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“I know,” he says solemnly.

I move my legs, unsettled, lifting one and letting my knee rest against the back of the couch, my skirt loosening from where I tucked it in between my crossed legs. It feels slightly suggestive. Maybe the back of my thigh is showing. I have no tights on since Tyler was driving me tonight.

Vince’s eyes move down to my leg and then back to my face.

The whiskey warms my belly, mixing with the beer still buzzing in my veins. I want to test him. I want to see how far I can push this careful neutrality of his before it cracks.

“How can we ever go back to normal now that I get wet every time I remember you fucking me?” I ask, and I can see the effect of my words, just ever so slightly. A darkening of his pupils. The almost imperceptible flare of his nostrils as he breathes. My skirt is still hanging between my knees, covering me, but I feel exposed and open, almost showing myself to him.

“I mean, every time you have a date, are you going to take me upstairs and fuck me afterwards? Are you going to want to spank me and tell me that you want my ass when I have a boyfriend—or a husband?”

His jaw gets tight and his eyes narrow. He makes a low noise as he exhales. I’m getting to him.

“The thought of you with someone else is unbearable, Sophie. If you want to know the truth.”

“Is it?” And this time I move my hand to the hem of my skirt and slide it very slowly down my thigh, until it slips down to my hip, exposing my panties. Vince’s eyes follow directly, his chest moving as he breathes, focus absolute. “Wouldn’t it turn you on a little to think about me getting fucked?” I continue. “To imagine someone on top of me, sliding into me, making me come?”

He exhales a hard breath, color rising to his cheeks, and shifts forward. He reaches out, sliding a large, warm hand down the inside of my thigh until he reaches my panties, and then he gently rubs his thumb across the fabric.

“Uh-uh, Vince,” I say playfully, although I don’t move. “Not supposed to touch, remember? No more touching your stepdaughter’s pussy.” I lift a hand and wag a finger, while moving my other leg out a bit further too.

He lifts his eyes to mine and they smolder. I can practically feel the heat coming off of him. But he moves away and leans back against the arm of the couch on his side, facing me straight on.

“Touch yourself,” he says, in that low, commanding way of his. I can’t help but smile.

“Vince,” I say, quietly feigning surprise. “That’s against the rules.”

“Touch yourself, Sophie,” he repeats firmly. “And tell me about how wet you get for me.”

“Like this?” I lower a hand to my panties and rub two fingers over the fabric covering my pussy and immediately shiver. I am wet already, my pussy swollen and sensitive at just one touch.

“Yes.” His voice is low and dark. “Good girl. Tell me how that feels.”

“It feels good,” I say, getting breathless. “Mm.” I tilt my head back, rubbing myself faster as the pleasure gathers in my core. “Is this what we’ll do, then, Vince? I’ll get off . . . Maybe I’ll get fucked by someone like Tyler, and you’ll just watch? Hide out in the closet and jerk off?”

“No,” he says firmly. Then his tone changes. “Take your panties off.”

“You’re not supposed to see my pussy,” I reply. “Remember? It’s naughty.” But I move the fabric aside so that he can see my opening, and run my fingers over the slick, exposed skin, making a wave of heat go through me.

“Take it off,” he repeats, voice stern. It’s an order.

I smile and hook my thumbs in the waistband, lifting my hips and sliding the cotton panties down my legs and kicking them off onto the floor.

I spread my knees wide, exposing myself completely to him, and feel the cool air of the room hitting my heated flesh.

“Christ, Sophie.” His hand moves to his crotch, rubbing the bulge there through his pants. “You’re dripping. Is that for him? Or is that for me?”

“It’s for you,” I say, my fingers finding my clit. “It’s always for you. When I was with him, I was thinking about your mouth. Your hands. Your cock. I wanted it to be you, Vince. I always want it to be you.”

He groans, reaching into his pants and pulling out his cock, hard and ready. He starts stroking. “Tell me.” His eyes close briefly, hips lifting slightly into his own grip. “Tell me what you want him to do to you. Make me believe it.”

I let my head fall back against the arm of the couch, my fingers working faster as I build the fantasy. “I want him to bend me over the arm of the couch. I want him to pull my skirt up and see how wet I am, just like you’re seeing now. I want him to tease me first, running his fingers up and down my slit, making me beg for it.”

“And would you beg?” Vince’s voice is ragged, his hand moving faster, the head of his cock flushed and dark.

“I’d beg.” I press two fingers inside myself, moaning at the stretch, imagining it’s him. “I’d tell him I need it. That I’ve been thinking about it all night. And then I’d feel him behind me, the heat of him, the weight of his cock pressing against me.”

“But he doesn’t know what you like.” Vince leans forward slightly, his eyes burning. “He doesn’t know you like I do.”