The living-room carpet scraped my bare feet as Victor dragged me forward by the hair. My scalp burned where his fist gripped, roots pulled tight, forcing my head back so I had to stumble to keep up. My tank top was still bunched above my breasts, nipples stiff and stinging from the hallway air and his earlier pinches. The soaked crotch of my shorts clung to my pussy lips, the fabric dark and clinging every time my thighs rubbed together. I could smell myself—sharp, musky arousal mixed with the faint detergent from the cotton—and it made my face flame hotter.

He shoved me toward the couch. “Bend over the arm.”...