What I crave - Doc's pov

The first time Andrea asked me to be rough with her during pregnancy, I almost said no.

Not because I didn’t want to—I did. God, I did. I’d dreamed of bending her over every surface in this house, taking her in every position, pressing every inch of her skin until she begged for more. But she was pregnant. Carrying our child. The idea of losing control with her in that state sent every red flag in my clinical brain waving.

But then I saw it—that need in her eyes. It wasn’t desperation. It was something deeper. A trust.

She wanted me to remind her she was still wanted, still powerful, still tethered to something more than trauma.

And fuck if that didn’t unravel something in me.

I never told her what it did to me—the way she looked at me when she surrendered, when she whispered, "I’m yours." Like I was more than a man. Like I was the only man who’d ever truly seen her.

I don’t think she knows how much I crave control. Not the kind people think. Not dominance for dominance’s sake. But the kind where I know she’s safe. Where every noise, every moan, every “more, please” means I’m giving her exactly what she needs.

And sometimes? I need it too. I need the release. The power. The raw, unfiltered contact where I get to stop being perfect. I get to be real.

I love when she wraps her legs around me and begs.

I love when her nails leave marks down my back.

I love when she bites her lip, or swears under her breath, or arches her hips in a silent challenge.

And I love that sometimes, I can flip her onto her stomach, grip her thighs, and fuck her so deep she forgets every bad thing that’s ever happened to her.

Because in those moments, I forget too.

I forget the blood, the surgeries, the quiet nights where I wondered if I was losing her to memory.

She doesn’t know that I sometimes touch myself to the thought of her riding me, heavy with my child, breasts full and aching, her moans breathless and real. Not because it’s a kink—but because it’s ours. Because it means she’s still here. Still mine.

The desire? It never ends.

But it’s not just sex.

It’s wanting to tie her to this life, to this love, to me.

Even when I want to be rough, it's not because I need to dominate her. It's because I need her to know that she’s wanted—wildly, fully, desperately.

And that I will never walk away.

Not even if she runs again.

Not even if I have to spend the rest of my life reminding her—she’s safe here.

With me.