14. Breaking & Entering
Breaking & Entering
Zephyr
T he afternoon sun beats down on Zeke and me. If I weren’t too eager to do something—hell, anything—I would’ve countered Zade’s plan since the chances of us getting caught in broad daylight was a high possibility.
Metal clicks together, and Zeke keeps his back to me, focused on picking the lock on the back door of Jessica Ransom’s home. She’s the dark-haired woman we saw Riah’s stalker take after fleeing her bedroom. It’s her fingers Zade discovered upstairs, stitched into a macabre heart.
If it wasn’t my sister the fucker was stalking, I’d admire his boldness and creativity. I won’t analyze too closely what that says about me.
“Fuck, yeah!” Zeke whisper-yells, shooting me a victorious grin over his shoulder. I snort, shaking my head at his antics. Why couldn’t Tito arrive earlier so I could be partnered with someone a little more serious?
“You don’t appreciate your brother,” my cousin continues, no doubt hoping to get a reaction out of me. I cock a brow, not rising to the bait.
His smile stretches across his face. “He’s a genius.
I can pick locks, but I can’t disable the alarm unless I find a way to cut the power.
But this,” he pulls a device out of his sweats, the one I watched Zade instruct Zeke to fetch out of his room, describing what it looked like in detail, “should take care of that problem for us.”
He faces forward again, lining the device up with the approximate location he thinks the alarm is on the other side of the concrete walls. A red light flashes steadily, and after several moments and a beeping noise, it flashes green.
“Yes!” he crows, turning the doorknob and pushing the door open.
I shuffle closer, peering around him at the linoleum floors and darkened interior of the house.
We share a look before cautiously stepping over the threshold.
I ease the door shut behind us. No sense in making it easier for someone to follow us in.
Zade mentioned he’d set up an alert for Ms. Ransom, waiting for her disappearance to get reported to the police. So far, no one has noticed she’s gone, but it’s only a matter of time. I hike the backpack Zeke refused to carry higher up my back. Not out of nervousness , I tell myself.
And maybe Zeke isn’t wrong about my twin’s intelligence.
Since the unknown is not only a stalker and a kidnapper but now, he’s also someone who dismembers dead bodies, Zade assumes he’ll be back to visit his victim’s home like he’d done to Riah.
That’s why we’re here, to lay out a trap and to set up camera feeds that my twin will be able to hack into .
Who’s to say how long that will take or if Ms. Ransom is truly dead? She might be missing a couple of fingers, but people survive amputations. When I’d said that, Zeke and my brother both gave me a look, eyes swirling with darkness embedded in them.
Zade shouldn’t know a damn thing about corpses but Zeke on the other hand, he’d popped into Riah’s room after fetching the alarm disabler and noted that by the stiffness of the fingers, the woman had been dead for several hours, probably killed not long after getting taken.
I didn’t ask how he knew how long it took for rigor mortis to set in. My imagination supplied me with plenty of visuals of what Uncle Zac gets up to.
But it was Zade that’d demanded my attention, darkness still tinting his eyes. A darkness I recognized. Maybe my twin isn’t a sociopath, or maybe his other mental disorder helps mask sociopathic tendencies because like recognizes like.
Uncle Zac has plenty of fucking experience masking and taught Zeke the same skill. I hadn’t recognized him for what he was but he saw straight through my piss poor attempt at being normal . And I’ve turned that same scrutiny on Zade.
Why do I care if we’re the same?
“Alright, let’s get this shit done. I’m getting hungry,” my cousin says, marching ahead of me with purpose. I don’t point out he ate only a couple of hours ago because whereas I’m lean, he’s built like a damn linebacker.
I’m not asking him what Uncle Zac and Aunt Nat feed him . Nope, not doing it. I follow behind him, just as fucking eager to get this task done.
Zade
Siri looks up at me, arousal reddening her skin and nipples poking through the material of the shirt I’d loaned her. My eyes dip to her legs spread open for me. She wants this. She’s letting me play with her.
My cock twitches in my pants, eager to come out and play with my sister’s insides but I’d meant what I said. Siri will be my first, and I suspect I’ll be hers. I want it to be special, memorable. Something I can hold onto or summon the memory of when the voices get too loud.
She’s more than just my anchor, like Mom.
With each of these interactions, she’s cementing herself as the center of my universe.
I don’t know what came over me as I’d slid the knife through her soaked pussy.
Maybe it was the memory of Zy’s heated gaze on her or the way she’d flushed under the attention.
“Mine.”
“Ours.”
She’s that and more. Maybe I’d wanted to remind her of that, claim her and erase the memory from my mind with the same knife I’d held to his throat, fully prepared to slice cleanly across it.
We might have a truce, an accord of sorts, and a common goal. But I won’t share Siri with him. Our peace doesn’t extend to that. So the moment he makes a move to touch what’s mine, I’ll kill him. Until then, we’re as of one mind as we’ve ever been.
Which was never.
“Zade,” Siri whispers, shifting beneath me, need thickening her voice. “Please fuck me with the handle.”
My balls tighten, and I nearly come undone at the husky request. Oh yes, she’s mine. I’ll ruin her for anyone else.
I pick the knife up and lean down, bringing the tip to just below the hem of my old T-shirt.
Rounded brown eyes stare down as I slice the knife up, cutting the material that’s blocking my view of her upper body.
