Chapter 3

Zoe’s cheeks flushed a soft pink as she slid the box across the counter. Her fingers hesitated for a fraction of a second — just long enough for the store clerk to glance down and then back up with a knowing smirk.

She’d spent the last three hours carefully shopping for her husband Barry’s birthday. His favourite cut of steak, a bottle of bold red wine, even a sleek new Polaroid camera for his growing obsession with nostalgia. It was shaping up to be the perfect evening.

But the better part of her time had been spent choosing something far less traditional — a new dress, tight, short, and deliberately provocative. Designed not for comfort, but to tease. To make him look at her the way he used to. To ignite something. And under it, she’d picked out an exquisite set of lingerie from the most exclusive boutique in the mall — all delicate lace, fine straps, and sinful intent.

Still, none of that made her as self-conscious as this last purchase.

This shop was nothing like the high-end lingerie store. Dimmer lighting, brighter colours, walls packed with silicone promises and latex sins. A place Barry Monroe had joked about for years — always with a boyish grin, always met with Zoe’s eye-roll and a quick change of subject.

He’d only ever had two real fantasies. One was to take explicit, seductive photos of his wife — he called it capturing her “stripper’s body,” though she always pretended to scoff at the idea. The other was to use a toy on her, something she’d consistently laughed off as ridiculous or unnecessary.

And yet ... here she was.

She couldn’t explain why she’d changed her mind now, after all these years of brushing it off. But she did know that something had shifted in her. Something had been slowly smouldering to life over the past week. She’d never felt this restless, this sexually alert. Not since her twenties. Maybe not ever.

“It’s a joke present ... for my friend’s bridal shower,” she blurted out, far too quickly, when the clerk gave her a raised brow and a cheeky little smirk.

The woman didn’t miss a beat. “That’s what they all say.”

Zoe narrowed her eyes, but said nothing. She simply handed over her card with a quiet huff, her face still warm.

As the bag was passed to her, she held it close — the weight of it oddly exciting, like a secret pressed tight to her chest.

Barry is in for one hell of a surprise, she thought, her lips curving into a sly, private smile.

Because while this birthday was meant to indulge his fantasies...

She was starting to wonder just how far she might go to explore hers.

Saturday

“I can’t believe you bought us tickets to the game! What a great present, dear!” Barry beamed as he stepped into the hallway, already in his team’s jersey, brimming with boyish excitement.

Zoe smiled at him from the doorway of her home office, her tone light. “I just need twenty minutes. There’s something work-related I’ve got to take care of first.”

She closed the door gently and returned to her desk, the glow of her computer screen illuminating the thoughtful crease in her brow.

Logging onto JustDoctors, the private medical forum she’d used since residency, felt almost like muscle memory. Only verified medical professionals were allowed access, which made it a haven for true consultation and learning — no trolls, no distractions. It had always been a place of logic and professionalism.

And yet, today, as she sat there crafting her post, Zoe felt something entirely different curling in her stomach.

She typed carefully, describing her patient’s symptoms — testicular discomfort, persistent ache, and general difficulty due to the weight and fullness. She referenced the patient’s desire for long-term solutions. Only in passing did she mention the cause: extremely large genitalia, with a nod to the patient’s inquiry about reduction options.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she re-read the message. It sounded professional, clinical. But part of her still felt ridiculous, uncertain how others would interpret it. Would someone take her seriously? Would anyone have experience with a man like Nate?

She hit Send.

And for a moment, she just sat there.

There was a strange satisfaction in knowing this wasn’t just some idle curiosity anymore. She was acting as a doctor. Seeking help for a patient in need. But the image of his heavy cock in her hand—dark, thick, impossible to fully grip—lingered at the back of her mind like a stubborn echo.

She shut the laptop and stood, smoothing her skirt down over her thighs.

“All right, birthday boy,” she called out, grabbing her purse and forcing a smile to her lips. “Let’s go watch some ball!”

Zoe had never been a football fan. She knew enough to nod along with Barry’s commentary, but it had always felt like men chasing a ball and colliding dramatically.

Still, she clapped along politely when their local University team scored a pair of quick touchdowns. The quarterback launched perfect spirals down the field, and the crowd exploded with cheers.

It’s just pass and catch, she thought, watching impassively.

But then the defence came out.

Her eyes tracked the players as they lined up — jerseys stretched over thick, rippling muscle, gloved hands resting on broad thighs.

And there, in the middle of the defensive line, was Number 99.

Nate Jones.

His body was coiled like a panther, powerful and precise. And even with his helmet on, she knew it was him.

The sight of him sent a flutter through her stomach — not nerves, but heat. Her heart beat faster, her breath shallowed just slightly. She felt it.

That low, unmistakable thrum of arousal.

The crowd roared again as Nate bulldozed through the line, swallowing the quarterback in one clean, brutal hit.

Zoe jumped to her feet with the rest of them, hands clapping before her mind caught up with her body.

She wasn’t cheering for the game. Not really. She was cheering for him.

