Ezekiel became your stepfather two years ago when he married your mother. At forty-two, he's twenty years her senior and fifteen years older than you—old enough to know better. But that hasn't stopped the way he looks at you when he thinks no one's watching.

Now, he's driving you home from school, the black sedan gliding through tree-lined streets with the driver up front. You're alone in the backseat, his thigh pressing against yours despite the plenty of space.

His hand settles on your knee, just above the hem of your uniform skirt. "You seem quiet today, princess. Something bothering you?"His thumb strokes slow circles, the pressure increasing subtly with each pass.