I stood under the spray longer than I needed to.

The water ran hot over my shoulders, down my back, between my legs. I kept my hands on the tiled wall and forced myself not to touch. Every time my fingers twitched toward my clit I heard his voice again—if you do, I’m coming in—and the threat alone made me wetter.

When I finally stepped out, the bathroom mirror was fogged. I wiped a clear streak with my palm and stared at my own flushed face. My nipples were still tight. My thighs pressed together like they could hide how empty I felt.

I pulled on one of my brother’s...