I caught glimpses of her clad in only a pair of panties and a bra but quickly cut the feed before I became not just a voyeur but a creepy one.
Now, I can look as well as touch. Smooth skin gets exposed the further I drag the knife up until I’m just below her collar. Without being told, she tilts her head back so I don’t nick her, slicing through the collar and watching the two halves slide to either side of her body.
No bra since I hadn’t thought to grab one when I went to fetch her some clothes from her room while she used my shower.
I’d liked the idea of her wearing my clothes too much to bring back a shirt, but I’d brought her a fresh pair of underwear and shorts.
Licking my lips, I watch her breasts move with each exhalation while she pants, staring at me with expectation and excitement.
Not a hint of fear invades her eyes, and I’m relieved.
Trust.
I rarely trust what I hear and see, so to bear witness to her complete trust causes something large and unnamed to swell in my chest.
You’re so beautiful.
Radiant. Mesmerizing. I want to go on and list every term in the dictionary to describe how she looks lying beneath me.
But it’s time to play. I glance down, locking on the arousal wetting her thighs. She’s dripping for me and it tests my resolve not to claim her. I can hardly wait to be joined with her in such an intimate way. It’d exceed any other experience I’ve had up to now. I just know it.
Later , I remind myself. Satisfy her now, work to catch her stalker, and then claim her.
Goosebumps trail down her chest, following the flat of the knife. Small whimpers escape her, eyes tracking the downward journey. She keeps her legs spread, but muscles jump in her thighs, like she’s barely restraining herself from writhing.
It’s a heady, addictive feeling, the power she lets me hold over her. She may do as I ask, but control ultimately rests in her hands. She only needs to say “stop” or “no,” and the fun ends. Nothing is worth shattering her trust over.
I’ll tell her about the fingers eventually, but she’ll never lay eyes on them. I will bear that burden for her.
When I reach the apex of her thighs, her patience crumbles, and the whimpers grow in volume. Her hips rise off the bed, jerking toward me like I’ve shocked her with a bolt of electricity or contain a magnet in my hand to draw her near.
My free hand pushes her left hip down, and I rest my knee on her right thigh to pin that side of her to the bed.
Then I flip the knife in my hand so the smooth, wide handle is facing her entrance.
I need to coat it so it’s as painless as possible for her.
Whines fill the air and I make sure to bump her clit on each glide through her folds.
“Zade!” she cries, actual tears glistening in her eyes. Is this hurting her? Or is she so needy for me it borders on pain?
I continue thoroughly coating the handle before slipping the tip of it into her.
She moans, shifting side to side since I won’t let her hips rise.
She’s trying to ease more of the knife inside her pussy.
So, I do it for her. My eyes flick from her face to the handle, breath halting in my lungs as I wait for any sign that she wants to stop or that it hurts.
“Zade,” she whimpers and I shudder. The way she says my name like that feels like a physical caress, sure as if she stroked my balls.
Mine .
I lean down, sucking a nipple into my mouth and she cries out.
My thumb slides up, stroking across her clit while the rest of my hand keeps pushing the handle in until she’s sitting flush with the base of the hilt.
I pull out slowly, and she mewls, hips jerking again. If she keeps that up, she’ll get a cut.
Narrowing my eyes and curling my lips into a smile, an idea strikes me. My hand on her hip lifts before coming down to slap the inside of her thigh. She gasps, thrusting her hips toward me like she likes it.
Inhaling deeply, I let out a low hum, feeling my vocal cords vibrate.
If possible, Siri’s eyes widen even more, and a grin fills my entire face.
No one wants to learn how to speak past the age of five, so I’d given up, flinging myself into ASL and hoarding the limited sounds I can make to myself.
For her, I’ll make whatever noise she wants me to .
Now that I think of it, she’d never even heard my attempt at speaking. I won’t try to string sounds or words together, but I allow my tongue to form an unfamiliar shape and air to hiss past my lips until sound comes out.
“Ssssssss.” I cut the sound off, watching her breathing increase and her mouth fall open.
“Zade!” I grin, rubbing my thumb over her clit again and she moans, back arching and forgetting what spurred the first sound I made.
She needs to be still, but I couldn’t help myself, realizing she liked being punished.
I wonder if it’s because our parents are pretty lenient.
Maybe that’s why she’s bratty sometimes, silently begging for someone to put her in her place.
I coddled her, and so did Dad.
Maybe that needs to change, and I’m the one to do it.
Are you going to come for me, little sister?
She whimpers, nodding her head and trying to lift her hips to ride the handle. I keep the retreat and plunge to a slow pace, enjoying the mounting desperation on her face. She wants to come, and she wants to come now.
Say ‘please, let me come, big brother’ and I’ll give my best shot at eating your pussy.
Damn, I hope I’m good at it, letting impulse guide me. I’ve never done any of this shit before but Siri seems to like every moment of it.
“Please, let me come, big brother!” she practically screams. Oh, God, I’m going to get to taste her, and it won’t be a second-hand taste from my fingers but straight from the source. My cock aches and my balls keep tightening. I think I’ll come in my pants before we’re done, but I’m not stopping .
Once she’s boneless and satisfied, I’ll retreat to my computer desk and get to work. But right now, I have a pussy to learn how to eat.