Sweat slicked the small of her back as Devondre gripped her hips, driving into her with a raw, desperate hunger.
Hard mahogany scraped against her thighs as he pushed her further onto his desk, scattering neat stacks of billing invoices onto the carpet.
"Take it, baby," he growled against her neck, his breath hot and smelling of the wintergreen mints he always kept in his desk drawer.
His fingers dug deep into her flesh, anchoring her to the edge of the heavy wood.
Each rhythmic thrust made the heavy desk groan, the vibrations traveling straight up her spine.
"You like that?" He didn't wait for an answer, his palm landing with a sharp, stinging slap against her bare, rounded cheek.
"Good girl," he whispered, his voice a gravelly rumble that vibrated straight down to her core.
Arching her back, Anika cried out, clamping her legs tighter around his waist as the heat coiled tight inside her.
Emerald green lace, brand new and bought specifically for this occasion, clung to her damp skin.
Leaving the OB-GYN clinic with a tiny black-and-white printout tucked in her purse, she hadn't been able to breathe.
Excitement had burned too hot, driving her straight to his downtown office with the lingerie set burning a hole in her shopping bag.
Stripping down in his private bathroom, she had emerged in nothing but the lace and high heels.
Devondre had locked the door before she could even speak, his eyes widening with a predatory heat that always made her knees weak.
Now, he let out a low groan, his body shuddering as he spilled inside her, pinning her chest to the hard wood of the desk.
Panting, he buried his face in her curls, his heartbeat a frantic hammer against her shoulder blade.
"Damn, Ani," he gasped, slowly pulling back and wiping his brow with the back of his hand.
"If you aren't pregnant after that, my damn dick don't work."
Chuckling, he tucked himself back into his trousers, completely unaware of the storm brewing in her chest.
Quietly, she reached for her purse, retrieving a small, silver-wrapped box with a white satin bow.
"Open it," she whispered, her heart throat-high as she handed it to him, her naked body shivering in the air-conditioned office.
His fingers fumbled with the ribbon, his face shifting from amusement to utter bewilderment as he peeled back the tissue paper.
Resting on the bottom of the box was the ultrasound, showing two tiny, miraculous dots.
Tears welled in his dark eyes, his knees literally buckling as he sank back into his leather office chair.
"Two?" he choked out, looking up at her with a reverence that made her feel like a goddess.
"Twins, Dev," she laughed, tears finally spilling over her cheeks as she climbed into his lap. "We're having twins."
He had wrapped his massive arms around her, squeezing her so tight she could barely breathe, promising to love them all forever.
Forever had cut short just three years later.
---
Cold autumn air tore through her lungs, shattering the warm memory like cheap glass.
Pounding concrete met the soles of her running shoes, a harsh, unforgiving rhythm that kept her grounded in the present.
Six years had passed since that afternoon in his office.
Three of those years had been spent in a silent, suffocating house without him.
Anika sucked in a jagged breath, her legs pumping harder as she pushed herself up the steep incline of the park trail.
Sweat now came from physical exertion, not passion.
Her curves, softer now after carrying two children, felt heavy as she ran.
Every step was a battle against the gravitational pull of her own sorrow.
Morning runs were her only escape, a precious hour of solitude before Maya and Marcus woke up demanding breakfast and school uniforms.
Keeping them safe, fed, and happy was her entire existence now.
She had locked her own desires in a dark drawer, throwing away the key the day the dirt settled over Devondre’s casket.
Loneliness was a familiar shadow, a constant companion that never demanded anything she couldn't give.
Yet, underneath the maternal duties and the polite smiles she wore for the neighbors, a dangerous ember remained.
To be possessed, to be entirely consumed, was a craving she buried deep.
She missed the sweet relief of letting someone else take control, if only for an hour.
Shaking her head to clear the intrusive thoughts, Anika focused on the yellowing leaves of the oak trees lining the path.
Golden sunlight filtered through the branches, casting long, fractured shadows across the pavement.
Up ahead, the trail curved toward the duck pond, a scenic spot she usually avoided but had chosen today out of a desperate need for a change of scenery.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic warning signal she chose to ignore.
Waking up at five in the morning had become a necessity.
Quietness was rare in a house with five-year-old twins, and she guarded these early hours fiercely.
Before she laced up her sneakers, she always checked on them.
Marcus slept with his limbs splayed out, a mirror image of his father’s sleeping posture.
Maya snuggled deep into her pink comforter, her soft breaths the only sound in the quiet bedroom.
Looking at them always brought a sharp pang of bittersweet joy.
They were the best of him, living evidence of that passionate afternoon in his office.
But they were also a constant reminder of what she had lost.
Leaving the house in the dim light of dawn, she had felt the usual heavy pressure in her chest.
It was a physical weight, like a wet wool blanket pressed against her heart.
Grief didn't fade; it just became a permanent tenant in her body.
She ran to keep the tenant quiet.
If she ran fast enough, hard enough, her mind couldn't dwell on the hospital bills.
Her mind refused to dwell on the sterile smell of the oncology ward.
Even his name, whispered in the quiet of her mind, made her pace stutter.
Dr. Jaquan Morris.
He had been a pillar of controlled strength during those agonizing months.
While other doctors spoke in hurried, clinical terms, he had looked her in the eye.
His dark, intense gaze had anchored her when her world was spinning out of control.
