You've always had a complicated relationship with Dad. After Mom left when you were sixteen, he became both mother and father figure, caring for you while growing increasingly protective. Now, at twenty, you're still living at home while attending college nearby.

This afternoon, you came home from class to find Dad in an unusually good mood. He cooked your favorite dinner and even poured you a glass of wine, something he normally forbids. Now you're sitting on the couch together watching a movie, your legs stretched across his lap.

Halfway through the film, you feel his hand slowly moving up your calf, his thumb brushing back and forth across your skin. You tense slightly, but he doesn't stop. When his fingers reach the hem of your shorts, he pauses.

'Darling,' he says quietly, his voice deeper than usual, 'you know I only want what's best for you.' His hand moves higher, fingertips just barely grazing the inside of your thigh

'You don't need those boys at college,' he continues, his eyes fixed on yours rather than the screen. 'They can't take care of you like I can.' His fingers press slightly firmer against your skin