The Book of Lilith
Copyright© 2024-2026 by Igor Blackfire
Chapter 6
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 6 - 15-year-old loner Lilith Ripinski is a pervert who wants to fuck her mean older brother Samuel. But there's no way she'd ever admit to those fantasies out loud, much less find herself in the exact set of circumstances required to make it a reality. Right? (A story about codependency, kink, and the consequences of too much internet porn.)
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft mt ft Teenagers Consensual Reluctant Heterosexual True Story School Incest Brother Sister DomSub Rough Spanking Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie Exhibitionism First Facial Masturbation Oral Sex Petting Spitting Squirting Voyeurism Public Sex Small Breasts Slow
INTERLUDE 1: SAMUEL
It was past 5:00 A.M., with morning light and bird sounds savagely intruding upon the late-night vibe. Samuel’s knuckles throbbed on the steering wheel, his groin throbbed in post-coital fatigue, and the truck reeked of sex and sweat and the sweet nostalgic smell of Lilly’s hair—
Fuck.
He glanced at her, snoring with her face smushed against the passenger-side window. Runny makeup, disheveled hair; she looked destroyed. Destroyed, and totally gorgeous in a way that made him hate himself.
“Mrhn,” she went, shifting in her sleep.
Sam wrenched his gaze back to the road. Fuck, he thought, again. What the fuck. You stupid asshole.
At least the sex had sobered him up enough to tipsy-drive through the suburbs without incident. Not for the first time either, that, though with his sister in the passenger seat was a new low.
Ah well. After all that, what was one more crime? Who fucking cared about anything anymore? He laughed, then grimaced; his lip still stung, though it’d stopped bleeding.
In these liminal, post-party hours, he just couldn’t quite buy into his usual copium. Who was he kidding, acting like this mistake got made tonight? He’d been making it, over and over, for the better part of two months.
Welp ... Sunk cost, baby. They were siblingfuckers. No ifs or buts. Or takebacks. Neither of them could un-fuck the other. Even if they quit right now and both went to therapy, one fact would never change: he had taken his sister’s virginity. Her innocence. He had memories of it in 4K.
Hah. Innocence. Yeah right. Lilly came pre-ruined from the Pornhub factory. Which was at least half the problem.
The other half was all him.
Blessed with an IQ high enough to entertain complex hypotheticals, he’d definitely fantasized about all this, but ... It was never supposed to become real. He’d suspected she would let him, yes. That just meant it’d been on him to hold the gate.
He could’ve played dumb for another five months and been free of her. Instead it seemed he was even staying in state for college, just to have easy access to her... Fuck.
A personal slut living in your room giving you morning head every day? There’s only so much resistance a red-blooded seventeen-year-old could be expected to put up to that.
She was good at it, was the thing. Sex. Being a slut. Being his. Better than other girls he’d been with, half of whom still needed a whole fucking character arc to figure out their kinks and if they even liked guys. Then if you got past that, they all had their weird little hangups: No, don’t look at my pussy, that’s embarrassing. No, I don’t wanna do it from behind, that’s weird. I’ll blow you, but you can’t eat me out. Can we turn out the lights?
Well, not Lilly. She communicated, confident and crystal clear.
God—he’d been calling her ‘freak’ for years, but at this point that word was insufficient to describe his sister’s psychosexual derangement. That night in the motel, he really should’ve put on the brakes. If he’d been a good person.
Instead he’d leaned in hard. And if anything, her unhinged kinks helped him justify their little ‘ethical molestation’ arrangement to himself, ‘cause no fucking way was he gonna let some other guy do all that to her.
The idea made him feel far sicker than incest did. Somehow.
5:57 AM on the dash when he killed the engine. They’d made it home without him clipping any traffic poles, so that was good. Sam winced at the sound of slamming his truck door closed. Good thing Annette could sleep through anything.
He waltzed over to the passenger side and paused. Lilly was still asleep with her full weight on the door, so if he opened it, she’d just slump out onto the driveway.
Sam’s first instinct was to do exactly that.
Instead, he opened the door real careful and caught her shoulder before she could fall. “Mm,” she went, still half dead to the world. “Sammy...”
“C’mere. Up, you little bitch.” After some tugging, she wrapped her arms around his neck and made him carry her bridal style. Jesus fuck. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes
At the door, he fumbled with his keys while the combined smell of Lilith’s sweat, her hair, vodka, and his own cologne assaulted his nostrils and got him hard in his pants.
