I knew exactly what I was doing.

That was the thing—I wasn't some naive girl who didn't understand the game. I knew what wearing this skirt would do. Knew what talking about sex in explicit detail would accomplish. Knew that every word, every look, every calculated move was designed to push him.

To see how far he'd bend before he broke.

The skirt was short. Like, obscenely short. The kind that made my mom's boyfriend stare a little too long before I told him to fuck off. Black, tight, barely covering my ass. I paired it with a red tank top that showed just enough cleavage to be interesting without...