Summary: Terry letting you wear yourself out on that thang. That’s it, that’s all.
Warning(s): riding, sexual innuendos, dirty talk, mentions of oral (f receiving), may be some errors
The day started off great, just as any other day would. You woke up to an empty bed, which was normal considering you were married to a damn lark. Terry always rose before the sun for whatever reason, but that never stopped you from getting your full eight hours worth of beauty rest.
You’d entered the kitchen to see your usual morning sight: Terry, shirtless and sweaty after his morning run. Though you tried to keep your footsteps soft, Terry and his super marine hearing sensed you coming from a mile away. He peered over his shoulder with his cloudy green eyes and flashed a rarely seen smile— well, rare to everyone but you— before scooping up the fresh cup of coffee he’d always have ready for you whenever you decide to grace the world with your presence.
Silently reminding yourself that it was too damn early to be horny, you kept your eyes above the neckline and accepted your cup of joe and one of many morning kisses. You spent the next ten minutes of leisure time as you normally did: Smiling at the sweet and expected gesture, giggling at the compliments and complimentary kisses that came along with your coffee, and squealing when Terry’s hands would roam and squeeze at some of his favorite parts of your body.
You’d left home some time later with a smile on your face as Terry always made sure you did, but just when you thought the exceptional morning meant your day would be perfect, here came your fucking boss.
Rude, loud, and disrespectful. Commanding and demanding the most ridiculous things as soon as the damn office opened. You’d always tried your best to stay respectful and hold your tongue when came at crazy, and today was no different. You’d just constantly remind yourself that this was your boss, and as much as you couldn’t stand her ass, you still loved your job and didn’t want to risk losing it over a boss doing what bosses do.
Then came your coworker Sandra, who also happens to be the bosses daughter. Rude and entitled much like her mother, Sandra always knew how to push just about everyone in the offices buttons, but for some odd reason yours were her favorite to push. You’d trained yourself not to give her the reaction she so desperately tried to get from you, but that still didn’t mean she didn’t get under your skin from time to time.
By the time the end of the day rolled around, Sandra and her mother had worked together to make today the day from hell. Two caseloads, another cup of coffee, and three near blowups later, you’d finally made it back home. The smile you once had on your face when you left was long and gone when you returned, and Terry noticed immediately. From his spot on the couch, he watched you toss your keys onto the kitchen counter and kick your shoes off much harder than necessary. Though your shoulders should’ve relaxed after the long breath you released, they remained tight and tense, telling Terry more than he knew you probably would.
You tended to shut down when frustrated, a bad habit that Terry had both picked up on and learned to remain patient with. However, knowing this wouldn’t stop him from coaxing as much information as he could out of you.
Terry pushed himself up from his seated position and began his path toward you. His long legs got him there in milliseconds, standing tall and protective in front of you. The crisp new wife beater he wore clung to his torso like you did when you would hug him and the dark grey sweats he wore hung low on his hips just how you liked it. His unintentional sexiness almost made you forget why you were mad. Almost.
He remained silent for a moment, watching intently as you looked everywhere but at him. Then, his left hand raised to your hip giving it a double tap with his index and middle fingers. You took that nonverbal command for what it was and finally looked up at him, his stormy eyes already meeting yours halfway.
For a second he still said nothing. He just stood still and examined your expression as much as you’d allow him to. The slight pout on your lips and semi-wet eyes told him enough, prompting him to finally speak.
“Talk to me.”
The words were simple, but when you have a day like you just had, it’s enough to damn near cause a break down. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from crying and lowered your head, shaking it just enough for the gesture to be noticeable.
“I’m fine,” you muttered, just loud enough for him to hear.
But you should’ve known that wouldn’t be good enough for him. You did know it wasn’t good enough for him. That’s why it was no shock when his hand came to cup your chin and gently forced your head up to meet his gaze again. There was silence once again from him as he scanned your face for another read. This time your mood was clear. Your face held a plethora of emotions. Frustration, anger, and a hint of sadness all at once.
“You’re not upset for nothing, Peach.”
The patience he had with you was evident in both his tone and the use of your pet name. He’d given it to you when the two of you had just began dating many years ago. He said the name reflected your personality and common mood. As sweet as could be. An alternative meaning for that nickname came a bit later in the relationship when the two of you had been intimate for the first time. He said the chosen name was perfect because you in the bedroom mirrored a Peach perfectly: sweet, sticky, thick, and pretty. But that was beside the point. The fact of the matter was that right now, your mood was anything but sweet.
A sigh slipped past your lips as you once again averted your gaze from his, afraid that he’d read too deep into you and cause you to break down in the middle of the living room. “It’s just work, T,” you muttered a tad bit lower than before. “Nothing serious.”
“I think it is serious if it’s got you this upset,” Terry argued. Not in an ill intended way. Just in a way that let you know he wasn’t buying the watered down story you were selling. Hand still cupping your chin, Terry nudged upward just a tad bit higher in an attempt to get your attention back on him. “Look at me.”
You reluctantly obliged and once again locked eyes with Terry, only this time, there was no reading. He’d already put it together. “Your boss?”
Just the mention of that bitch had you fighting the urge to roll your eyes, but to answer your husband’s question, you nodded.
“She frustratin’ you again?”
You mimicked your earlier action once more, nodding as you again bit down on your cheek. “Yeah, Sandra, too.”
Though your voice was barely above a whisper, Terry heard you loud and clear. He kept his stance just a few moments more before relaxing, his hands falling unoccupied at his side before they snaked around your waist. His thumb rubbed soothing circles around your lower back in an effort to get you to relax even a bit. Yeah sure, your boss and her gnat of a daughter pissed you off today. But you were home now, with him.
“You gotta stop doing that, Peach,” Terry murmured, arms wrapping tighter around you as he pulled you closer.
Now chest to chest, your dainty hands came to rest on his biceps. “Doing what?”
“Shutting down,” he elaborated, index finger drumming your hip. “You always shut down when you’re upset and you leave me out the mix. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s goin’ on.”
You nodded in response, head lowering in shame. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Mm-mm, don’t do that,” Terry hummed, immediately following up with a kiss to your forehead, then one to your cheek, then one to your jawline, then multiple to your neck as you giggled lowly. “I’m not mad at you, baby. I just want you to be happy. And I want you to be comfortable telling me when something is botherin’ you. Even if it’s not me, alright?”
With a nod and a muttered agreement, you took the time to appreciate Terry’s effort at getting you to open up. Although you appreciated it, that still didn’t remove the effects of today’s ware and tear from your body. You were still frustrated. Still annoyed. Still tense. But that wasn’t a problem for Terry. All he needed you to do was tell him what was bothering you. He was down to handle the rest.
And that’s what got you to where you are now.
Bare and hot on top of him, knees working overtime to keep you upright as you bounced up and down at the same breathtaking pace. Not too idle. Not too brisk. It was somewhere perfectly in between. Terry watched comfortably beneath you, hands folded and tucked behind his head as he remained still, careful not to disturb your rhythm.
Your bottom lip had to be tired of you biting it, but that seemed to be the only way you could keep your sounds under control and keep the two of you from receiving a noise complaint in a few hours time. Your hands assisted in keeping you steady with their resting spot being on Terry’s abdomen, fingers dragging through the creases of his abs when you felt them flex under the pressure of you repeatedly landing in his lap.
Tongue darting out to moisten your parched lips, you let a whine slip past the barrier you’d tried your hardest to build. “Terryyy…”
He looked up at you, expression stoic and emotionless besides the lust clouding his already piercing eyes. “What you callin’ me for? You doin’ that shit to yourself.”
Brows furrowed and mouth hanging ajar, you looked down to where the two of you connected. You watched your fluids pile up at the base of his phallus in near disbelief. Almost as though you couldn’t believe what you were making yourself do. Like him saying it out loud was what made you realize it. Even still, it was partly his fault. Nobody told him to have all that dick.
Another sound slipped past your lips, this time resembling more of a squeal as the angle of your hips made it nearly impossible for his throbbing tip to miss your spot. “Fuuuckkk!”, you slurred through a moan, head falling backward and eyes rolling to a close.
“Mhm, there you go,” Terry cooed while simultaneously reaching out to you, hand wrapping snug around your throat. “Keep that shit movin’. Just like that.”
The sudden air restriction caused you to gasp, hand coming up to wrap around Terry’s wrist. The grip you had on his hand matched the grip you had on his dick, your walls contracting around his girth at the depth of his voice and commands. There was something about the two of you being in a position where you had the opportunity to be in full control, yet Terry still finding a way to be in charge. Your body’s response to his commands showed exactly how you felt about them, your walls gushing with arousal.
Your internal temperature grew hotter with every passing minute, the aching in your legs contributing to your thermal increase. But unfortunately, that wasn’t stopping shit. You were gonna get your nut even if it meant riding this Harley until your legs gave clean out. Well, your third nut. Terry had already coaxed two out of you with that talented mouth of his, eating away half the frustration you’d returned home with. He left it up to you to ride out the rest.
“Fuck…why you so wet, Peach?” Fingers tightening around your throat, Terry bit down on his bottom lip as his free hand came up to strike your ass cheek. “Hm?”
There were so many answers to that question. Maybe because you had a fine ass man beneath you letting you use him for your pleasure with no consequences. Or maybe it was because you had a big ass dick invading the deepest part of you, pulsing and throbbing against your wetness to cause almost euphoric sensations. Or maybe it was just because you were in love. It didn’t matter which response was most fitting, because you couldn’t even muster up the strength to give him one.
Instead you peeled your eyes open, gaze immediately connecting with his. The two of you watched each other through different eyes: yours soft and submissive, his hard and dominant. “You so fuckin’ pretty.”
You moaned in response, stomach swarming with butterflies at him somehow always knowing what to say and when to say it. Eyes fluttering shut, your head had almost fallen back again before Terry’s hand moved to cup your jaw. “Mm-mm, keep them eyes on me.”
You obliged, eyes opening to find his. You watched as his lip found its way between his teeth again, his thumb stroking your cheek as soft as could be. Then the pad of his thumb found its way to your bottom lip, rubbing across it a few times. “Open…”
Following instructions with a submissive moan, your semi-parted lips opened wider to allow his thumb entry, and you made sure to give it a warm welcome with your tongue and lips. A slick thrust from below had your teeth nearly sinking into the flesh, but you’d managed to hold back before continuing to suck on his thumb.
“So beautiful…”, Terry muttered, watching as your eyes rolled to a close and you moaned around his thumb, the throbbing of his phallus causing your stomach muscles to tighten. “and so fuckin’ nasty.”
How could he say that when he was the one who made you this way? You can confidently say you had never been this nasty until you got with Terry. This motherfucker had you doing shit you would’ve never even thought to do with anyone else, but you’d be lying straight through your teeth if you said you didn’t love it.
He pulled his thumb away and you released it with a ‘pop’, then watched with doe eyes as he used that same saliva covered thumb to rub your clit in slow, sloppy circles. But you were the nasty one? Yeah, okay.
The new sensation caused a buck in your hips, a sound of louder pitch escaping your lips as your eyes did yet another roll inward. “Babyyy…s-shit!”, you whined as you tried to keep your pace through the tightening of your walls and flexing of your stomach muscles. The sensation omitted a groan from Terry, but nothing more than that as he kept his eyes trained on you.