He quietly eased the front door shut with his foot, and held his breath for a moment, listening. Nothing. He checked his phone for the first time since the party. Oof, bad idea. A whole string of commentary in the group chat; bewilderment from Faye and Luke, a strong, typo-rich endorsement from Tasha, and 17 messages and 4 missed calls from Allie.
Sam cringed and turned off his phone, emergency style, by holding down the power button. All that was definitely Tomorrow Sam’s problem.
He felt a light stab of guilt. He hadn’t even touched base with Al, he’d just made off with Lilly in his truck like a kidnapper after making a huge scene. Truly mind-blowing stuff, Samuel. But based on the phone notification he’d glanced, she’d gotten a ride with Kaylee. Probably for the best. Sam would never drunk-drive Al around.
Thankfully, Lilly could get up the stairs with only minor support. Until she couldn’t, because of course she stumbled halfway up, and he caught her against the wall with his hand over her mouth before she could make a peep.
That got her wide awake, at least. He felt her breath against his palm as she blinked at him in the dark. He took his hand away slowly, jerking his head toward the upstairs hall. She nodded.
“You gotta shower,” he whispered. “You smell like shit.”
“ ... Help me?” she asked timidly, and Sam felt a sudden déjà vu. For a moment it was like he was ten years old again, taking care of little Lilly because Annette couldn’t be bothered. He’d largely stopped thinking about that era, but it had sure been a thing.
“ ... Yeah,” he heard himself say, ushering her into the bathroom. “Okay, c’mon, freak.”
As his eyes adjusted to the bright bathroom lights, Lilly plopped down on the closed toilet lid, head in her hands. It was a real sorry sight. In the light she looked even worse, puffy-faced with a chain of hickeys running from behind her ear down to her collar. Bruises on her thighs like an abuse victim from where his fingers had gripped as he pounded her in various positions.
He tried to ignore his erection. “Get up.”
“One second,” she mumbled, clearly mid-falling asleep.
He poked her in the side, sending a jolt through her. She frowned at him. He pulled at her clothes. “C’mon, up.”
“Nhrg.” Apparently her desire to please him won out over her tiredness; she stood and raised her arms, swaying slightly. He pulled the sundress over her head and tossed it to the floor. Under it, all she had was panties.
He couldn’t help but squeeze a tit, and he loved the way it made her eyes flutter, the way her body language screamed fuck yeah, touch me more.
Though she objectively fell short of Instagram Girl standards, Lilly had a budding alt-girl allure, especially when she wasn’t hiding away in XXL men’s sweaters. She was pale and skinny with moles and bones and pit hair, and yet somehow the hottest girl in the world to him now.
He hooked his thumbs in her panties, and she stepped out of them obediently. He made sure to give her ass a full, deliberate squeeze.
“ ... God,” Lilith mumbled, her expression somewhere between submissive and pissed. “What is it with you and my butt.”
“It’s a nice butt.”
“It’s not, but thanks.”
He gave it a slap. “Jesus Christ, just take the win Lilly.”
“Mmkay. Sorry. My butt can be nice I guess...”
What a unique specimen. Even being nice to her was a kind of bullying. He turned on the shower, and got to undressing himself whilst the temperature settled.
The visual seemed to bring Lilly back to life. She ogled him shamelessly as he stripped, her breath quickening. So shamelessly thirsty. It was cute, he couldn’t quite bring himself to make fun of it tonight. Let her look. She’s earned it. She might as well be my girlfriend at this point.
Ugh, wasn’t that thought gay as fuck. He was still in that post-drunk mindstate where his thoughts were drunk-coded in their honesty yet with enough sobered-up lucidity to clock what’s going on. Possibly the worst of all states to be in. There lay breakthroughs he just wasn’t ready for.
Sam poured a hefty glob of Annette’s expensive wellness conditioner into his palm. A cream-colored, viscous paste that foamed like crazy as he worked it into her hair.
Lilith deserved it, too. She had nice hair. And Sam had muscle memory from a decade ago to draw upon as he started at her temples, fingers pushing into the wet mass and slowly working through the knots.
Their shower was big enough to fit a whole family ever since the remodel back in middle school. Stone tile, one of them big old rain shower heads ... it was a wonder it’d taken Lilly this long to rope him into taking a shower together, honestly. This bathroom was where it’d all started, in more ways than one.
