The laundry room was the smallest space in the house, cramped and unglamorous, but it was the only room with a lock on the main floor. Mom had gone upstairs to shower a minute ago. I stood by the washing machine, counting the seconds since I heard the water turn on overhead.

The door clicked shut. Jacob leaned against the frame, a knowing smirk on his lips.

He didn’t have to say a word. I hiked my skirt up to my waist, pushed my hips back against the vibrating dryer, and waited for him. The tiny room smelled heavily of floral fabric softener.

He stepped into the space, crowding me...