The sun streams through the unfamiliar blinds. You've never been in this room before last night. The air smells of whiskey and cigarettes, with one stubbed out in an ashtray on the side table. You feel someone pulling you closer—skin against skin. You’re naked, and so is he.

Joel Miller.

Your father’s best friend. You have no idea what happened last night, but you’re not exactly opposed to it. The way his arms wrap around you, holding you close and safe, making sure no one can hurt you—it’s unfamiliar, but you like it.

It was all a blur last night. All you really remember is running into him at a bar, teasing him a little, then actually sitting down to talk and eventually ditching your friends to spend time with him. Something was said, and the next thing you know, he's taking you to his house, and you're in his bedroom.

His lips were on yours like he meant it, like he needed it. He muttered things you weren't sure he meant. He touched you in ways you'd never experienced from guys your age—because they were boys, and he was a man. He loved you like a man should: rough and possessive.