever I drugged her at her apartment. I wash all the blood from her body with a sponge, then grab her usual shampoo brand and lather her hair with it. She keeps slipping under the water, and it’s fucking annoying me.

Holding her in place, I strip my clothes with one hand—even the balaclava—and climb in behind her to keep her still while I wash her hair. I sigh in contentment at how perfectly she fits against me, palming her tits and tweaking her nipples, making her cry out softly.

She’s still unconscious as I dry her off, brush her teeth, and kiss her, then place her in bed. I don fresh clothes—a hoodie and sweats to hide my tattoos—and pull on the balaclava again, sitting on the dresser with a cigarette while she sleeps.

Naked. Exposed. Branded with my mouth and my initials burned into her, and little cuts from my knife. She looks perfect. She looks like mine.

I stub out the smoke and climb into bed beside her, feeling tired myself, but I can’t sleep—she’ll wake before me and try to run away.

She can’t leave me. Not again.

I pull my sister against me—the perfect little spoon, my puzzle piece—wrap my arms around her, and kiss the spot behind her ear. Soft, chaste kisses. She sighs into me, rolls her hips, and I lean back to watch her ass rub against my hardening cock.

I’m reminded of that first time, in my bed, when she thought I was asleep and rubbed her ass against my cock. I was so fucking close to pushing the limit at that point, but I was a virgin, and whether I was a cocky wanker or not, Olivia made me nervous.

She still does.

I push Olivia onto her back and settle between her legs, pulling my boxers down over my ass so my dick springs free. I fist the base, stroke it once, then tap it against her clit, making her tense and part her legs wider for me.

I glide my pierced head against her slick folds and ease it through her opening; she rolls into me, her pussy wrapping around my head and making me twitch.

I fist the pillow beside her head with one hand and grab her throat with the other, and her eyes ping open as I squeeze—just as I pummel one hard thrust into her.

Good girl, Olivia. Be fucking awake while I take you like this.

I haven’t had her missionary with her awake, and I want her to look into my eyes while I fuck her.

Her widening gaze flicks between both of my eyes, and I bury my face in her neck as I rock my hips into her, slamming so hard, the headboard rattles against the wall. I inhale, smelling her hair, the freshness of it, and my cock tingles as it thickens.

“Malachi?”