It’s not that he wasn’t feeling good, because he damn sure was. It was just the fact that tonight was your night. Y’all could worry about him later. Right now, it was all about you.
“You look so good up there, Peach. You don’t even understand,” he cooed, tongue slowly protruding to wet his lips as he watched you slowly but surely unravel.
You’d call him a damn lie if you weren’t in your current position. You could just feel that you looked a mess. Hair puffy and wild, lips parched and dry, skin hot and tacky. Terry didn’t give a fuck. “Them hips, them thighs, your face…”, he murmured, the rotation of his thumb staying constant. “Can’t even keep your fuckin’ eyes open. I got you feelin’ good, huh, baby?”
“Yesss, oh my god!”, you squealed, head lolling back as your toes began to curl against the mattress.
Hissing at your sudden tighter grip, Terry’s brows furrowed a tad deeper. “Why you grippin’ me like that? Hm?” You knew the answer, and so did he. But your almost non-coherent words made it hard to give him one. “You finna cum? Is that what it is?”
You nodded frantically, the pace of your bounces starting to increase. “You gon’ cum for me, mama? You gon’ show me how wet you can get for me?”
“Y-yesss, fuck! I’m gon’ cum for you, daddy!”, you moaned, toes curling tighter as you grabbed his free hand and interlocked your fingers. The speed of his thumb started to increase to match the pace of your bounces, your sounds now being full on pornstar moans.
“Chase that shit then, Peach. Show me how wet this pretty pussy can get for me.”
He didn’t need to tell you twice because you already felt it coming. Nails clawing at his chest, your eyes squeezed shut and your mouth hung ajar as your walls closed as tight as they could. The groans omitted from him only assisted with your heavenly climax, thighs trembling as you tried your hardest not to wake the neighbors, though both you and Terry were sure you had probably already done that.
“There you go. Get what you need, pretty girl,” Terry cooed, thumb still rotating on your sensitive center even though your bouncing had come to a steady halt. “Let that shit out.”
Chest heavy with pants, you absentmindedly wound your hips against his thumb, riding out your high to its highest potential. When you were done, you and your throbbing center had had enough. Your hand had quickly found Terry’s, grabbing hold of his wrist. “Mm, fuck, okay…I’m tapped out,” you huffed through short breaths, pushing his thumb away from your now sore pleasure point.
You lifted yourself off of his length with a wince before collapsing back onto his chest. “You good?”
Fuck no you weren’t good. Your body may as well been filled with noodles. Your legs and back were as good as gone, and don’t even get started on your knees. “Don’t even think about touching me for the next two weeks.”
You weren’t sure yet if you were joking or not, and neither was Terry, but for now you’d just go to sleep, good, fucked, and happy.
Especially not when they’ve been caught moaning their roommate’s name with their fingers between their thighs and his almost-voice telling them how to come.
Leilani stared at the blinking cursor on her laptop screen like it was taunting her. It pulsed in time with her heartbeat, steady and relentless. Her case study was untouched. Her simulation portal still hadn’t loaded. The cursor might as well have been whispering: You’re thinking about him again.
And she was.
God, she was.
Her body was warm in all the wrong places or maybe the right ones. Her skin prickled beneath her scrubs. Her scalp tingled under her bonnet. Her bra felt too tight, like her breasts were swollen from tension alone. And her thighs? Still clenched like she could hold the memory in place just a little longer.
Good girl.
Two syllables. One tone.
It haunted her.
It echoed in her skull and echoed even louder between her legs, where the ache hadn’t faded since sunrise.
That voice, his voice, had ruined her.
And the worst part?
It wasn’t even his voice. Not really.
It was some downloaded fantasy audio she looped at half-volume to avoid suspicion. Some nameless, faceless man with a deep, dominant cadence that sounded close enough to Terry to convince her body it was him.
But this morning?
That was real.
It was him.
He’d said it for real. In real time. In his kitchen. Over pancakes.
Good girl.
Her brain had short-circuited. Her body had betrayed her. The way her thighs squeezed together under the counter hadn’t been conscious. It had been instinct.
Her mouth was still dry.
Her core? Still soaking wet.
And she couldn’t concentrate for shit.
“Lani?”
The voice snapped her out of her spiral.
Her study partner, Nya, raised an eyebrow from across the lab table. “You’ve been stabbing the same fake arm for like… two minutes. Are you good?”
Leilani blinked. Looked down.
Shit.
She’d been holding the butterfly needle in one hand, pressing the vein with the other, completely zoned out. The plastic dummy arm had turned into mush beneath her death grip.
She yanked her hand back like it burned. “Shit. Sorry. I—I’m just tired.”
Not a lie.
She hadn’t really slept.
After finishing last night, panting, soaked, and trembling, she’d spent another hour in bed, one hand curled over her chest like it could hold her together. The vibrator lay cold and useless on her nightstand. Her pillow still carried the ghost of his name.
She didn’t come again.
She didn’t need to.
Because the memory of that voice, his voice, real and low and loaded, was enough to keep her awake. Enough to leave her aching long after the batteries died.
Now she was floating through her day like a half-functioning ghost. Mind wrecked. Body hyperaware. Panties damp. Breath too shallow.
And then—
Her phone buzzed.
Her heart skipped.
Terry [2:36 PM]:
You good? You’ve been quiet today.
Leilani stared at the screen like it might bite her.
She bit her lip, thumbs hovering, before finally responding.
Leilani [2:36 PM]:
Yeah. Just tired. Long morning. But I’m okay.
The bubble appeared right away. He was already typing.
Terry [2:37 PM]:
I was thinking Chinese for dinner. Don’t worry about cooking tonight. You’ve been doing enough.
Terry [2:37 PM]:
Sesame chicken and broccoli?
Her stomach flipped.
Of course he remembered her order. Of course he knew the one thing that always made her feel comforted after a rough day. Her fingers trembled over the keyboard.
Leilani [2:39 PM]:
You really are trying to spoil me, huh?
The response came too quick.
Terry [2:40 PM]:
Some girls deserve it.
She almost dropped the phone.
Her breath stuttered.
Her thighs clamped together beneath the lab table like a reflex she couldn’t control.
Some girls.
You.
She wasn’t going to survive this week.
Later That Night
The moment she stepped into the house, the scent hit her, ginger, garlic, sesame oil, and rice.
Warm. Comforting.
She exhaled through her nose, her stomach grumbling in appreciation.
But the second she turned the corner and saw him, Terry, at the stove, barefoot, in clean sweats and a white tank still clinging to the leftover heat from his shower, her hunger shifted locations.
Her stomach still growled.
But now it was second in line.
The kitchen lights cast a soft halo over his frame. His forearms flexed as he scooped rice into bowls. There was a sheen to his skin, moisture from the shower or the heat from the stove, she didn’t know, but he looked like something carved.
Real. Present.
So calm.
Like he hadn’t broken her in the kitchen that morning with two words and a knowing smirk.
She stood in the doorway for a second too long.
“You really didn’t have to,” she said, voice quieter than intended.
Terry looked up. Handed her a bowl.
“I wanted to.”
Just like that.
Simple. Final.
Her fingers brushed his when she took the bowl. They both felt it. Neither acknowledged it.
“You’ve been cooking for weeks,” he added, motioning for her to sit. “Figured you earned a night off.”
That word again.
Earned.
Like this was some kind of prize. Like her obedience, her silence, her restraint, was being catalogued and rewarded.
She swallowed hard.
He sat across from her at the kitchen island. They ate in mostly silence, the occasional clink of chopsticks and soft slurp of noodles filling the space between them.
“You okay?” he asked, not looking up.
She nodded once. “Yeah. Just tired.”
A pause.
“Did you sleep well last night?”
Her fork stopped mid-air.
He didn’t look at her.
Just took another bite of chicken like he hadn’t cracked her wide open with that question.
“I—uh…” she fumbled, trying not to choke. “Yeah. Mostly.”
“Mmm.” He nodded.
Then added,soft, low, intentional,
“You gotta take care of yourself, Lani. Especially when you’ve been working yourself up at night.”
She froze.
Air caught in her lungs.
He didn’t even smile this time.
Just reached for a napkin and wiped the corner of his mouth.
Like this was nothing.
Like this was normal.
She stared at him, stunned.
Terry finally looked up.
And he smiled.
Just a little.
Just for her.
And in that moment, Leilani knew.
He wasn’t going to play dumb.
He wasn’t going to pretend.
He knew.
And he was going to let her sit with it.
And she?
She loved it.
Some girls like being touched.
Leilani liked being undone, one word at a time.
And tonight, Terry’s voice was still in her head.
She’d gone through the motions of dinner, eaten the sesame chicken, washed the dishes, even folded a load of towels like it was any other night,but her skin told a different story.
Every inch of her felt too sensitive. Too awake.
The fabric of her oversized T-shirt scraped her nipples in a way it shouldn’t have. The cotton of her lounge shorts clung to her thighs like it knew what she was hiding. Her body was caught in a slow burn she couldn’t douse. Not even with routine. Not even with silence.
Because the silence now?
Silence was him.
He hadn’t said anything direct since dinner.
But the weight of what he didn’t say?
It filled every room.
Terry was already in the living room by the time she padded in—TV glowing low, the screen casting soft flickers across the walls, showing something neither of them was watching. He sat where he always did, anchored in the corner of the couch, legs spread, arm resting across the back cushion like a throne carved just for him.
Leilani hovered for a moment.
Then sat.
Far end of the couch. Like she always did.
But tonight?
She sat softer.
Quieter.
Her body buzzed like the air between them held static.
She tried to ignore the pull. Tried to keep her eyes on the television. But the heat in the room wasn’t from the screen. It was from him.
His presence pressed against her without ever moving.
And then,
His voice slid out, smooth and slow.
“You tired?”
She jumped a little. Didn’t mean to.
A pause too long, then: “Always.”
“You keep saying that,” he said, watching the screen.
“It’s true.”
He hummed, low and quiet. A sound of agreement. Or amusement.
Then—
“You know what helps with tension?”
She blinked at the question. Her pulse stumbled.
“…what?”
His eyes stayed forward, but his tone dipped just enough to wrap around her like velvet.
“Letting someone else tell you what to do.”
The silence that followed didn’t feel innocent.
Not even close.
Her mouth went dry.
Her fingers curled tighter around the throw blanket in her lap. Her thighs clenched under the fabric, slow and automatic. Her body betrayed her before her brain even caught up.
She didn’t answer.
Didn’t trust her voice.
She didn’t even breathe too hard.
Because he hadn’t said it to her, not really.
But her body believed he had.
Her skin buzzed with awareness. Her nipples hardened under her shirt. She could feel her heartbeat in the hollow of her throat.
Terry shifted. Subtle. Just enough to tilt his body slightly toward her.
“You said you wanted to work on glutes,” he added, casually—like the air between them hadn’t just thickened with implication. “Come train with me tomorrow.”
She turned her head slowly to look at him.
His eyes were already there.
Watching her.
Steady. Calm.
Loaded.
She opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Because “yes” felt like surrender.
And “no” felt like a lie.
So she went with safe.
“I get off early.”
He smiled—just a little. Like a secret he didn’t plan on sharing.
“Warm-up starts at seven,” he said. “I’ll keep it simple.”
Her laugh came out quieter than she meant it to. Nervous. A touch breathless.
“You don’t strike me as simple.”
He turned toward her fully now.
One arm draped lazily across the back of the couch.
