I looked across the dinner table at Mark, my stepdad, and felt that familiar tingle between my legs.

  

   Mom was right there, serving up the lasagna she had spent all afternoon making, but I couldn't help myself. I shifted in my seat, letting my short skirt ride up just a little higher on my thigh.

  

   "Mark, can you pass the salt?" I asked, my voice sweet and innocent, like I was just the perfect little stepdaughter asking for something normal.

  

  He glanced up from his plate, his eyes locking onto mine for a second before they dropped down to my legs.

  

   I saw the way his jaw tightened, how he...