Is Sofie's dad pretending to be asleep?

No - he is asleep and Robin has to rescue her

As the blue paint trickled down her thigh, a new dread seized Sophie. She couldnt stop spiraling. The movements were too deliberate. The way his hand cupped her breast, the way his fingers kneaded her buttock... It was possessive. It was knowing. The thought was a shard of ice in her heart: her own father was pretending? Was he using this feigned sleep as a shield to violate her? She felt shame, her skin squirming where he touched her.

Just as the despair threatened to drown her, her father shifted again. His lips, pressed against her mound, parted in a soft, sleepy murmur. "Carol..." hmHe was asleep. "Oh Carol..." Sophie froze. Carol. Her mother's name. The ice in her heart shattered, replaced by a confusing flood of relief and a fresh wave of humiliation. He wasn't pretending. He was dreaming and he thought she felt like his wife. There was a resemblance afterall. This was all an accident. It was abrelief, but the physical reality didn't change. His hand was still on her breast.

And then, his thumb began to move. It was a slow, absent-minded stroking. It swept back and forth across the peak of her yellow-painted nipple. The friction, combined with the slick sweat, smeared the paint. With each pass of his thumb, more yellow disappeared, revealing the puckered flesh beneath. The direct, rasping contact was electric. A choked gasp escaped her lips, her back arching up into his hand involuntarily. It was the most mortifying, sexually stimulating thing she had ever felt. Her body, a traitor, responded to the touch even as her mind screamed in revulsion.

"Robin," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Please... help me."