Unrushed.
Unapologetic.
His gaze pinned her where she sat.
“You don’t need simple, Lani.”
His voice was lower now.
Deeper.
Richer.
“You need structure.”
Her breath hitched.
That word.
Structure.
It shouldn’t have hit like a hand wrapped around her ribs—but it did.
Her thighs shifted on instinct.
Her eyes dropped.
She didn’t mean to submit.
But her body did.
Her body knew.
The Next Day – 6:57 PM
She stood outside the garage like it was a threshold she wasn’t sure she was ready to cross.
The sun was starting to dip. The air was cool on her arms, but she felt overheated anyway. Her leggings hugged every curve like second skin. Her sports bra pressed her tight. Her curls were pulled back, bonnet secure.
And still—she felt bare.
Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her waistband. She wasn’t sure if she was nervous or excited.
Maybe both.
She took a breath.
Opened the door.
The scent of iron and chalk hit her first.
Then the sound—bass-heavy music vibrating low from the corner speaker. A slow, heavy beat. Dark. Intentional.
And there he was.
Terry.
In front of the weight rack.
Sleeveless hoodie.
Sweat-slick forearms.
Hands wrapped in wrist guards as he rolled them slowly, methodically. Like he was preparing for something deeper than a workout.
He looked up when she entered.
Didn’t smile.
Didn’t greet her.
Just let his gaze drag down her body and back up like he was collecting data.
She didn’t breathe.
Then—
“Start with glute bridges. Bodyweight. Fifteen reps.”
Command.
Not suggestion.
And her body?
Obeyed.
She dropped to the mat without a word.
Back flat. Knees bent. Feet planted.
And as she lifted her hips off the ground, she felt it—
Him.
Behind her.
Watching.
Saying nothing.
Just present.
His gaze burned down her spine like a pressure she couldn’t explain.
She lifted again.
Squeezed at the top.
Dropped.
Lifted.
The rhythm built.
And with every slow thrust of her hips upward, her thoughts unraveled.
He’s watching me.
He’s picturing how I looked last night.
He’s thinking about how my hips look when I come.
By rep ten, her breath stuttered.
By fifteen, her thighs trembled.
And she could not meet his eyes.
Next came squats.
Then step-ups.
Then Romanian deadlifts.
Each movement came with a cue.
Each cue, a tone.
“Bend deeper.”
“Feel the stretch.”
“Don’t rush.”
“Good.”
And then,
During split squats,
He said it.
“You’re responsive.”
Her breath hitched. The dumbbell almost slipped from her hand.
“…what?”
“You adjust quick,” he said, eyes trained on her hips. “You listen.”
“You’re good at it.”
She swallowed hard.
“At… squats?”
His eyes flicked up to hers.
“No.”
“At following directions.”
Her knees nearly gave out.
Hip Thrusts.
The final set.
He padded the bar for her.
Set the bench.
Stood behind her.
Silent.
Still.
Present.
She positioned herself. Bar across her hips. Shoulders back. Breath held.
“Good,” he said softly. “Just like that.”
She squeezed her glutes and pressed upward.
Her breath caught.
“Slow it down.”
She did.
“Feel every inch.”
She whimpered.
“You’re doing so well.”
A soft sound spilled from her throat.
“You like hearing that?” he asked.
Her eyes flicked toward him, wide.
“What?”
“You like being told you’re doing well?”
She blinked fast.
Nodded.
Barely.
And then, closer now, right behind her ear—
“Good girl.”
Her hips jerked.
The bar slipped a little.
Her body almost came on command.
He reached down, did not touch her, but steadied the bar with calm precision.
“You okay?”
“Y-Yeah,” she stammered. “I’m… done. I think.”
He extended a hand.
She took it.
His grip was firm, but his thumb dragged slowly across her palm.
Possessive.
She shivered.
And when he let go?
She almost said something.
Almost begged.
But she didn’t.
She just walked out—legs shaky, core tight, skin buzzing.
And she already knew—
She wasn’t sleeping tonight.
Later That Night
She couldn’t sleep.
Her whole body hummed.
She tried to journal.
Tried to read.
Tried to pretend she wasn’t vibrating with the need to hear him again.
To let his voice crawl into her ears and tell her what to do.
AN: Hi baddies!! I know y'all missed homegirl!! This is a little taste for Valentine's Day! Also, my requests are open! Please let me know what y'all are looking for.
terry richmond x oc!black!fem!
Warnings: long ass HELL, cursing, smut!, terry au!, mike is alive in this one, a lot of fluff, slow burn, aftercare, cheating, squirting, dirty talk, fingering, cunnilingus, p in v, please forgive me if i forgot anything.
By the time Sanaa slipped into her dress, the sky outside her Georgetown condo had already turned a deep indigo. The kind of blue that came just before night fully settled in, when the world felt suspended between what had already happened and what was still possible.
She stood in front of her bedroom mirror longer than necessary, adjusting the thin strap on her shoulder, smoothing invisible wrinkles along her waist. The dress was effortless. Soft fabric, clean lines, nothing too flashy. Alphonso had once told her he loved how she never tried too hard. Tonight, she wondered if that had been a compliment or a quiet expectation. Her curly light-brown hair was as wild as ever. Alphonso has been her boyfriend for two years. He works in business, and he lives between DC and Chicago. She did not mind how much he works because she also works so much.
She glanced at the clock.
8:04 p.m.
He was late, but not late enough to worry. Not yet. Sanaa padded into the kitchen, the marble cool beneath her bare feet. She poured herself a glass of water, added a slice of lemon she probably wouldn’t drink, and leaned against the counter. The condo smelled faintly of vanilla and cedarwood from the candle she’d lit earlier, the same one Terry always teased her about because it reminded him of a high-end hotel lobby.
Beyond the glass doors, her backyard opened up to the Potomac River, dark and wide and endlessly moving. City lights shimmered across the water, blurring into something almost romantic. She’d chosen this place for that view, for the reminder that even in stillness, things could keep moving forward.
Her phone vibrated on the counter.
Her lips curved instantly.
“Hey,” she answered, warmth threading through her voice. “You almost ready?”
There was a breath on the other end. Not background noise. Not movement. Just… hesitation.
“Sanaa.” Alphonso said her name the way people did when they were bracing themselves.
Her shoulders tensed.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, already knowing.
“I’m still in Chicago.”
The room felt suddenly quieter, like the air itself had leaned in to listen.
“Still?” she repeated softly. “I thought you said your last meeting ended at three.”
“It did,” he said quickly. “Well. kind of. Then the client wanted to grab dinner. Then this other thing came up, and..."
“So you’re not coming,” she said, her voice steady in a way that surprised even her. Sanaa was so pissed off.
He sighed, frustration bleeding into apology. He hated disappointing her, he said. This job was just demanding right now, he said. He promised he’d make it up to her soon. Maybe next weekend. Definitely soon.
Sanaa walked toward the glass doors as he talked, resting her forehead briefly against the cool pane. The river rolled on, unconcerned.
“It’s okay,” she said finally. “I understand.”
She always understood.
They hung up after a few more empty reassurances, and Sanaa stood there for a long moment, phone still in her hand. Then she turned back toward the dining table.
The candles flickered quietly. The place settings, carefully chosen earlier that evening, felt like evidence now. Proof that she had believed him. Again.
She blew out the first candle.
Then the second.
By the third, her throat felt tight.
She gathered the plates and slid them back into the cabinet, the clink of porcelain echoing through the open space. The music playing softly from the speakers felt wrong now. Too hopeful, too expectant. She turned it off.
Her phone rang again.
She didn’t have to look.
“Amali,” she answered, sinking onto the couch.
“He canceled,” her sister said immediately.
Sanaa huffed a soft laugh. “That obvious?”
“Please. I could hear it in your breathing.” Amali paused. “Where is he this time?”
“Chicago.”
“Mmhmm.” A beat. “Sanaa, I love you. But that man is either the busiest human being on earth or the worst planner I’ve ever heard of.”
“He works a lot,” Sanaa said, the familiar defense slipping out automatically. This was always her defense for his bullshit.
“So do you. And you still manage to be present in your own life.” Amali softened her tone. “I just don’t want you shrinking your expectations to match someone else’s limitations. You are beautiful, and if he wanted to, he would. You should not continue to be okay with this bullshit.
Sanaa closed her eyes. “I’m fine.”
“That’s not what I asked,” Amali replied gently. “But okay. Call me later.”
When the call ended, Sanaa let her head fall back against the couch cushion. The silence pressed in, heavy and intimate.
A knock broke through it.
She frowned, sitting up. It was late for deliveries, and she wasn’t expecting anyone. Pulling her robe tighter around herself, she walked to the door and opened it.
Terry stood there like he always did. Solid, familiar, unmistakably himself.
He wore gym shorts and a dark hoodie, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder. His low taper fade was fresh, sharp against his temples, like he’d just left the barber. He held her mail neatly stacked in one hand.
When his gaze met hers, his hazel eyes shifted, deepening into bluish-green the longer he looked at her, like they always did.
“Well damn,” he said, smiling slowly. “Either I missed the memo, or you got plans tonight.”
She laughed despite herself. “You’re early.”
“You’re dressed up,” he countered, handing her the mail. “Which usually means—” He stopped, glancing past her shoulder at the darkened candles, the empty space behind her. His smile softened. “He canceled.”
Sanaa nodded. “Chicago.”
Terry exhaled through his nose. “Of course it is.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Careful.”
“I said I wouldn’t start,” he replied quickly, lifting his hands in surrender. Then, quieter, “You okay?”
She hesitated. Then shrugged. “I thought tonight would be different.”
Something flickered in Terry’s eyes. Something old, something restrained. He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, toeing off his sneakers like he belonged there. Like he always had.
“Alright,” he said, clapping his hands once. “New plan.”
“Oh?” she asked, closing the door behind him.
“Chinese takeout,” he said. “Extra crab rangoons. And you’re picking the movie.”
She smiled faintly. “You already know what I’m picking.”
“Madea: Big Happy Family,” he said with a grin. “Obviously.”
Sanaa shook her head, laughing as she followed him into the living room. As she curled up on the couch and Terry stretched out beside her, the weight in her chest eased, just a little.
She didn’t miss the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention.
And for the first time that night, she realized she wasn’t waiting anymore.
Terry didn’t leave right away. The lights dim and quiet at this hour. Four doors. That was all that separated their lives. Four doors between wanting and waiting. Between what he felt and what he refused to ask for.
He unlocked his condo and stepped inside, the space immediately colder without her in it.
Terry tossed his keys onto the counter and shrugged out of his hoodie, running a hand over his face as he exhaled. The silence pressed in, louder than he expected. Normally, he welcomed it—years in the military had taught him to appreciate quiet—but tonight it felt like absence.
He poured himself a glass of water and leaned against the counter, staring at nothing in particular.
She’d looked beautiful tonight.
Not in a way that surprised him, Sanaa had always been beautiful, but in a way that reminded him how careful she was with her heart. How much effort she put into things. Into people. Into a man who consistently left her waiting.
Terry tightened his jaw.
He’d promised himself he wouldn’t do this. Wouldn’t replay it. Wouldn’t let frustration turn into resentment. Sanaa had never asked him to be anything more than her friend, and he’d respected that boundary with everything in him.
But God, it was hard.
