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Preview from chapter one
Forcing Ovulation Drugs On My Sister and Breeding Her
Whole Family Breeding - Brother and Sister 10
Rayne Vice
The first week, Erin thought it was the heat.
July, no AC worth the name, and she was restless in a way the weather didn't quite cover. Short with everyone at dinner. Snapping at her mom on the phone about nothing. Her showers stretched from ten minutes to thirty, and she stood under the water longer than washing required, face tipped into the spray, one braced hand on the tile, thinking about nothing in particular with her thighs pressed together. She woke up wet. Soaked through, every morning, and she lay in bed and blamed the month. It was the month. It had to be the month.
Week two, her own hand stopped being enough.
Twice a day. Sometimes three. Mornings before work and nights before sleep and one memorable Wednesday, pulled over in a parking garage with her hand down her shorts at lunch, furious the whole time, chasing a release that kept dissolving the second she caught it. She ruined two pairs of panties at work, sitting through meetings with her jacket tied around her waist, and by Friday she'd stopped wearing any at home entirely. The air on her skin was its own problem. Everything was its own problem. She was empty in a way she had no vocabulary for, a hollow with a specific shape, and nothing she owned fit it.
Week three, she went looking.
Bars downtown, dressed for it. She let a man buy her a drink Thursday, another one Saturday, leaned in and laughed at nothing and evaluated them like groceries and left both times without a number. The issue wasn't their faces. She stood in the crowd with her pulse in her throat and understood, in a dim animal way, that nobody in the building was what she was shopping for, and she couldn't have said what was, and she came home worse both nights. Climbed the stairs on shaking legs. Passed her brother's door with its light on under it, and stood there in the dark hallway for four full seconds, breathing, before she made herself keep walking.
Week four, she stopped sleeping.
Two in the morning and she hummed. She'd caught herself at it, a low constant sound in her chest, lying on top of the covers with her shorts on the floor and her hands folded on her stomach like a corpse, humming at the ceiling. When Sean looked at her too long at breakfast she snapped his head off, and when he wasn't looking she stared at his hands. His forearms. The specific width of him filling a doorway. She catalogued it all and filed it nowhere and stared again the next day, and the not-sleeping got worse, and her skin stopped fitting, and she went around the house in the damp-crotched shorts with her jaw set, a woman one wire short of a live connection.