The rain came down in sheets, hammering the windshield like it wanted in. Streetlights blurred into streaks of gold and red as Daddy drove, slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every second of the torture he’d started back at the restaurant. His hands—big, rough from years of work—gripped the wheel loose, but his eyes flicked sideways every few minutes to where his little girl sat shotgun, legs pressed tight, tiny sundress already bunched high on her thighs.
Twenty-two. Barely legal in the ways that mattered to him. No panties. She never wore them when it was just the two of them anymore. The rule had started as a game; now it was habit. Her skin glowed under the passing lights, smooth and flushed, and the car already smelled like her—warm, sweet, unmistakably wet.
She squirmed again,
