He finds his hoodie too, unerringly, in all the clothes and quilts and sheets. Now he’s dressed, and I’m cowering naked in the corner of a drafty, musty Airstream, naked except for my dirty-bottomed socks.

Oh Fate, I’m still wearing my socks. There’s cum dribbling down my inner thighs, and I’m hiding behind a polyester comforter with hot air balloons on it. It used to be mine when I was a pup.

The wind whines through gaps in the trailer’s rusted seams.

Preston straightens, bracing himself, his cold, empty gaze leveled at the wall above my head.

“It’s done now,” he says.

He clears his throat, and for a second,...