I never planned on coming home from college with this fire raging inside me.
But there he was, my dad's best friend, that gravel-voiced constant in our lives, fixing the backyard shed like he fixed everything else. Sweat drips down his broad back, and I can't look away. He's the man who bandaged my scraped knees as a kid, the one who promised my dad he'd always watch over me. Now his eyes linger too long, and I feel it-that pull, sharp as a secret we both know we shouldn't share.

Guilt twists in my gut every time his hand brushes mine in the kitchen, but it only makes me bolder. I taunt him with a smirk, daring him to break. And he does. Against the rough shed wall, our bodies slick and desperate, he claims me like I've always been his. The countertops bear witness later, sticky with the mess we made in the dead of night. It's wrong, defiling the man who's family, but his touch anchors me, fills the hollow ache from my shattered past. I crave his dominance, the way he holds me tender yet unyielding, whispering how he'll ruin me for anyone else.

Then the test confirms it-I'm carrying his child. His hand trembles on the swell of my belly, reverence mixed with the terror we both feel. Every stolen glance risks it all: Dad's trust, my innocence, the fragile life we're building in shadows. He's my ruin and my salvation, the older lover I need but can never admit I want completely.

How do I keep him without the world we love burning down?