He calls himself my guardian. But I want him to call me a good girl.I moved in after my mother died.He opened the door — broad chest, deep voice, eyes that stalled when they dropped to my tits.He tried to be decent.Tried to be safe.But I’ve been wet for him since day one.He’s twice my age. Raised my half-sister.Taught her to say “Dad” like it was gospel.But I know what she really wants.I see the way she watches him. The way she watches me when I bend over the kitchen counter, tank top riding up, no bra in sight.This house is full of secrets, soaked sheets, and girls who know better.He pretends not to want it.She pretends she’s not touching herself at night.And me?I leave the door open and let them both fall apart.Because I don’t want to be loved. I want to be used.Ruined.Claimed in every room until they forget who’s the daughter, who’s the guest, and who’s in charge.He raised her. He took me in.But — who’s he going to f**k first?