The Anatomy of Wanting Him

For eleven years, I’ve built my life on precision.

To the world, I am Dr. Patricia Gillian Sta. Ana—a woman with a collection of degrees from Paris and a pedigree of generational wealth. They call it privilege. I call it a debt I’ve paid in full. I traded my adolescence for discipline, proving to my parents that I could survive their world: where nothing is given, only earned.

I never wanted to be like them. As a child, I couldn't just ask for affection; I had to present perfect scores and immaculate behavior to prove I was worthy of it.

Then came Jason.

With him, the control unraveled. I became reckless. Improper. It was the first time I felt the thrill of a mistake—dancing barefoot in the rain, laughing too loud, living without a calculator in my hand. I even built something real: a daughter. A life that wasn't a performance.

But love is a liar.

When Jason betrayed me, the walls went back up. I reset. Now, the performance is back. I have to excel. I have to win. Everyone is a rival, and I cannot afford to lose. Except with my daughter. She is the only place where I don’t have to pretend.

And then there’s Severino Haynes.

He’s a distraction—a man who drifts through life without consequences. If I let him in, he’ll wreck everything I’ve rebuilt. I’ve already dismissed him, and that should be the end of it. Charity will have to understand.

When I get home, Charity is already asleep. I’m exhausted. This is exactly why I don't let men in; Severino managed to give me a headache within an hour of being hired.

I drop onto the edge of my bed and press my fingers to my temples. In the mirror, my blonde bob is a mess and my cheeks are flushed for no reason. I look unpolished. I hate it.

After a quick shower, I slide into a sheer white satin nightgown. It’s short, barely hitting my thighs, offering a glimpse of the lace and pearls underneath. I adjust the ring light until the glow is soft and expensive, then position the camera. My face stays out of frame. In this room, I control what is seen.

I reach for the seven-inch transparent toy I recently bought. I click the button on the base, skipping the lower settings until the vibration hums at its peak.

The intensity makes my jaw drop. I press the head against my palm, watching the light catch the lubricant as it slicks the surface. I catch my reflection in the lens. I look incredible. There's no point in being modest about it.

I hit *record*.

I trail the humming device across my chest, sitting cross-legged. My free hand, encased in a sleek glove, kneads my breasts until my nipples are hard. I tilt my head back, spreading my legs for the lens, momentarily lost before checking the framing. The angle has to be perfect.

In one smooth motion, I bury the toy deep. A sharp moan escapes me. My right hand scrambles for the headboard as the stretch overwhelms me. I can’t tell if it’s actually that large or if I’ve just been alone for too long.

"Ahh, shit..."

I pick up the pace. The friction creates a heat that sends sweat rolling down my cleavage, my skin shimmering under the amber lights.

*I'll be on top of you, probably in this car, and I'm clenching inside your pretty little cunt.*

"Ahh!"

The memory of his voice hits like a physical strike. My body jolts in a violent tremor. The vibrator slips from my hand as I writhe against the sheets, my legs kicking out until I hear the tripod topple over. I don't care about the gear or the footage. The orgasm is all that exists.

Although a single voice cuts through my mind, shattering the room.