Lilly had been a tomboy with a rat’s nest for most of their early childhood. It had been implicit that Annette found Lilly’s hair type, or maybe just Lilly herself, annoying to work with. She’d made it clear that short hair on Lilith was in everyone’s best interest.
Of course, that had only instilled in Lilly a defiance that made her instead fight ferally against haircuts and grow her hair knee-length.
But then, whenever she had to make herself look presentable because Annette or Dad would have a guest over or whatever, rather than asking Annette—which would constitute a kind of defeat—she’d always turned to Sam for help.
He rinsed the conditioner out. She turned to face him, slow, the water running between them. In the steam, without the hair half-curtaining her face, she looked more awake than she had in hours—eyes open, color in her cheeks, something alert in her expression that was pure Lilly. The water had cleaned up most of the wreckage of her makeup, and what was left gave her a slightly raccoon-ish look; hot in a distinctly homeless drug addict kinda way.
He kissed her. It felt like the natural thing to do. He didn’t even think about it anymore.
His sister made a low, pleased noise, her lips warm and pushy against his. When Sam pressed her back against the tile wall, she gasped at the cold, laughed, and kissed him even harder.
It was kinda hurting his lip, but he liked it too much to ease up; her soft body pressed up against him, and he could feel her shudder, her whole body responding to the kiss ... God.
His hands groped her waist, her pretty ass; and then his fingers found her hair again, pulling her head back sharply, making her whimper for him. Samuel wasn’t even drunk anymore, but fuck, he needed her again, to make her scream, to stuff her pretty mousy face with a cock between her lips. Right here in the shower.
He slipped a hand between her legs, but Lilly whined and tensed up. He frowned at her and stilled.
“Ah. I’m, uh, pretty sore still,” she murmured, “but, if you want to finger me, I-I mean, you can do it anyways.”
“I’d never wanna damage your pretty pornstar pussy,” he told her, “I’m not that evil.” Still, he couldn’t help but run his finger gently along her slit again, another few times, eliciting cute gasps and jerks.
“Fuhck,” she went. “Stop.”
He did. Instead, he pressed her up against the wall, his forehead against hers, holding her arms over her head.
“ ... Do we need a safe word?” he wondered.
“That’s stupid,” Lilith groused. “The safeword’s just literally ‘stop’.”
“Yeah, guess so.”
“You shouldn’t always listen to me anyways when I say stop. Even right now. You can keep overstimming my pussy. If you wanna.” She blushed furiously.
“Jesus, Lilly...”
“What?” she asked, and her face told him she genuinely did not understand what the problem was with that statement.
“We’re such a mess,” he sighed, stepping back and running a hand over his face. “God ... Holy fuck.”
Lilly bit her lip. “We should shower together more.”
“We should do the opposite of that.”
“Can you ... hold me? Just hold me.”
He wanted to punch her. He wanted to fuck her again. And above all, he kinda wanted to try to be the wholesome big brother that she wanted him to be, but he was just too ironypilled.
Slowly, and stilted, he wrapped her in a naked hug, her skin warm from the shower, the water cascading over the both of them.
“Sam?” she piped up, after a while. “Tonight was okay, right? We did a bunch of stupid shit, but ... I don’t regret anythin’, do you?”
He could’ve made fun of her. At the very least he could’ve given her a reality check, tell her how they’d used that kid Eddie as a living prop in their deranged little war and almost ruined everything.
But, as he peered into her big, dark, stupid eyes, Sam decided to just be honest. “ ... I loved it too, freak. Don’t worry, you win, you stupid slut. We can fuck whenever you want.” He sighed. “Not like there’s takebacks on any of this.”
She smiled one of her rare, toothy smiles. “For real?”
He grinned wryly and kissed her again.
Yeah. Whatever. The whole thing was nuts, of course, but whatever far-off negative consequences were in store for them, was it really worse than the far-off guaranteed cancer he’d get from smoking?
Sam thought of himself as smart. He’d just never been particularly good at converting that into smart decisions. He liked to enjoy himself. His hands came down to grab her ass cheeks again.
The Monday after That Night, Samuel didn’t expropriate Lilly’s half of the lunch money like he normally would. Instead, he divvied it up equally between them as intended. Neither of them acknowledged it.
He half-dozed through his classes. He’d had maybe ten hours of real sleep across the entire weekend, whatwith Lilly crawling all over him every night demanding more incest.