He had been professional, distant, and utterly commanding.
Even in her deepest grief, she had noticed the raw power he carried, a quiet authority that demanded submission without ever raising his voice.
She had hated herself for noticing.
With her husband dying in a hospital bed, she had still been hyper-aware of the broad shoulders of his oncologist.
It was a shameful, dirty secret she had never confessed to anyone.
He had a way of looking at her that made her feel entirely exposed.
It wasn't a sexual look—at least, she didn't think it was—but it was intense, analytical, and completely overwhelming.
Whenever he entered the hospital room, the air seemed to thin.
His voice, a low, smooth baritone, had a commanding quality that made everyone in the room immediately fall silent.
She had found herself hanging onto his every word, not just for updates on Devondre's condition, but because his presence offered a strange, grounding comfort.
In a world where she had to be strong for everyone else, Dr. Morris was the only person who seemed capable of carrying the weight.
She had felt a dangerous, forbidden urge to lean on him, to let him take the reins.
Of course, she had buried those feelings deep down, locking them away alongside her grief.
He was a professional, her husband's doctor, a man completely out of her reach.
Yet, the memory of his intense dark eyes still haunted her dreams on the coldest nights.
Memories of his large, clean hands holding the medical charts would flash in her mind, his knuckles strong, his nails neatly trimmed.
Those hands had looked capable of both healing and hurting, of holding a person together or breaking them completely.
She had stared at his hands more than she cared to admit.
During the long, silent nights in the hospital, when Devondre was asleep, she would sit in the armchair and visualize Dr. Morris walking into the room.
She would imagine him telling her to sit down, to close her eyes, to let him worry about everything.
Surrendering to his control had been a silent lifeline.
Even now, three years later, her body reacted to the memory of his commanding presence.
Her core would tighten, a warm, heavy sensation settling deep in her pelvis.
It was a shameful physical reaction to a man who had only ever been professional with her.
But grief did strange things to a person's desires.
It stripped away the polite layers of society and left only the raw, animalistic need to feel alive.
Now, the cool air of the park bit at her cheeks, a welcome distraction from the ghosts of her past.
Her lungs burned as she pushed past the half-mile marker.
Yellow leaves crunched beneath her sneakers, the sound crisp and sharp in the quiet morning.
She adjusted the strap of her sports bra, the fabric damp with sweat.
Her body felt heavy, but strong.
She had spent three years rebuilding her strength, putting her shattered pieces back together one by one.
People praised her resilience.
They called her strong, a wonderful mother, a saint.
None of them knew the dark thoughts that kept her awake at night.
Neither of them knew the hunger that clawed at her insides, a desperate need to feel something other than duty and grief.
She wanted to be touched.
Desire burned like a slow, agonizing fever, demanding to be quenched by someone who wasn't afraid of her darkness.
But there was no one.
She had tried dating once, a year ago, but the man had been soft, timid, and terrified of her baggage.
He had treated her like fragile glass.
She didn't want to be treated like glass.
Craving structure, she wanted someone who could handle her weight, both physical and emotional, and bend her to his will.
Looming ahead, the duck pond came into view, its surface still and dark like oil.
Mist hovered over the water, rising in thin, ghostly tendrils.
She slowed her pace slightly, her heartbeat thudding in her ears like a war drum.
This was the place.
Weathered and peeling, the green bench sat under the sprawling branches of an ancient willow tree.
Slats of wood were cracked and gray, showing the passage of time.
Her feet felt like lead as she approached it.
Devondre had taken his last walk outside the hospital walls right here.
He had insisted on coming here, despite the oxygen tank and his frail frame.
"Just a few minutes, Ani," he had pleaded.
She had wheeled him to this very spot, helping him sit on the cold wood.
He had held her hand, his grip weak but desperate.
"Look at the ducks, Ani," he had whispered, his eyes sunken but bright with a lingering love.
"They don't worry about tomorrow."
He had laughed then, a wet, rattling sound that had broken her heart into a thousand pieces.
"If I don't make it, you promise me you'll live," he had said, his voice cracking.
"Really live. Don't just survive."
She had promised him.
Lying to a dying man was the hardest thing she had ever done, but she had smiled through her tears anyway.
Standing in front of the empty bench now, the memory was a physical blow to her stomach.
Her hands trembled as she wiped a stray tear from her cheek.
"I'm trying, Dev," she whispered to the empty air.
"But it's so hard."
Silence was her only answer.
Duck broke the surface of the pond, sending ripples across the dark water.
She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady her racing heart.
A phantom ache bloomed in her chest, the memory of his laugh, now a hollow echo, piercing her quiet morning run.
She had to keep moving.
Turning away from the bench, she forced her legs back into a jog.
Pavement rolled beneath her feet as she headed toward the park exit.
Her body felt drained, the burst of adrenaline from the memory leaving her hollowed out.
Desperate to get back to her kids, she forced her pace to quicken, wanting the safety of her routine.
Up ahead, the path converged with the main sidewalk bordering the park.
A few cars drove past, their engines a distant hum.
She slowed to a walk, catching her breath as she approached the edge of the park.
Her chest heaved, her pulse slowly returning to normal.
Suddenly, the air changed.
A familiar, crisp scent, like expensive medical sanitizer, suddenly assaults her senses from the adjacent sidewalk, making her stomach clench with an inexplicable dread.