I graduated into this endless summer haze, restless as hell, pretending my life's on track while every night I ache for someone to see through the bullshit and choose me for keeps. Not just any someone. Him. My dad's best friend, the rough-handed contractor who's fixed every leak in our lives since I was in pigtails. The one man who should stay off-limits, a walking betrayal of every fatherly code. That humid afternoon in the tool shed, lawnmower droning outside like a distant warning, he corners me against rusted walls. Sweat slicks our skin, his body pinning mine, breath gravelly with the hunger he's wrestled for years. "This ends us both," he growls, but his hands don't stop, gripping like I'm the secret he's craved to ruin him. I tease back, all feisty smirks hiding how bad I need it - him breeding me raw, flooding me with the seed that mocks our so-called family loyalty. We steal moments in shadows, my body yielding to his age-worn strength, every thrust a desecration promising the possession I've haunted myself chasing. Nursery paint swatches tremble in my fist later, under kitchen lights where ultrasound curves would glow like forbidden proof. But Dad's laugh echoes from the next room, his trust in this man a blade at my throat. One slip, and Father's rage disowns me. My fresh independence? Shattered. Self-respect? Poisoned by chasing this twisted salvation. He's my protector turned destroyer, loyal guardian unraveling into obsession. How do I let him fill me, bind us in life-altering heat, without torching every root holding me together?