“That’s Nate. Number 52,” Barry said, pointing excitedly toward the field. “See him? Right in the middle...”

“I see him,” Zoe cut in quickly.

The truth was, she’d been watching him all game. From the very moment he stormed onto the field like he owned it — helmet under one arm, muscles flexing beneath his tight jersey, that unmistakable swagger in his stride — she hadn’t taken her eyes off him.

She noticed him when he stood on the sideline during the first touchdown, focused and still, like a predator waiting to be let off the leash. She noticed the way he moved when the defense took the field, barking out play calls with authority, commanding his teammates like a general.

But mostly, she noticed how the game changed when he was on the field.

There were plenty of strong, athletic men out there. But Nate was something else. Bigger. Sharper. More explosive.

And when the whistle blew, there was simply no stopping him.

He tore through the offensive line like paper, sacked the quarterback over and over again with brutal precision, crushed running backs in their tracks, and even leapt to deflect passes. He forced fumbles like it was a habit. And when he snagged an interception and ran it back for a touchdown — Zoe was on her feet before she realised it, hands clapping, lips parting with a cry.

“Defense! Defense!” she chanted along with the rest of the crowd.
“Go Nate!” she called out more than once.
“Great play, Nate!”

Barry smiled beside her, oblivious to the way her eyes clung to the way Nate’s powerful thighs flexed beneath his tight white football pants. Oblivious to how her tongue flicked across her bottom lip without her realising.

“That kid’s a stud,” Barry said after yet another dominant play. “He’s just ... so much bigger and more dominant than the rest of them.”

Zoe swallowed thickly. Her gaze never left Nate’s broad back as he returned to the huddle.

“Tell me about it,” she said under her breath, her voice laced with something Barry wouldn’t recognise.

It wasn’t just admiration anymore. It was instinctual.

There was something raw and primal in the way Nate played — the way he owned the field, crushed his rivals, and drew roars from the crowd. Zoe could feel it pulsing between her thighs now, a low throb that had nothing to do with football and everything to do with biology.

It was animalistic.

The dominant male had displayed his power. He’d bested his competition, claimed his space, left no question about who was superior.

“Zoe! Barry! Hey, what are you two doing here? I didn’t know you liked football!”

The familiar voice cut clean through Zoe’s haze of lustful thoughts, snapping her out of the trance she’d been slipping deeper into.

“What? Oh ... it’s Barry’s birthday,” she said, blinking herself back into the present. “I thought I’d treat him. He’s always been a fan.”

Standing in front of them were Tiara and Jamal Jones — Nate’s parents. Both beaming with pride, still riding the high of their son’s standout performance.

“Heck of a game by Nate!” She said brightly. “You two must be so proud?”

“Oh, we are,” Jamal replied before Barry could speak, his chest puffing slightly. “He’s got a heck of a career ahead of him, long as he stays focused and on the right track.”

Zoe smiled politely, nodding, but she could barely hear them. Her mind was still replaying those slow-motion moments from the game — Nate’s body driving through the line, his thighs flexing, the heavy sway in those tight white pants.

“Listen,” Tiara continued, “I wanted to thank you for agreeing to see him. He’s been in a better mood lately. I take it everything’s ... fixed now?”

Zoe’s composure snapped back into place. “Well, you know I can’t speak about it—”

“No, of course,” Jamal interrupted gently. “We’re not looking for details. We just want to know he’s all right.”

She nodded, folding her hands in front of her, her voice calm. Professional. “He’s fine. It’s nothing serious, nothing for you to worry about. We’re working through it together. I assure you — he’s in very good hands.”

But as the words left her lips, something stirred deep within her.

Very good hands.

Immediately, her thoughts betrayed her — vivid and unrelenting.

Her small white hand wrapped around the thick, pulsing length of his cock. The stark contrast burned into her memory like a photograph: delicate fingers tipped in soft pink polish struggling to contain the girth of his shaft, so dark and dense it looked carved from obsidian.

Her sparkling diamond wedding ring had glinted against the deep, masculine texture of his skin — the icy cold of white gold pressing into the blazing heat of his blood-rich cock.

She could still feel it. The veins, swollen and powerful, the subtle twitch of life beneath the surface. The shocking solidity of it in her palm — like she’d been handed something that defied reason.

White and black. Hard and soft. Cold and fire. Feminine delicacy cradling something primal and unbreakable.

Zoe inhaled slowly, reining herself back in.

“He’s in very good hands,” she repeated softly. “And I promise to do whatever I can to help him.”

“Really, Zoe,” Tiara said warmly, “we owe you. Thank you so much.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary. I’m just doing my job.”

“Nonsense,” Tiara insisted. “You know Jamal’s a dentist, right? Free checkups for the both of you. Right, honey?”

Jamal laughed. “Right, of course. Just say the word and I’ll get you both booked in. Full cleanings, whitening, the works.” He said smiling.

Zoe hadn’t noticed it before — not really — but Jamal had an incredible smile. Straight, white, perfectly cut. The kind of smile that would’ve made a younger version of her blush just a little if she’d caught it in a bar or at a conference.