I was still shaking when I stepped into his car.

Soft leather seats, dim interior light.

Mr Collins didn’t say a word. He slid in beside me, cool and collected, his hand casually resting on the gearshift. My hands were still trembling in my lap. I should’ve felt guilt, confusion, something. But all I felt was this thick, slow ache between my legs.

Then his hand landed on my thigh. He squeezed, sliding his thumb higher.

“Spread them a little.”

I did without even ...