He thought about the way her shoulders had dropped the moment he’d walked in. The way her smile had softened. Not the polite one she gave the world, but the real one she saved for people she trusted. He
thought about how she hadn’t tried to pretend with him. Hadn’t said she was fine until she convinced herself.
She’d just told him the truth.
I thought tonight would be different.
That sentence stayed with him as he moved through his condo, turning on a lamp, sitting on the edge of his couch. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together.
He’d been in love with her long enough to know better.
Howard University had been where it started: late nights studying, her hair pulled back, glasses slipping down her nose as she muttered to herself. He’d noticed her laugh first. Then her kindness. Then the way she carried herself, like she knew who she was even before the world did.
He’d never made a move.
Not then. Not after.
Life had taken them in different directions: his military service, law school, her medical training, but somehow they’d circled back to each other. Same city. Same condo community. Same easy friendship that felt like coming home.
And somewhere along the way, loving her had become quiet. Patient. Unselfish.
Terry leaned back and stared at the ceiling.
He could have told her how he felt years ago. Could have said something when she first mentioned Alphonso. Could have stepped in when the cancellations started piling up.
But he hadn’t.
Because he knew Sanaa. Knew she needed to come to her own conclusions. Knew pushing would only make her retreat.
So instead, he showed up.
He got her mail when her mornings were too early and her nights too long. He sent lunch to her clinic because he knew she forgot to eat when she was busy. He watched Madea with her when her heart felt bruised and she needed to laugh.
He did the things he wished someone would do for her.
Terry rubbed a hand over his mouth, exhaling slowly.
If he wanted to, he would.
The clinic came alive in layers.
First, it was the quiet things, the hum of the HVAC system, the soft click of the front desk computer booting up, the scent of disinfectant mingling with eucalyptus. Then came voices. Laughter. Footsteps moving with purpose. By the time Sanaa hung her coat behind the counter, Freeman Aesthetics & Dermatology was awake.
“Morning, Dr. Freeman,” Nia said brightly from the front desk, already fielding calls.
“Morning,” Sanaa replied, smiling as she scanned the waiting area. “Who’s first?”
“Mr. Alvarez for his follow-up,” Nia said. “And Ms. Cooper just checked in early.”
Sanaa nodded. “Perfect.”
Down the hallway, her staff flowed in and out of rooms like choreography. Leah, her medical assistant, was already prepping syringes with steady hands. Jasmine and Corinne: two of her licensed estheticians, were debating peel strengths near the sinks. Denise, the office manager, walked briskly with her clipboard tucked under her arm, heels clicking decisively.
This was her ecosystem. One she’d built carefully.
Mariah appeared at her side, coffee in hand, tablet balanced against her hip. Her curls were pulled into a loose bun, gold hoops catching the light as she grinned. Mariah is her PA. She helped her build this practice when they first met at another Dermatologist office where Sanaa was working as a new grad. They were the only two Black women in that entire practice. They knew they had to get the fuck out of there.
“You ready for battle?” Mariah asked.
“Always,” Sanaa said. “How bad does it look?”
Mariah tilted the tablet. “Fully booked. Two consults squeezed in. And Ms. Randall wants to talk about everything except her skin.”
Sanaa laughed. “Of course she does.”
They moved through the morning seamlessly, years of working together had turned them into something closer to partners than colleagues. Mariah anticipated her questions, adjusted plans on the fly, and kept the mood light when the pace picked up.
By ten-thirty, Sanaa had already forgotten she hadn’t eaten breakfast.
“Rep today?” Mariah asked casually as they washed their hands between patients.
“No,” Sanaa said. “Thursday.”
Mariah groaned. “So we’re on our own.”
“Like always,” Sanaa replied.
On days without reps, lunch became an afterthought. Sanaa was infamous for it, and Mariah teased her constantly, threatening to set alarms on her phone.
It had been one random evening weeks ago when Sanaa had mentioned it to Terry, barely thinking.
I didn’t eat lunch today, she’d said, distracted, unlocking her door.
She hadn’t expected him to remember.
At noon, the clinic slowed just enough for Sanaa to notice the familiar hollow in her stomach.
Then Nia’s voice crackled through the intercom.
“Dr. Freeman… we have a situation.”
Sanaa frowned. “What kind of situation?”
“There’s… a lot of food.”
The smell hit her moments later.
Warm tortillas. Lime. Roasted peppers.
Leah peeked around the corner. “Please tell me someone ordered Mexican.”
Mariah was already moving. “That smells like the good place.”
They rounded the corner together, and stopped.
Paper bags covered the break room counter. Big ones. Neatly arranged. The logo from her favorite Mexican spot stared back at her like a secret being exposed.
“No,” Sanaa whispered. “There’s no way.”
Mariah reached into one bag. “Carnitas.”
Leah pulled out another. “Chicken tinga.”
Denise appeared behind them. “Vegetarian bowls too.”
Mariah lifted a smaller bag and turned slowly. “This is your exact order.” A chicken quesadilla with extra rice and a side of chips and queso.
Sanaa’s chest tightened. Only one person would know this order to a t.
A note rested on top.
Eat. – T
Her throat closed unexpectedly.
"Sanaa....." Mariah said calmly, arms crossing. “That man listens when you speak.”
Leah nodded. “One comment. One lunch complaint. And he fed the entire clinic.”
Denise cleared her throat. “Should I tell everyone?”
“Yes,” Sanaa said quickly. “Please.”
Within minutes, the clinic buzzed. Jasmine and Corinne grabbed plates between appointments. Theo from billing poked his head out long enough to grab a bowl. Even Nia abandoned the desk briefly, phone balanced on her shoulder.
“This is the best lunch we’ve had in months,” Jasmine said.
Sanaa leaned against the counter, watching her team eat, laugh, exist comfortably in a space she’d built.
Her phone buzzed.
Terry:
Did it make it?
She smiled.
Sanaa:
You fed my entire clinic.
Terry:
You work too hard. You deserve it. I’m happy that I can do that for you.
Mariah caught the exchange and shook her head slowly. “You know we’re friends, right?”
Sanaa laughed. “Obviously.”
“Then as your friend,” Mariah continued, “I need you to stop pretending this is normal neighbor behavior.”
Sanaa didn’t respond right away. Because deep down, she knew it wasn’t.
And that’s what scared her.
By the time Sanaa and Mariah locked the clinic doors for the night, the sky had deepened into a soft charcoal gray, streetlights blinking on one by one along U Street. Her shoulders ached in that dull, familiar way that only came from giving everything you had all day and still feeling like there was more left to do.
“Drinks,” Mariah said firmly, already halfway into her coat. “And before you argue, this is self-care.”
They walked side by side down the block, heels clicking in uneven rhythm against the pavement. The city buzzed around them, music spilling out of open doors, laughter from passing groups, the smell of food drifting from nearby restaurants. It felt good to be outside of fluorescent lights and exam rooms, even if only for a little while.
Mariah led them into a small lounge tucked away between a wine bar and a bookstore. It was dim and warm, exposed brick lining the walls, low jazz humming through the speakers. It wasn’t loud enough to shout over, but it was alive enough to feel like an escape.
They slid onto stools at the bar.
“Reposado tequila,” Mariah told the bartender without hesitation. “Neat.”
Sanaa raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t even ask.”
“Girl today has been chaos. We need tequila,” Mariah said. “Trust me.”
When the glasses arrived, Sanaa took a careful sip. The warmth spread slowly through her chest, loosening something she hadn’t realized she’d been holding all day.
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the kind that only existed between people who knew each other well, between coworkers who’d become friends without ever formally deciding to.
“So,” Mariah said finally, resting her elbow on the bar. “How’s Alphonso?”
Sanaa’s fingers tightened around her glass.
“Fine,” she said automatically. Then she sighed. “I mean… he’s fine.”
Mariah gave her a look. “Um that wasn’t the question.”
Sanaa stared into the amber liquid. “We haven’t been talking as much.”
Mariah didn’t jump in right away. She waited. That was one of the things Sanaa appreciated most about her. She knew when to let silence do the work.
“It’s not intentional,” Sanaa continued. “I just… don’t feel like calling as often. And I definitely don’t feel like explaining myself when he asks how my day was, even though he wasn’t really present for it.”
Mariah nodded slowly. “How long has that been going on?”
“A few weeks,” Sanaa admitted. “Maybe longer. I used to count down the days until his calls. Now, I notice when I don’t hear from him, and I feel… relieved.”
She laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. “That sounds awful, doesn’t it?”
“It sounds honest,” Mariah replied.
Sanaa swallowed. “He hasn’t said anything. Hasn’t asked if something’s wrong. I stopped reaching as much, and it’s like… the space just stayed there.”
Mariah’s jaw tightened slightly. “That tells you something.”
“I know,” Sanaa said quietly. “I just don’t know what to do with it yet.”
She leaned back against the bar, exhaustion settling in deeper than before. “I’ve been carrying the relationship for so long. Making excuses. Telling myself this is just a phase, or that his job will slow down eventually.”
Mariah glanced at her. “Do you believe that?”
Sanaa hesitated. “I want to.”
“That’s not the same thing,” Mariah said gently.
Sanaa let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “I think I’ve been dating his potential instead of his reality.”
Mariah smiled softly. “Welcome to the club. Population: too many women.”
Sanaa closed her eyes briefly. “Of course there is.”
“I’m not trying to push you,” Mariah said. “But that man doesn’t just show up for you. He supports your whole life. Your work. Your people.”
Sanaa nodded. “He’s always been like that.”
“And how does that make you feel?” Mariah asked.
Sanaa’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Safe.”
Mariah’s expression softened. “That’s not nothing, Sanaa.”
“I’m not ready to name it,” Sanaa said quickly. “I’m not trying to replace one thing with another.”
“You don’t have to,” Mariah replied. “Just don’t ignore the difference between someone who fits into your life and someone who keeps asking you to wait.”
Sanaa stared at her glass again, the truth settling slowly but surely.
“I think,” she said after a moment, “I’ve already started letting go. I just haven’t admitted it yet.”
Mariah lifted her glass. “That’s the first step.”
They clinked glasses softly. “Okay, let’s stop talking about me! What is going on in the world of Mariah?”
Mariah went in on her last few terrible dates in this city. Outside, the city moved on: steady, unbothered. And for the first time in a long while, Sanaa felt like she wasn’t forcing herself to keep up with something that had already begun to drift away.
The drive home was quiet at first.
Sanaa kept the radio low, city lights blurring past her windshield as she merged onto the parkway. Her head was still buzzing from the night. Mariah’s words echoing, the warmth of tequila settling into something heavier in her chest.
Her phone lit up on the console.
Alphonso.
She hesitated for half a second before answering. “Hey.”
“Hey, baby,” he said, his voice familiar, distant in that way that always reminded her he was somewhere else. “You just getting off?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Long day.”
“Same,” he replied. “Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
“Okay,” she said carefully.
“I just got my travel schedule for next month,” Alphonso continued. “And it looks like I’ll be out of the country mid-February.”
Sanaa swallowed. “Out of the country… when and where?”
“Dubai,” he said casually. “I’ll be gone over Valentine’s Day.”
The words landed hard, like something knocked loose inside her chest.
“Oh,” she said.
There was so much she wanted to say. So many feelings pressing against her ribs, but none of them seemed safe enough to let out.
“I know it’s not ideal,” Alphonso added quickly. “But it’s work. You know how it is.”