Eddie Or Whatever and his loser friends looked no worse for wear, and they didn’t exactly have the clout to make it into a Whole Thing. He met Sam’s eyes once in the hallway, scoffed, and looked away, and as far as Sam was concerned, the only lasting damage from that night was the damage to Sam’s soul and Lilith’s purity.
The rumor mill apparently largely cast Sam as the good guy, who saved his sister. Incredible what people tolerated just because the other guy was a bigger asshole. It also helped that apparently another far juicier bit of drama had leaked out of Luke’s party, something about a girl named Megan who’d gotten caught cheating on her boyfriend at the party with two guys, in Lucas’s parents’ bed.
She wasn’t at school that day. But Sam appreciated her sacrifice.
“Hey, psycho,” said Faye at lunch, slotting into step beside him. “You ghosted me all weekend.”
“Yeah. My bad.”
“Face looks healed.”
“I’m fine,” he snapped. Too defensive. Ugh.
“Oh, there he is,” Tasha announced, when she saw them coming, already seated at their usual spot. “The incel destroyer! My man!”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Here we go.”
“No, dude, seriously. You did the world a service. That kid had it coming ever since he wrote that freakin’ racist-ass essay last year, remember that? A real dogshit guy, that one.” Tasha grinned. “Fuck, dude, I wish someone got it on video.”
“Nobody did?” Thank fuck.
“Sadly not,” Damon said, shaking his head. “I asked around, too.”
“The whole thing’s been blown way outta proportion,” Sam sighed. “Barely anything happened. It lasted ten seconds tops.”
Tasha’s eyes lit up further. “No, you don’t get it! It’s so funny because your family’s Jewish or whatever, right, and this kid is like a 4chan nazi. I bet he’s ranting right now. The Jews can just punch you in front of 100 witnesses and get away with it! And then frame you for fake sexual assault that didn’t happen!”
“It did happen,” Sam insisted, sounding weak to his own ears.
“Yeah, right, Sam. I saw your sister hit on that guy, lead him around to a corner and then make out with him. Actively. Eww, by the way.” She snorted. “Guess psychopathy runs in the family. Anyway, TL;DR, good job, buddy.”
“Okay but what the hell was that, though,” Faye cut in. “Like. Sammy. Hello. Don’t get me wrong, yeah he probably deserved a good punch or whatever, but I’ve never seen you like that. Can we talk about this?”
“No,” Sam said.
“I’d like to talk about it,” said Tasha. “‘Cause no matter how based it was, it was out of pocket for you, I agree.”
“Man, get off my ass,” he groaned. “I was faded and I saw my sister looking drunk and uncomfortable at her first party. Which I brought her to. My responsibility. So yeah, I reacted. Maybe if Faye here hadn’t dragged me upstairs to get fucked, it could’ve all been avoided.”
“Mm.” Faye bit her lip. “Okay. Is Lilith okay?”
“Oh, yeah, totally. All she needed was a shower and two hours of Minecraft and she’s already forgotten that guy even exists.”
“Slay, my dissociating queen.” Tasha grinned and blew a big vape cloud out in Sam’s face. “You’re an only child, Faye, you just don’t get it. I think it’s sweet. He’s got that protective instinct. All my brothers do is call me an ugly queer.”
“They’re right, to be fair,” Sam said. It was a bald-faced lie. If only Tash wasn’t a lesbian, he’d fuck her six ways from Sunday.
She kicked his shin hard. Then, sweetly, she turned to Faye. “Oops, guess I shouldn’t have done that. What if I wake his inner caveman?”
“Nah, that only comes out if you hurt his sisters, apparently.” Faye still seemed a little bemused by the whole thing. She looked 50/50 on whether to keep prying.
“Can we all just drop this forever please,” Sam begged, raising his arms in mock-surrender.
They took pity on him. The convo moved on to a recap of the second-most interesting drama of the past few days, that whole Megan situation, which Tasha had theories about.
He fucked his sister a dozen more times over the next few weeks. She had a great appetite for it. He’d quit masturbating altogether. If anything, it was a struggle to keep up with Lilly’s libido. Though mostly, they were evenly matched.
He didn’t believe it was destiny or whatever stupid soulmate fantasy the freak had concocted. Nobody “belonged” anywhere, people just ended up wherever the churn filtered them. But what did it say about Sam Ripinski that the path of least resistance led him to repeatedly and enthusiastically stretching his little sister’s holes?
