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"Dominic," I respond, my voice steady but charged with a spark of anticipation that mirrored his.
In that moment, our eyes lock, a silent exchange that speaks volumes.
Dominic's gaze holds mine, a mixture of curiosity and challenge, and I feel the air falter between us. The chemistry is both exhilarating and forbidden. Brothers shouldn’t be lovers. Brothers shouldn’t fuck. It’s illicit and bursting full of sin, just like I get stuffed full of my big brother's hard cock. The way he cuts into me, drawing blood. How he treats me like his little whore. How he cleans me up, bandages my wounds, and then kisses my forehead. A strict contradiction to what you think a serial killer would do, but nothing about Dominic Malachi LaRue has ever made sense.
Yeah, my name is his. Or his name is mine. However the fuck you want to call it, the only difference is a slight spelling change. I remember the first time I heard our mom call him by his full name, and I was old enough to realize the similarities.
“Mommy, why does Dommy have my name?” I ask my mother in a squeaky voice.
“Because when you were born, your brother kept calling you Malakhi, and we did not have a name picked out for you. We needed one before we left the hospital, so here we are.” Her eyes drift from me to my big brother, but they narrow slightly at him as he stares right back at her.
I love that my brother named me. What an honor to share his name.
"We gonna fuck, or you still stuck in the goddamn past?" Dominic's voice carries a promise and also a question that holds layers of meaning waiting to be uncovered. I would ask how the fuck he knows, but I’ve given up on wondering things like that. He knows me better than I know myself.
I nod, and together, we move closer until our breaths mingle and he reaches up, moving the lock of dark hair that’s fallen into my eyes.
“Strip.” The one-word command spurs me into action, and I immediately start tossing off clothes. Shoes, pants, shirt. All of it goes until I’m standing before him naked, and I drop to my knees, resting my ass against my heels as I spread my knees slightly. I keep my head down with my chin to my chest as I clasp my hands behind my back.
The wet squelch of mud can be heard as I rearrange myself into a presenting position before I still. The silky feel of the sludge cups my kneecaps, and it feels good compared to the usual hard floors I’m on.
“Good boy, look at you. You can fucking listen. Will fucking wonders cease to exist?” I glance up through the dark lashes covering my eyes as he reaches up and behind him, gripping his shirt by the back of his neck. He swiftly tugs upward, removing his shirt, and my half-hard cock twitches and is now standing at full attention. Jutting out toward my brother, begging for him to touch it.
His biceps ripple, and I can see his abdominals clench as he tosses his shirt over a low bush. “I know you’re watching. Give me those eyes. Let me see the storm,” he commands, and I’m helpless to resist. He wants my eyes as much as I want to see him.
A hand cups my jaw, feathered so his fingertips press against my throat and his thumb pulls down on my bottom lip.
“Give me a truth.”
And so, I do, “I still resent that you wouldn’t fuck me in the blood of our parents.”
He grimaces, and I wait with bated breath, hoping like fuck he says something, anything. I know why he didn’t, but I wanted it. More than I wanted anything else. He hardly ever denied me even when I was being a bratty little fucker, which was often.
He likes my snark and opposition. Well, he likes punishing me for it, and I fucking love being punished. In every sadistic way he can think of.
“That’s fine. You can resent me, baby boy. You still spread your legs for me like a blossoming tulip. Always so goddamn eager. Look at you, filthy and kneeling in the dirt. If I told you to go fuck yourself on a tree branch, you’d do it.” There’s no question, simply fact.
He’s right, I would do it. I would look for the smoothest limb I could find and debase myself even further because his pleasure is my own. I mean, it could feel good. One of those long, thick branches. Maybe Dom would let me shape the tip so it’s rounded, and it would just be like fucking a really long dildo. I shiver thinking about it, and one day, maybe we can actually try it.
He hikes up his pants and crouches down so we’re face to face before he leans in, capturing my lips in a fierce kiss full of tongue and teeth. He doesn’t allow me even a moment’s breath before biting down hard on the lower lip he’s sucked into his mouth.
The pain and pleasure zing through me all at once as the coppery taste of blood hits both of our taste buds. He pulls back before standing up and, with the flick of his hand, tells me to get up as well.
I rise up from the hard ground until I’m looking him directly in the eye and smirk.
“That’s it? You chased me out here, stripped me down, and we aren’t even gonna fuck? What a letdown. How utterly fucking boring. I see your old age is catching up to you. It’s okay, old man. They make a pill for that, so I should be able to sweet talk some dumbass pharmacy assistant to give me a bottle…or two,” I goad, knowing goddamn well I am pushing multiple buttons at once with my big brother. As if he isn’t twenty-four and fucks just like it.
I expect to feel his ire manifest, but he’s looking at me calmly. Too calmly.
Uh-oh, I really fucked up. Like really, really fucked up.
His head is cocked just slightly, and one thick eyebrow resting over that dark blue iris is raised as if he’s amused at me and my antics.
I mean, I know I’m fucking funny, but right now, he’s acting like…
…well, like a Harbinger.
Calm, collected, and amused. No trace of anger whatsoever lines his body.