She did know how it was. She knew exactly how it was.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I get it.”
“I’ll send you something,” he continued. “Flowers or something nice. We’ll celebrate when I get back.”
Something inside her went still. Fuck Flowers. Is he slow?
“Okay,” she replied. She swallowed her pride.
They talked a little longer, about logistics, about nothing, but the conversation felt hollow now, like she was speaking from a place far away from herself.
When they hung up, Sanaa realized her jaw hurt from clenching it.
Her phone rang again almost immediately.
“Amali,” she said, her voice already breaking. Her hurt was finally opening.
“He’s not coming for Valentine’s Day,” she blurted the moment her sister answered.
There was a pause on the other end. “Let me guess,” Amali said carefully. “Work trip.”
Amali exhaled slowly. “Sanaa…”
“I didn’t even argue,” Sanaa said. “I didn’t tell him how upset I was. I just… swallowed it. Like he can’t even see me in the morning of Valentine’s day?”
“That’s because you’ve been doing that for years,” Amali replied. “At some point, you have to ask yourself why.”
Sanaa blinked rapidly as she pulled into her assigned parking spot in front of her condo. “Amali, what if… what if he has another girlfriend?”
The question felt dangerous the moment it left her mouth.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “But men who are never available to you are usually available to someone else.”
The words hurt because they sounded possible.
“I don’t want to think that,” Sanaa whispered.
“I know,” Amali said gently. “But I don’t want you pretending this is normal anymore.”
They hung up as Sanaa got out of her car, her chest tight, her thoughts spinning.
Terry was leaning against the wall near his door, our doors down from hers, laughing softly at something the woman beside him had said. She was tall, stylish, her hand resting lightly on his arm. Terry’s low taper fade was crisp as ever, his hazel eyes warm as he listened, so warm they looked almost blue.
Sanaa’s stomach dropped.
Terry glanced up and caught her gaze. Surprise flickered across his face, followed by something unreadable.
“Sanaa,” he said, straightening. “Hey.”
“Hey,” she replied, forcing a smile that felt like it might crack.
“This is—” Terry began.
“It’s nice to meet you,” the woman said smoothly, stepping forward. “I’m Cat”
Sanaa nodded quickly. “Nice to meet you. I’m just tired. Long day.”
She didn’t wait for introductions. She couldn’t.
She unlocked her door, stepped inside, and closed it behind her with a soft click that felt louder than it should have.
The moment the lock turned, she broke.
Sanaa slid down the door until she was sitting on the floor, her knees pulled to her chest as the tears came fast and heavy. Her chest ached, grief and frustration and jealousy tangling together until she couldn’t tell them apart.
She was angry at Alphonso for always choosing work, for always leaving her waiting.
She was angry at herself, for accepting it.
And beneath it all, a different kind of ache stirred. One she didn’t want to name.
Was Terry just being nice?
Who was that woman?
The questions circled her mind as she wiped at her face, breath hitching.
She pressed her forehead against the door and closed her eyes.
Because loving someone who didn’t choose her was starting to feel unbearable. And tonight, for the first time, Sanaa allowed herself to admit how lonely that had made her.
Terry already knew the night was a mistake.
He’d known it halfway through dinner, sitting across from Cat as she laughed easily and talked about her job in marketing, her favorite wine bars, the way she loved to travel. She was smart. Beautiful. Easy to be around.
She just wasn’t her.
Now they stood outside his condo, four doors down from Sanaa’s, and Terry shifted his weight, keys heavy in his hand. Cat leaned lightly against the wall beside him, scrolling through her phone, completely at ease.
“You sure you don’t want me to come in?” she asked, glancing up at him with a smile.
Terry hesitated. “Yeah. I’m good.”
Cat shrugged, unbothered. “No worries. Your cousin said you were a little… reserved.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “Mike talks too much.”
She smiled again, kind but curious. Cat was everything Mike had promised. Pretty, successful, and low drama. Terry had agreed to the setup because Mike wouldn’t let it go. Because his mother kept hinting. Because everyone in his life seemed convinced he needed to move on.
Move on from what, Terry didn’t know.
Then he saw her.
tired. Beautiful, but tired in a way he recognized.
His chest tightened instantly.
“Sanaa,” he said, straightening without thinking.
Her eyes met his, and for a split second, he saw it. The hurt.
The confusion. The way her gaze flicked to Cat and lingered just long enough to ask a question she didn’t want answered.
“Hey,” Sanaa said, forcing a smile.
“This is—” Terry started, needing to explain.
But Sanaa was already shaking her head. “Nice to meet you. I’m exhausted. Long day.”
She didn’t wait.
She unlocked her door and disappeared inside.
The click of the lock sounded final.
Terry stared at her door for a moment longer than necessary.
“Your neighbor?” Cat asked gently.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “My best friend.”
Cat glanced between the doors, then back at him. “Ah.”
There was no accusation in her voice. Just understanding.
“Well,” she said after a beat, stepping back. “I’ll let you go.”
Terry nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Cat replied honestly. “Your cousin meant well. But you’re not available.”
He watched her walk down the hallway toward the elevator, heels echoing softly, and felt a familiar ache settle in his chest.
He unlocked his door and stepped inside, the quiet greeting him like an old friend.
Cat had been nice. Mike had been persistent. His mother would ask questions tomorrow.
But none of that mattered.
What mattered was the look on Sanaa’s face when she’d seen him.
Terry ran a hand over his face and exhaled slowly.
He hadn’t meant to hurt her.
He’d only agreed to the date because everyone else seemed to think he should be trying. Because being in love with a woman who was taken emotionally, practically, felt like a dead end sometimes.
He leaned against the counter, staring at the wall.
I’m not dating, he thought. I’m distracting myself.
And it hadn’t worked.
He pulled his phone out, thumb hovering over Sanaa’s name. He wanted to text her: to explain, to reassure her, to tell her Cat was nothing. That Mike had set it up. That it meant nothing.
But he stopped himself.
Sanaa didn’t owe him clarity. And he didn’t want to complicate her already heavy night.
Instead, he set his phone down and stared out the window, the Potomac faint in the distance.
“I’m not going to cross that line,” he murmured to himself.
But for the first time, he wondered if the line was already blurring on its own. And whether waiting, always waiting, was costing him more than he’d ever admitted.
Weeks had gone by since she had seen Terry. Sanaa was just trying to involve herself in all of her work and stop thinking about these men that are destroying her brain.
Her thumb stopped. A picture. It was one Alphonso had sent two nights earlier. It was a mirror selfie in a hotel room. He stood at an angle she recognized, tie loosened, jacket draped casually over one shoulder. She remembered smiling when it came through. Remembered telling him he looked good. Remembered not thinking much beyond that.
Now, standing alone in her office, she looked again.
At first, she didn’t see it. Her brain skimmed over the familiar details: the carpet, the lighting, his watch. Then her gaze drifted, just slightly, to the left edge of the mirror.
There.
A woman’s hand. Resting on the dresser. Casual. Comfortable.
Sanaa’s breath caught.
She leaned closer to the screen, her pulse quickening as she zoomed in. The image pixelated, but not enough to hide what mattered. The nails were neat, professionally done. French. The kind of manicure chosen by someone who didn’t need to be flashy to be expensive.
And on her ring finger
A diamond. Not subtle. Not ambiguous. A ring that announced itself. This was a big ass ring.
Sanaa felt something inside her chest go cold and tight all at once.
“No,” she whispered, though no one was there to hear it.
Her mind raced, scrambling for explanations. A coworker. A stylist. An old photo. Anything that didn’t require this truth to exist.
But the longer she stared, the quieter those excuses became.
That wasn’t a casual ring. That was an engagement ring.
The clinic door knocked softly. Leah’s voice floated in. “Dr. Freeman? Your next patient is ready.”
Sanaa locked her phone and slipped it into her pocket, her movements precise and controlled.
“I’ll be right there,” she said. And then she did what she had trained herself to do for years.
She compartmentalized.
She finished her consult. She smiled when appropriate. She spoke calmly, confidently, as if nothing had cracked open beneath her ribs. Mariah didn’t notice at first. No one did.
But by the time lunch rolled around, Sanaa felt hollow.
She didn’t eat. She could not eat.
That evening, she sat alone in her condo, city lights reflecting off the Potomac outside her windows. The room felt too quiet, like it was holding its breath. Her phone lay face down on the coffee table.
Finally, she picked it up.
She opened Instagram. She searched his name.
Private account.
Her stomach dropped.
He hadn’t always been private. On impulse, she typed his name again, his time adding the city he traveled to most frequently.
That’s when she found her.
The woman’s profile was public. Polished. Curated with care. Professional headshots mixed with candid smiles. Travel photos. Rooftop dinners. Champagne flutes raised against city skylines Sanaa recognized all too well.
Her heart thudded painfully as she scrolled.
There he was.
Alphonso’s arm around her waist. His hand was resting familiarly on her back. The same smile he used with Sanaa,the one that had once felt like it belonged to her alone.
Then she saw the post.
Three weeks old.
The woman’s hand rested against Alphonso’s chest, fingers splayed just enough to show the ring. The diamond caught the light perfectly.
Forever starts here. 💍
Sanaa exhaled slowly, her body going still. So this was it. Not a suspicion. Not a maybe.
A fiancé.
Her phone buzzed again. An unfamiliar number. She stared at it for a long moment before opening the message.
Unknown:
Hi. This is awkward, but I think we need to talk.
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
Sanaa:
Who is this?
There was a pause. Long enough to let dread bloom fully.
Unknown:
My name is Brielle. I’m engaged to Alphonso. I just found out about you.
The world didn’t end. It just… shifted.
Sanaa sat very still as tears welled and spilled over, sliding silently down her cheeks. Brielle’s messages were careful. Apologetic. Shocked in a way that felt genuine. They talked longer than Sanaa expected.
Dates overlapped. Cities matched. Excuses aligned too perfectly to ignore. There was no anger between them. Just shared devastation and a mutual understanding that they’d both been lied to.
When the conversation ended, Sanaa set her phone down and stared at the ceiling.
She felt foolish. She felt angry.
She felt grief for the version of herself who had believed in someone who never intended to fully choose her.
But beneath all of it, something else took shape.
Clarity.
By morning, her decision was made. She would end it.
On Valentine’s Day. Not with yelling. Not with pleading. With truth.
And this time, she would not protect him from the consequences of his choices. She would protect herself.
Sanaa was curled up on her couch when the knock came.
Not the sharp, impatient kind, just two steady taps. Familiar. Unassuming. She already knew.
She padded to the door in socks, pulling her cardigan tighter around herself as she opened it.
Terry stood there holding a large garment bag draped carefully over his arm, a shipping box tucked under the other. His hoodie dark, his expression softening the moment he saw her.
“Hey,” he said gently. “Your package came earlier. Looked important.”
She blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Oh, thank you.”
“Cute pj’s.” She looked down and remembered she was in her Hello Kitty pajama pants.
He stepped inside easily, like he always did, setting the box carefully on the console table. His hazel eyes lingered on her face a little longer than usual, shifting greener as his concern surfaced.
“You been okay?” he asked. “I haven’t really seen you around.”
Sanaa hesitated. “I’ve just been… laying low,” she said finally.
He nodded, accepting the answer without pushing, but not letting it go entirely.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Felt like that.”
She reached for the garment bag, fingers brushing the plastic. “It’s for Galentine’s. Dinner with Mariah and Leah.”