They still fooled around at school sometimes. It was one of her kinks. And when the house was asleep they did it downstairs in the living room, or on the kitchen island. By the time June rolled around, they’d fucked at least once in every bed in the house, (even Allie’s, when she’d been at a sleepover, which Sam still didn’t feel good about but whatever).
Lilly clearly got off on the sneaking around; he was long past being surprised, alarmed, or really, anything other than a loyal co-conspirator. He was ashamed to admit he was just too into it. She’d unlocked something in him.
And he had to hand it to her; she brought real glee to the social engineering of it all. She leaned into her budding interest in weed as a convenient lightningrod to which all of Annette’s suspicion got instantly redirected. In this house, it was an open secret Sam smoked out his room; Annette pretended she didn’t know, so any changes that brought Lilith into Club Attic went similarly ignored. It was genius, really.
They’d smoked together enough times now that it’d mostly stopped feeling like getting Lilly high and became getting high with Lilly. She still had a tendency to get oneshot by it.
He suspected she mainly did it for his approval. That didn’t stop him.
Their half-sis proved to be much more of a wild card than her mom. It wasn’t that manoeuvering around her was difficult—Allie’s plans were loudly announced, oft-repeated, and predictable—but rather, despite her naiveté, she had a weirdly keen sense for vibes. Case in point:
“So ... Lilith has a boyfriend, right?” she asked him, at one point, out of the blue.
“Does she now.”
“Oh come on. She’s been, like, humming and glowing and smiling, and she showers every day now ... And sometimes she’s got marks on her...” She gestured vaguely at her own neck. “Y’know. I saw when she was brushing her teeth.”
“Ew. Welp, my day is ruined.”
“Sorry.” Allie looked contrite for one nanosecond, then went back to investigator mode. “But don’t you think it’s weird that she won’t say who it is?”
“Who says it’s anyone? This is Lilly we’re talking about.”
“No, but like! She told me she got laid!”
Sam went cold. Lilly, you retard. “ ... She did what?”
“At the party, when we played Truth or Dare? You were literally there, you dumbo.” She flicked his face playfully.
“Right. Oh yeah. That. I dunno, Al. There’s an 80% chance she was just lying. You know, to fit in, since she was, apparently, the only virgin there.” He gave her a meaningful look.
Allie blushed and turned away. “But like ... you’ve been hanging out with her so much lately, surely she’s told you something? Or you’ve seen something? I was thinking maybe it was one of your friends. Lucas Myers?”
Sam disliked that mental image a lot.
“ ... She’s in my room to steal my weed. We barely talk, we just fight all the time. Mostly she’s just reading.” All that, at least, was publicly verifiable information. “And she’s certainly not hanging out with my friends without me there.” He sighed for effect. “ ... Listen, it’s probably just some Discord simp or whatever. She’s got a whole internet life. Frankly I’d rather not know.”
“Hrm.” Allie studied him for a moment, then gave a pleased and slightly apologetic little smile. “Okay. Well, alright, I suppose. To be honest, I think it’s good, she’s seemed a lot happier lately.”
With that, she bounced away to the kitchen.
It was amazing, really. Allie lived in the same house, shared half of the same DNA as him, and yet she existed in a completely different genre of reality. One where everything was just wholesome all the time. Like, tennis camp? What even went down at tennis camp?
As hot and exciting as fucking around with Lilly was, it was also a lot. He’d gotten over the ethical concerns, and deftly navigated the practical realities ... but that didn’t stop him from feeling suffocated by it at times.
At those times, he’d grasp for the nearest simple thing.
Faye’s room was a basement den which she’d claimed and steadily transformed it into a kind of teenage-witch grotto—lava lamps, tapestries, sandalwood incense and weed paraphernalia openly on her desk.
When he came in, she was in bed reading on her phone, a joint burning in the ashtray beside her. She looked up when he came down the stairs and didn’t say anything, just beckoned for him to join her.
She hooked a finger in the front of his hoodie and pulled him down onto the bed and kissed him, unhurried, in the way she did everything.
Sam knew this bed. He knew the vanilla smell of her conditioner or whatever, just as he knew the small mole on the underside of her left tit.
Most of their clothes came off, and she surveyed the lovebites and scratches on his torso. “Daaamn,” she went, tracing one with her thumb. “Mystery girl really went to town on you, huh?”
“Yep.”
“Well.” Faye’s mouth quirked. “Guess I’m happy for you.”
“ ... Do I need to start making commentary about what you get up to with Tinder College Girl #12?”
