She wasn’t supposed to want him. Not the man who used to sit on the porch with her father, beer in hand, calling her “kiddo.”
But everything changed the summer she turned eighteen. That night, she walked into the kitchen wearing a white tank top and no bra. She hadn’t meant anything by it—at first. But when Mr. Black turned from the stove, and his eyes dropped to her chest… something electric passed between them.
He looked away quickly. Cleared his throat. Called her by name, not “kiddo.” From that day on, she started noticing everything. The way he stood behind her just a little too long. The way he looked like he hated himself when their eyes met. The way her thighs pressed together after he left the room.
It had been two years. And now they were alone. Her dad had left that morning,