Terry smiled faintly. “Sounds like a good plan.”
She studied him for a second—noticed the way he stood just slightly angled toward her, open, present. And then the thought she’d been carrying since the hallway incident pressed forward.
“Can I ask you something?” she said.
“Always,” he replied.
She took a breath. “The other night… the woman you were with. Cat.”
His expression shifted immediately. Not defensive, just honest.
“My cousin, Mike set that up,” Terry said. “I wasn’t really feeling it.”
“Are you going to see her again?” Sanaa asked, her voice carefully neutral.
He met her eyes, steady. “No.”
The answer came without hesitation. She nodded, relief flickering before she could stop it. Then she looked down, embarrassed by how much that single word had mattered.
Terry shifted, hands sliding into his pockets. “Can I ask you something?”
She nodded.
“What’s been going on?” he asked quietly. “For real.”
The room felt suddenly smaller. Sanaa swallowed. “I found out Alphonso has a fiancée.”
The word landed heavy between them. Terry’s jaw tightened. Not with surprise, but with restrained anger. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice low. “That shouldn’t have happened to you.”
She nodded, blinking hard. “I’m ending it on Valentine’s Day.”
“If you need anything,” Terry said immediately. “Anything at all.”
She looked at him then, really looked at him. The steadiness. The care that never asked for repayment.
“Thank you,” she said softly. She hugged him softly, deeply breathing in his smell.
He nodded once, then glanced at the garment bag again, trying to lighten the air. “Well… whoever you’re showing out for, they’re in trouble.”
She laughed, the sound small but real. “I hope so.”
Terry moved toward the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. “I’m around,” he said again. “You know that.”
“I do,” she replied.
After he left, Sanaa stood alone in her living room, garment bag hanging from her arm, heart heavy but steadier than it had been in days.
For the first time since everything fell apart, she didn’t feel completely alone.
Sanaa woke before the alarm, the way she always did on days that mattered.
For a few seconds, she lay still, staring at the ceiling as pale winter light crept through the sheer curtains. The city outside was quiet, no horns, no sirens yet. Just the soft hum of a morning holding its breath.
Valentine’s Day.
She exhaled slowly, one hand resting on her stomach where nerves fluttered faintly. She hadn’t slept deeply. Her mind had kept looping back to the same truths she’d accepted days ago, turning them over until they felt solid enough to stand on.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
A message from the concierge.
Good morning, Dr. Freeman. You have a delivery at your door.
She closed her eyes briefly. Of course I do.
When she opened the door, the hallway was empty except for a small glass vase placed carefully on the mat. Six pink roses stood inside, perfectly trimmed, water-filled to the line. Polite. Thoughtful on paper. Impersonal in reality.
A white card leaned against the glass.
Happy Valentine’s Day. Miss you. – A
Sanaa stared at it for a long moment, feeling nothing. This was exactly what she’d expected.
She carried the vase inside and set it on the kitchen counter, the roses catching the light as if they were trying to be impressive. She leaned against the island and looked at them again, thinking of all the plans he’d canceled, all the moments she’d made excuses for.
This wasn’t love. It was maintenance.
She picked up her phone. She didn’t pace. She didn’t rehearse. She just pressed call.
Alphonso answered on the second ring. “Hey, baby. You get the flowers?”
“I did,” she said evenly. “Thank you.”
Relief slipped into his voice. “I’m glad. I know it’s not the same as being there, but—”
“I know about Brielle,” Sanaa said calmly.
Silence stretched across the line.
“I saw the ring in your photo,” she continued. “And she reached out to me herself.”
He inhaled sharply. “Sanaa, I can explain.”
“I’m sure you can,” she replied. “But I don’t need to hear it the bullshit.”
He started talking anyway. Justifications layered with apologies, words tumbling over each other as if speed might save him. Sanaa listened without interrupting, without rising emotion. When he finally stopped, she spoke again.
“I’m ending this,” she said. “Today. I’m blocking you after this call.”
“Sanaa—”
“No,” she said gently. “You don’t get to take up any more space in my life and I just told you that I did not want to hear the bullshit."
When the call ended, she blocked his number, then set the phone face down beside the roses.
For a moment, she just stood there.
Then she picked up the vase, poured the water into the sink, and placed the roses gently into the trash.
The shower felt like a reset.
The steam cleared her head, loosened the last of the tension she’d been carrying. When she stepped out, she felt lighter, raw, but free.
She slicked her hair back into a low, clean style. No fuss. No softness. Just intention. Her pink FIGS scrubs waited neatly folded on the bed. She slipped into them and smiled faintly at her reflection. Comfortable. Capable. Herself.
She laced up her matching Hokas and grabbed her tote.
At the clinic, the front desk was already buzzing.
“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Nia called as Sanaa walked in.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Sanaa replied, returning the smile.
She hadn’t even reached her office when the smell hit her.
Warm butter. Chicken. Fresh biscuits.
“Dr. Freeman?” Nia’s voice rose slightly. “You might want to come out front.” Sanaa rounded the corner and stopped.
Roses.
So many roses.
Tall arrangements lined the front desk. Long-stemmed red roses filled vases along the windows. Bouquets spilled onto side tables, lush and unapologetic, impossible to miss.
Two hundred of them.
Mariah stood frozen in the middle of the lobby, her mouth hanging open.
“Is this… a fire hazard?” Leah whispered.
A delivery man stepped forward and handed Sanaa a card.
Be ready tonight at 8:30. – T
Her chest tightened. Not with anxiety, but with something warm and steady.
Then she noticed the bags.
Chick-fil-A bags stacked neatly along the counter.
“For everyone,” Nia read aloud from the receipt. “Chicken biscuits, hash browns, and coffee.”
The clinic erupted.
Mariah turned slowly toward Sanaa. “So… are we canceling Galentine’s?”
Sanaa laughed, really laughed, for the first time in days. “Girl, Absolutely not.”
Mariah grinned. “Good. Because I already got my outfit together. I ain't been in the gym for no reason.”
As Sanaa moved through her morning, seeing patients, offering reassurance, existing fully, she felt something settle deep in her chest.
She wasn’t waiting anymore.
She was chosen.
And this Valentine’s Day, for the first time in a long while, felt exactly right.
By late morning, the clinic felt almost festive.
The roses had been rearranged into clusters
Mariah insisted the front desk deserved a “feature moment”, and patients couldn’t stop commenting. Someone snapped a photo. Another asked if they were running a Valentine’s promotion. The smell of warm Chick-fil-A biscuits lingered in the air long after breakfast was technically over.
Sanaa had just finished charting when she finally slipped into her office and closed the door.
She sat there for a moment, palms flat on her desk, breathing.
Then she picked up her phone. She didn’t overthink it. She just tapped his name. Terry answered on the first ring.
His face filled the screen, bright and open, hoodie slightly rumpled like he’d been pacing. His low taper fade was clean, his hazel eyes already shifting blue the second he saw her.
“Hey beautiful,” he said, smiling wide. “You survived the rose invasion?”
She laughed, the sound warm and easy. “Barely. You shut down productivity for at least an hour.”
“Worth it,” he said immediately. “You okay?”
“I am,” she replied. “I really am.”
That seemed to ease something in him. He leaned back against his couch, but the smile didn’t fade.
“I wanted to say thank you,” she continued. “For the flowers. For breakfast. I wasn’t expecting… all of this.”
“I know,” Terry said softly. “That was the point.”
She studied his face, the way he didn’t rush his words, the way he stayed right there with her.
“I broke up with Alphonso this morning,” she said.
His smile softened, pride flickering across his expression. “I figured today would be heavy for you. I wanted it to be lighter too.”
“It is,” she said honestly. “I feel… free.”
“That makes me really happy to hear,” he replied. “I’ve been waiting to do this. To take you out without holding back. Without wondering if I was crossing a line.”
Her chest tightened at that. “You weren’t crossing one,” she said gently. “You were respecting one.”
He nodded. “Exactly. But now?” He smiled again, a little boyish this time. “Now I get to be excited.”
She laughed. “You are excited.”
“Very,” Terry admitted. “I’ve had this planned for weeks. I was just waiting for you to be ready.”
Something warm bloomed in her chest. “I’m ready.”
They sat in silence for a second, just smiling at each other through the screen.
“I do need to tell you something,” she added.
“What’s up?”
“I had Galentine’s planned tonight with Mariah and Leah.”
Terry chuckled. “I figured. I wasn’t trying to steal you.”
“Well,” she said, smiling, “I might be canceling.”
His eyebrows lifted. “You sure?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “I want to go out with you.”
The grin that spread across his face was impossible to miss. His eyes brightened, green deepening as he laughed softly.
“Okay,” he said. “Then I’ll see you at 8:30. Don’t be late.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?”
“Absolutely,” he said, playful now. “I’m very serious about this date.”
"Oh, you must have known I was gonna say yes."
When the call ended, Sanaa sat back in her chair, heart full in a way that felt new and steady all at once.
She stepped out of her office to find Mariah and Leah huddled near the break area, whispering dramatically.
“You were smiling,” Mariah said. “That’s never good for us.”
Sanaa laughed. “Okay, don’t be mad.”
Leah gasped. “You’re canceling.”
“I am,” Sanaa admitted. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
Mariah sighed, then smiled. “Go. Let that man treat you right.”
Leah nodded enthusiastically. “And text us everything.”
Sanaa grinned. “Deal.”
As she walked back toward her office, she glanced once more at the roses filling the clinic. Grand, deliberate, and undeniable.
If he wanted to, he would.
And Terry?
Terry already had.
Sanaa hadn’t realized how much she missed dressing up until she was doing it. The condo was softly lit, lamps casting a warm glow across her bedroom as she stood in front of the mirror in her robe, hair still damp from the shower. The city outside her windows glittered faintly, the Potomac dark and steady in the distance. Tonight felt different. Not rushed, not anxious. Just… exciting.
She moved slowly, deliberately.
Her makeup was simple, intentional. A sheer, glowing base. Soft contour. A hint of blush high on her cheeks. Neutral shadow brushed across her lids with just enough shimmer to catch the light when she blinked. Mascara. A glossy nude lip.
Nothing heavy. Nothing dramatic. Just her, polished.
She slicked her hair back again, smoothing every strand until it obeyed, then twisted it into a clean bun at the back of her head. The style exposed her face, her neck, the quiet confidence she’d earned. She tilted her head slightly, inspecting her reflection.
“You look happy,” she said softly.
The dress waited for her on the bed. Fire red.
She stepped into it carefully, pulling it up over her hips, sliding her arms into the long sleeves. The fabric hugged her like it had been made with her in mind, structured but forgiving, bold without trying too hard. The heart-shaped cutout framed her perfectly, feminine and strong at the same time.
She turned side to side, smoothing the fabric, adjusting the hem.
This wasn’t for anyone else. This was for her. She slipped into her Loubi Queen Alta heels, the familiar red soles flashing briefly as she took a few steps across the room. They clicked softly against the floor, grounding her, reminding her that tonight was real.
She smiled to herself. Halfway through reaching for her clutch, a knock sounded at the door.
“Terry,” she called, already knowing.
Another knock, softer this time. “I know you’re not done,” he said through the door, amusement in his voice. “But I was downstairs already.”