“College Girl #12 does not leave visible full-on bite marks, thanks very much.” She stuck her tongue out, leaning back to take her top off.
Sam vividly remembered being fourteen and jerking his hormones out to the pictures on Faye Thompson’s Instagram, while maintaining respectable platonic distance. They hit it off in freshman year ‘cause they shared an interest in weed and rebellion.
Which also meant Sam got a front-row seat to numerous guys trying to shoot their shot and Faye rejecting all of them.
Months into this self-imposed friendzone, she’d told him, blunt in a way that was quintessential: “So, we’re never going to date, Sam. But I think I could let you fuck me. If you can be chill about it.”
It had been hard for a bit, getting over his crush on her, but it was really a small price to pay for the privilege of banging one the hottest girls ever.
Sex with Faye was simple. A kind of healthy exercise with friends. He’d once heard her use that exact phrasing. It came with clear rules and regulations, minimal feelings, no ambiguity. Just two mostly-compatible people getting their rocks off.
The benefit of the long-term arrangement was undeniable ... they had a whole choreography at this point. He got his hands on her, licking and grabbing her beautiful tits. They were her best asset and she was very aware of it.
Faye’s were better than his sister’s, no contest; though when sucking on Lilly’s titties, he could take one almost entirely in his mouth, which had its own novel appeal. Don’t think about her, Jesus Christ—
Faye reached over and grabbed her purple wand thingy off the nightstand, buzzing it against herself while she rode him, ever self-reliant.
A moment later, she cocked her head, and flicked a finger at his chest. “Where you at? Don’t go in your head, now.”
“Just thinking about what a bummer it is you won’t let me eat ass.”
“You’re such a weirdo, man. Does your mystery girl let you do that?”
“Yes, actually.”
“Kinky. Love that for you.”
“It’s getting more and more common.”
“Well, not in my bedroom, I’ll tell you that.”
“And that’s fine.” He chuckled, and thrust up a bit harder to throw off her rhythm. She smirked down at him and made it her mission to make him bust like it was a contest. They’d been here before.
Afterwards, she lay sideways across the bed rolling a blunt. “You used to text me first. Now I text you a booty call text and you’ve gone lowkey monk...” She narrowed her eyes. “It’s the girl, right? Has to be.”
Sam looked at her ceiling. “It’s not like that.”
“Oh my god.” Faye sat up. “Dude. Catching feelings for a hookup? That’s actually—” she laughed, delighted and a bit mean, “—that’s kinda cute, and also tragic. Look at you.” She grabbed his cheeks. He swatted her away.
The real reason he couldn’t end things with Faye was because it would be a confession of exactly that.
“It’s never ‘like that’, with you. And then it always is. Remember Olivia?”
“Olivia’s a psycho.”
“Yeah, but you liked that about her.”
He took the blunt from her. “This girl is different from Olivia. She’s—I mean, she’s a freak, but she’s not a stalker freak. She’s like a—” He couldn’t think of how to finish that sentence in a non-deeply-incriminating way. “—a, uh, shy freak.”
“Mm. A shy freak, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“You creep.” She grinned. “Anyway, do I know her or what?”
“No. Just, don’t worry about it.”
“Sam.”
“What?”
“Why are you always shifty about who she is?”
“I’m not. It’s just not relevant.”
“You are.”
“It’s just a complicated situation. She’s in a complicated situation. I’m trying to be respectful of that.”
Faye gave him a long, evaluating look. He held her gaze.
“Okay,” she said eventually. “Gonna assume that means she’s cheating on someone.”
To the wholesome normies of this world, hooking up with one’s own sibling simply wasn’t within the realm of conception. Occam’s Razor genuinely pointed them to ‘Discord Guy’ and ‘Mystery Girl’, somehow.
It’d been ages since he’d genuinely had something to hide from Faye to the point of constructing high-effort lies. Part of him had hoped she’d see through him. Alas.
“ ... Nah, I don’t even know him,” he answered belatedly. He might as well roll with it. “But yes. She has a boyfriend. He’s not nice to her. I’m her escape. Whatever. Now you know.”
“Thank you. That wasn’t hard, now, was it?” She gave him a winning smile. God, she was pretty. Far prettier than Lilly. And yet, boring, to him, in a way.
By now, sex in general had become a borderline meaningless hedonistic pursuit for Sam, kind of like weed. Both had given him a twisted kick when he’d been doing them at fourteen, but now it was just his life.