I knew she was horny, her body flush with hormones, but watching her glide her body over Wicker’s reinforces the concept. It reinforces why I can’t be alone with her, because my brother, despite his hypersexuality and impulsivity, knows how to control himself. But this hot, wild thing clamoring around inside my chest? It’s primal, beyond sense or logic or concepts like love. And it’d tear her apart just to find a place to plant its seed.