She opened it just enough to peek out, one hand braced against the doorframe. Terry stood there in a tailored coat, hair fresh, eyes bright when he saw her, even unfinished, robe still open at the collar.
“Don’t look yet,” she warned.
He lifted his hands in surrender, smiling. “I’ll behave.”
She stepped back and let him in. “I need like… ten more minutes.”
“I can wait,” he said easily, moving into her living room like it was second nature.
She disappeared back into her bedroom, finishing up, grabbing her clutch, checking her earrings, taking one last look in the mirror, when she heard him clear his throat loudly.
“Sanaa,” he called. “You might want to come out here.”
She frowned and stepped into the living room and stopped short.
Terry stood by the coffee table holding a bouquet of fifty pink roses, lush and full, wrapped neatly in soft paper. The color was gentle but intentional. Romantic without being overwhelming.
“Oh my God,” she breathed. “Terry, you did not have to do this.”
“I know,” he said, suddenly a little shy. “But I wanted you to have these before we left.”
He set them down and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a small Sephora bag.
“You mentioned it once. Months ago.”
She blinked. “What is—”
“Open it.”
She did.
Yum Boujee Marshmallow.
Her eyes widened. “I literally mentioned this one time.”
He shrugged, smiling. “I pay attention.”
Something warm and unmistakable settled in her chest.
She met his eyes then, really met them, and for a moment neither of them spoke.
“You ready now?” he asked quietly.
She smiled, cheeks warm. “Yeah. I am.”
She grabbed her clutch, slipped into her heels fully, and turned off the lights as they headed toward the door.
Tonight wasn’t about catching up.
It wasn’t about healing.
The street lights flickered softly as Terry unlocked the Porsche Taycan, the sleek silhouette of it gleaming like it had been polished just for tonight. He opened the passenger door for her without hesitation, one hand resting lightly on the frame as Sanaa slipped inside, the red soles of her Loubi Queen Altas flashing briefly under the dim light.
“You look…” He stopped himself, laughing softly. “I’m going to say that sentence wrong if I keep going.”
She smiled, warmth blooming in her chest. “You can finish it later.”
He closed the door gently and rounded the car, sliding into the driver’s seat. The interior lit up with a soft glow as the car hummed to life. Quiet, smooth, powerful. Terry adjusted his jacket, took a breath, then glanced at her like he couldn’t quite believe this was real.
“You okay?” she asked, noticing the way his hands rested on the steering wheel just a second longer than necessary.
“I’m more than okay,” he said honestly. “I’m excited. Like… ridiculous levels of excited.”
She laughed. “You’re allowed to be.”
They pulled out of his parking spot and into the night, the city stretching open in front of them. Streetlights reflected off the windshield, the Taycan gliding through DC with effortless ease.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Terry cleared his throat.
“Can I tell you something?” he asked.
She turned slightly toward him. “Always.”
He nodded, eyes still on the road. “I wanted to ask you out when we were in college.”
Her breath caught.
“At Howard,” he continued. “I used to walk you back to your dorm and think, this is it. This is the moment. And every time, I’d stop myself.”
“Why?” she asked softly.
“Because you deserved certainty,” he said. “And I didn’t have my life figured out yet. And then life kept moving. You dated. I left. We circled back. And somehow… you were still you.”
“I’ve been in love with you a long time,” Terry said quietly. “I just didn’t want to love you in a way that took from you.”
She reached over then, her hand resting gently on his thigh.
The contact was simple. Grounding.
His breath hitched almost imperceptibly.
“I wanted this,” she said. “I wanted you to say it.”
He glanced at her, eyes shining, then back to the road. “I know. And I’m not scared to say it anymore.”
She smiled, fingers curling slightly against his leg, feeling the steadiness there. This wasn’t nervous energy. It was excitement layered with safety.
The car moved smoothly through the city, the hum of the engine underscoring something new and certain unfolding between them.
This was what she’d wanted all along.
Not longing.
He looked over at Sanaa, taking her in fully now, the fire-red dress against her brown skin, her hair slicked into a perfect bun, the quiet confidence in the way she sat like she belonged everywhere she chose to be.
“You ready?” he asked, smiling like he already knew the answer.
She nodded, excitement lighting her eyes. “Very.”
He stepped out first, moving around the car to open her door. When she took his hand to step onto the pavement, the contact felt natural, like something they’d been doing for years but had only just named.
As they walked toward the entrance, Terry’s hand settled lightly at the small of her back. Not possessive. Protective. Present.
Inside, the host smiled warmly. “Good evening. Reservation?”
“Terry Richmond,” he said easily.
The host glanced at the list, then up again with a knowing smile. “Right this way.”
They were led through the dining room, past candlelit tables, couples leaning in close, the low clink of glasses punctuating the air. A few heads turned. Not because they were loud, but because they were noticeable.
Sanaa felt it then.
Not nerves.
Confidence.
She wasn’t being sized up or compared. She wasn’t wondering if she was enough.
She already knew she was.
Their table was tucked into a corner near the window, city lights spilling in softly, candles already lit. Terry pulled her chair out without thinking, watching her sit before taking his place across from her.
For a moment, they just looked at each other.
“I’m really glad we’re here,” Terry said quietly.
“So am I,” she replied. “It feels… right.”
He smiled, eyes warm, hazel deepening into a bluish green. “That’s because it is.”
A server approached, offering champagne. Terry glanced at Sanaa.
“Yes,” she said, laughing softly. “Definitely yes.”
As the glasses were poured and the night officially began, Sanaa leaned back slightly in her chair, heart full and steady.
She wasn’t waiting anymore.
Dinner arrived slowly, deliberately, like the restaurant understood this wasn’t a night meant to be rushed.
The table filled with warmth and color, small plates arranged just so, steam curling gently from the dishes. Terry leaned back slightly, giving Sanaa a moment to take it all in, watching the way her eyes lit up with appreciation.
“You picked well,” she said, smiling. “I love places that let you actually talk.”
“That was intentional,” he replied. “I wanted to hear you.”
She glanced up at him then, something soft and grateful settling behind her eyes.
They shared bites across the table without hesitation, him offering her a forkful, her nudging a plate closer his way. It felt natural, like they’d been doing this forever, not like two people navigating something new.
“So,” Terry said casually, “what’s something you’ve always wanted to do but never made time for?”
She thought for a moment. “Travel without an agenda. No conferences. No work. Just… going.”
“I can make that happen,” he said lightly.
She laughed. “You’re confident.”
“I’m prepared,” he corrected.
They talked about everything and nothing, her family, Howard memories, his cousin Mike’s inability to mind his business. She told him about Mariah and Leah, about building her clinic from scratch. He listened the way he always had, fully, without distraction.
“You really love what you do,” he said at one point.
“I do,” she admitted. “It’s mine.”
“And you don’t need anyone else to validate that,” he added.
She met his gaze, recognizing the difference between admiration and insecurity. “Thank you.”
As dessert menus appeared, Terry reached across the table, his hand brushing hers. Not urgent. Just present.
“I want to be clear about something,” he said softly. “I’m not here to replace anything. I’m here to build something new, with you, at your pace.”
She smiled, fingers curling slightly against his. “That’s exactly what I want.”
The check came and Terry gave his Black Amex immediately.
They weren’t ready to end the night.
The night air was cool when they stepped out of the restaurant, the city glowing softly around them. Sanaa pulled her coat closer around her shoulders as Terry guided her toward the valet stand, his hand warm and steady at the small of her back.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
She nodded, smiling to herself. “More than okay.”
The valet brought the Porsche Taycan around, its sleek lines catching the streetlight as Terry thanked him and opened the passenger door for her. She slid inside, smoothing her dress, the scent of mixture of vanilla, marshmallow, and amber-like cologne lingering sweetly in the air.
As Terry got in and the car hummed to life, neither of them rushed to speak. The quiet felt earned, comfortable in the way only came when two people were in sync.
He pulled away from the curb smoothly, the city stretching out before them.
“That was really nice,” Sanaa said finally.
Terry smiled, glancing at her for a brief second before returning his eyes to the road. “I’ve been imagining that night for a long time.”
She laughed softly. “You’re not subtle.”
“I don’t want to be,” he said. “Not with you.”
They drove in companionable silence for a few moments, music low, lights flickering past. Sanaa rested her elbow on the armrest, turning slightly toward him.
“You know,” she said, thoughtful, “this feels easy.”
“That’s because it is,” he replied. “We’re not performing. We’re just… here.”
She nodded. “I like that.”
As they neared her condo, she reached over and placed her hand on his again, familiar now, grounding. He didn’t startle. Just smiled, his thumb brushing lightly against her fingers.
When they pulled into his parking spot, Terry parked and turned off the engine, but neither of them moved right away.
The moment lingered.
“I’m glad you let me have tonight,” he said softly.
She met his gaze, heart full. “I’m glad I stopped waiting.”
He smiled at that, slow, certain.
“Me too.”
They stepped out of the car together, the night wrapping around them like a promise as they headed back toward her condo, unrushed, unafraid, and exactly where they were meant to be.
Sanaa slowed as they reached hers, her heart beginning to thrum in her chest, not fast, but heavy. Full. She turned toward him, the roses cradled between them now like a pause.
Terry stopped too.
Up close, she noticed everything, the way his jacket fit across his shoulders, the faint line between his brows like he was concentrating on holding himself together. His hazel eyes met hers, green deepening as they lingered on her mouth, her face, the curve of her neck exposed by the bun.
“I had a really good time tonight,” he said quietly.
“So did I,” she replied, her voice softer than she intended.
The silence that followed felt intentional, like both of them were standing at the edge of something and refusing to rush it.
Terry lifted his hand slowly, deliberately, giving her time. His fingers brushed the outside of her arm, light at first, sending a shiver up her spine. When she didn’t pull away, his touch lingered, warm, steady, reverent.
“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” he admitted, his voice lower now. “But I wanted it to be right.”
Her breath hitched, not from nerves, but from recognition.
“It is,” she said.
He leaned in, not immediately. Not all the way. His forehead rested against hers first, the contact intimate enough to make her chest tighten. She could feel his breath, slow and warm, mingling with her own. The world narrowed to this small space between them.
When his lips finally met hers, the kiss was unhurried.
Soft at first, almost a question.
Sanaa answered by leaning in, her free hand lifting instinctively to rest against his chest. She felt the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm, grounding and strong. The kiss deepened just enough to make her toes curl inside her heels, his mouth warm and sure against hers.
There was nothing rushed about it.
Just want.
Just relief.
Terry’s hand slid to her waist, fingers resting there with intention, not possession. The warmth of his touch seeped through the fabric of her dress, anchoring her in the moment. She sighed softly into the kiss, and he responded, not by taking more, but by holding her closer.
When they finally pulled back, her lips tingled, her breath shallow. His forehead rested against hers again, both of them smiling slightly, like they’d unlocked something precious.
“That,” he murmured, voice rough with emotion, “was worth every second of waiting.”
She laughed quietly, still close enough to feel him. “It really was.”
She reached for her keys, fingers trembling just a little now, and unlocked the door. Before stepping inside, she turned back to him.
“Do you want to come in?” she asked, gentle, unpressured.
Terry’s smile was slow, full, restrained in the best way. “I do.”
As she opened the door and stepped aside, Sanaa felt something settle deep in her chest.
Not longing.
Not uncertainty.
But peace, warm and electric all at once.
And as they crossed the threshold together, she knew this wasn’t just a kiss.
