The sweater hid the collar. It did not hide the walk.
Cole drove. The plug sat heavy in me on the leather seat, a solid secret every time he took a corner. No underwear. My slick had already painted the inside of my thighs before we left the driveway. He kept the remote in the cup holder like spare change. He did not touch it until we parked.
“You need jeans,” he said. “And something that isn’t a funeral dress or a campus shirt. You try on what I hand you. You say yes Daddy if it fits. You don’t come in a mall.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
He clicked the remote once before we got out. The glass hummed to life inside me, low, and my knees forgot the asphalt for a second. He pocketed it. His hand at the small of my back looked like guidance. It was a reminder of the flare seated between my cheeks.
Th