The door closed softly behind them, the quiet settling in like a held breath.
Sanaa leaned back against it for just a moment, bouquet still in her hand, heart beating steadily but deep. Terry stood a few feet away, taking in the space, the warm lighting, the faint city glow spilling through the windows, the way the condo felt unmistakably her.
“You okay?” he asked gently.
She nodded, smiling. “More than okay.”
She set the roses down on the console table, slipping out of her heels slowly, deliberately. Terry watched, not hungrily, but appreciatively, like every movement mattered. When she straightened, she found him closer now, close enough that the air between them felt warm again.
“I like your place,” he said. “It feels… peaceful.”
“It is,” she replied. “Especially tonight.”
He reached for her then, his hand settling at her waist again, familiar now, grounding. She rested her palms against his chest, feeling the solidness of him, the way his breath changed slightly under her touch.
They kissed again. This one was deeper, still unhurried, but fuller. Terry’s mouth moved against hers with confidence born from patience, not urgency. Sanaa tilted into him, her body responding instinctively, the earlier restraint melting into something softer, more trusting. His hand slid up her back, fingers splaying gently between her shoulder blades, pulling her closer without trapping her there. She sighed quietly, the sound swallowed by his mouth, and felt his lips curve into a smile against hers.
“You feel like this has been waiting,” she murmured when they broke apart briefly.
“It has,” he admitted, resting his forehead against hers again. “I just didn’t want to rush it.”
She traced the line of his jaw with her fingertips, slow and exploratory. “I like that about you.”
He exhaled softly, eyes closing for a second at the touch. When he opened them again, the look in them was warm, reverent—like he couldn’t quite believe this moment was finally his.
They moved deeper into the condo together, not rushing, not separating, just drifting toward the couch like gravity had decided for them. Terry sat first, then gently guided her onto his lap, one arm secure around her waist, the other resting lightly at her thigh.
There was no urgency. Just closeness.
Sanaa rested her head against his shoulder, listening to his heartbeat, letting the calm wash over her. This wasn’t about proving anything. It wasn’t about filling a void. It was about being held.
Terry pressed a kiss to her temple, then her cheek, then lingered at the corner of her mouth. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he said quietly.
She smiled against his skin. “I think I do.”
She shifted slightly, their foreheads touching again, noses brushing. The kiss they shared this time was softer, slower—like a promise instead of a question.
When they finally leaned back, still wrapped in each other, Sanaa felt something settle fully in her chest.
Not anticipation. Not longing. But certainty.
Terry’s hands slid from her waist to her hips, firmer now, no longer tentative. The look in his eyes changed, heat replacing restraint, and Sanaa felt it everywhere.
Terry’s hands slid to the zipper of her dress, slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving hers. He paused, fingers resting there, asking without asking.
Sanaa nodded.
The fabric slipped down her body and pooled at her feet, leaving her in black lace. Terry’s gaze followed every inch of her as if he were committing her to memory, his jaw tightening, his tongue dragging slowly across his bottom lip.
“Fuck,” he breathed.
His hands settled at her hips, thumbs brushing the delicate edge of her lace thong. “Is this okay?”
She nodded again, breath already unsteady.
“I need words, babygirl,” he said softly, firmly. “Tell me.”
“Yes, T. This is okay.”
That was all he needed.
He peeled the lace down inch by inch, unhurried, eyes never leaving her face as he guided her back onto the couch. She felt suddenly exposed under his attention, heat crawling up her chest as he sank to his knees in front of her.
“Spread your legs for me,” he murmured.
She obeyed.
Terry pushed her thighs apart gently and leaned in, his mouth tracing a slow path across her stomach before drifting lower. His lips brushed the inside of her thigh, then the other, teasing, tasting, until her fingers clenched into the cushions beneath her.
His fingers slid between her legs, testing, parting her slowly.
“Soaked,” he muttered, satisfaction heavy in his voice.
Sanaa flinched as a moan broke free. “Please, T. I need it.”
He hummed low in his throat, then his tongue found her.
One slow, deliberate stroke through her folds made her cry out. Then his mouth closed over her clit, sucking hard, his tongue working with practiced precision. Every movement was intentional, measured, devastating.
“Oh my god! Terry,” she gasped, her hips lifting helplessly.
His fingers slid inside her, curling, finding that spot with infuriating ease. “That’s it,” he murmured against her. “You feel so fucking good.”
Her legs shook as his pace changed, tongue relentless, fingers pumping slow and deep, his thumb circling her clit just enough to keep her right on the edge.
“Look at you,” he said, voice rough. “So pretty for me. You gonna cum, baby?”
“Yes,” she whimpered. “Please, don’t stop.”
He didn’t.
His fingers drove into her harder now, faster, his thumb flicking with ruthless precision. The pressure built too quickly, too intensely, until her body betrayed her completely.
She screamed as it hit. Her entire body locking, thighs clamping around his arm as pleasure tore through her.
And then, she soaked him.
Terry cursed under his breath, gripping her thigh as she trembled through it, his hand and forearm slick, the couch beneath them ruined. He pulled his fingers free slowly, watching her with dark, hungry eyes.
“Fuck,” he said quietly. “You did so good for me.”
Before she could catch her breath, he brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean with a low moan. Sanaa watched, dazed, heat pooling all over again as he licked every trace of her from his skin.
He leaned up and kissed her deep, messy letting her taste herself on his tongue.
"I have too many clothes on,” he murmured.
Sanaa didn’t answer with words. She stood and reached for him, fingers working quickly at the buttons of his shirt, her hands roaming over his chest like she couldn’t help herself. She dragged her palms down his stomach, feeling the muscle tense beneath her touch as she fumbled with his belt.
“Can we go upstairs?” she asked, breathless.
He didn’t hesitate.
In one smooth motion, Terry lifted her, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he carried her up the stairs. Her laughter dissolved into a gasp when he laid her back on the bed, hovering over her as if the sight alone had knocked the air from his lungs.
He looked at her like he was memorizing her.
Like this mattered.
The rest of their clothes disappeared somewhere between his mouth and his hands, the room filling with soft sounds and broken breaths. Terry’s fingers dragged through her slick folds, slow and deliberate.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “You’re dripping for me.”
“Please, T,” she begged.
He slid himself between her thighs, teasing her with just the head, drawing it through her wetness without giving her what she needed.
“I don’t know if I want to ruin this perfect little pussy just yet,” he said, voice thick. “God, baby… how long have you been thinking about this?”
“A long time,” she admitted, hips lifting helplessly. “I need it. Please.”
Terry groaned, the sound vibrating through her.
Then he pushed inside her in one deep, steady thrust.
Sanaa cried out, hands flying to his back. “It’s so big.”
He stilled instantly, eyes searching her face. “You okay?”
She nodded, breath shaking. “Don’t stop.”
He rolled his hips slowly then, deep and controlled, letting her adjust, letting the moment stretch. It wasn’t frantic—it was intimate, consuming. Their eyes stayed locked as he moved, every thrust deliberate, every reaction mirrored.
When she arched, he followed, kissing her through her moans, grounding her as pleasure built again—slow, relentless, impossible to ignore.
“You gonna cum on this dick, baby?” he murmured.
She nodded, already unraveling.
“Nah,” he said softly, fingers finding her clit. “I need words.”
“Yes,” she gasped. “Please don’t stop.”
His thumb moved harder, faster, his pace never faltering as her body tightened around him. She screamed as it tore through her again, pleasure ripping out of her in waves, soaking him as she shook beneath him.
“Fuck,” Terry groaned, chasing his own release, driving into her through it before pulling out and spilling across her stomach.
The quiet that followed wasn’t fragile.
It didn’t feel like something that might break if either of them spoke.
It felt earned.
Sanaa lay sprawled across the bed, limbs heavy and loose, her body humming with that deep, pleasant exhaustion that settled in only after everything had finally slowed down. The kind of tired that felt good.
Her skin still buzzed faintly, like the echo of something powerful moving through her, and every breath felt deeper than the last.
She stared at the ceiling for a moment, blinking slowly, then let out a long sigh.
“Wow,” she murmured.
Terry moved closer then, careful and unhurried, checking her face, her breathing, the way her body responded when he touched her. He cleaned her with patient hands, every movement gentle, grounding, not clinical, not detached. Just attentive.
“You okay?” he asked again, softer this time.
She nodded. “I feel… really calm.”
“Good,” he said. “That’s what I was hoping for.”
When he was done, he climbed onto the bed beside her and pulled her easily into his chest. Sanaa melted into him without thinking, resting her cheek against his skin, her leg draping naturally over his thigh.
His arm wrapped around her, solid and warm, hand splayed across her back. He rubbed slow, steady circles there, not absentmindedly, but intentionally, like he was anchoring her right where she was.
She listened to his heartbeat, strong and unhurried, and felt her own slowly fall into rhythm with it.
“This part,” she murmured, voice already drifting, “might be my favorite.”
He chuckled quietly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Everything feels… settled.”
He tightened his arm just slightly. “I like hearing that.”
They stayed like that for a while, the room dim and still around them. The city outside hummed faintly, distant and irrelevant, like it belonged to another version of the world entirely.
Eventually, Sanaa shifted and glanced around the room.
Her eyes landed on the bed.
She sighed.
Terry felt it immediately. “What’s wrong?”
She pointed weakly. “The sheets.”
He followed her gaze and laughed under his breath. “Damn.”
“Yeah,” she said. “That’s… not subtle.”
“You did warn me,” he admitted.
She tilted her head to look up at him, lips twitching. “You did say you were changing them.”
“I did,” he said. “And I meant it.”
“Because,” she added, very seriously, “I’m absolutely not sleeping on that.”
He snorted. “Fair.”
He carefully eased her into a seated position against the headboard, adjusting pillows behind her back until she was comfortable.
“Stay,” she said sleepily.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he replied, then stood up.
Sanaa watched with amusement as he stripped the bed, shaking his head slightly like he couldn’t quite believe himself.
“You know,” she said, “this is definitely not how I imagined my night ending.”
“Me neither,” he replied, bundling the sheets up. “But here we are.”
She smiled. “You look very… responsible.”
“Don’t spread that rumor,” he said. “I have a reputation.”
Fresh sheets went on. Cool, clean, and crisp. When he finished, Terry climbed back into bed and immediately pulled her back into his arms, reclaiming her place like it was instinct.
Sanaa sighed contentedly as the cool fabric met her warm skin. “Oh wow. That’s nice.”
“Told you,” he said.
She tucked her face into the hollow beneath his collarbone, breathing him in. His hand resumed its slow path along her back, thumb brushing rhythmically, steady as a metronome.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“For what?”
“For staying,” she replied. “For checking in. For… all of this.”
His arm tightened just a bit. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“I know,” she said. “Still wanted to.”
They lay there, wrapped around each other, the intensity of the night diffusing into something softer and steadier. Not less meaningful, just different. Like the sharp edge had dulled into something warm and solid. After a while, she murmured, half-asleep, “You staying the night?”
He didn’t even pause. “Yeah.”
That single word settled deep in her chest.
She smiled, eyes finally closing. “Good.”
As her breathing evened out and her body fully relaxed against his, Terry pressed a light kiss to her hair and held her just a little closer.
And for the first time in a long while, Sanaa didn’t feel the need to replay the night or analyze what it meant.
She was already safe in the after. Because if he wanted to, he would.
