Onika, a single mother, is desperate to find a cure for her daughter's mysterious illness. Just as hope fades, she meets Dr. Beyoncé Knowles, a determined doctor who refuses to give up.
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Onika Maraj Los Angeles, CA August 14, 2026
"Beyoncé, get your dick off of me," I groaned, feeling her pressed up against me from behind.
We were in our suite, and I could feel her kisses on my shoulder blade as she chuckled.
"Let's have some fun," she murmured.
I rolled my eyes. "Fun is what gets me pregnant."
She laughed softly. "I'll pull out, I didn't bring any condoms. I'm sorry."
"You know we don't even use them, so why you acting like you're sorry? Move," I said, pushing her back with my ass, annoyed but amused.
I felt her hand softly rubbing my waist and thighs, but I was trying to sleep in before we got our day started. We were in LA for the award ceremony next week, we decided to make it a two week trip, and the whole family was here.
Our moms were taking turns with the twins, and for some reason, they preferred to be with their nanas anyway—thank God.
Our babies are turning one next month, and I've been so emotional about it. They're growing up so fast. Raiya's favorite word right now is "no," and Romi copies everything her sister says, so that's how things are going with them.
Amora is the best big sister until she gets annoyed with them, which happens more often than not.
"Let me just put the tip in" she said kissing my neck, I felt her grab her dick rubbing it up and down my thong. I bit my lip.
"Oh girl, it's never just the tip, move" I laughed.
"Come on, baby, it's been too long," she whispered, still kissing on me.
I pushed her back, even though I didn't want to. Truth was, I wasn't okay with my body. The twins are almost one, but having them really changed me, more than I expected.
My stomach wasn't as flat, my hips felt wider, and I had stretch marks in places I never used to. I used to be so confident, loved showing off my curves, but now? I barely recognized myself in the mirror some days.
I didn't feel sexy; I felt insecure.
I know Beyoncé has needs, and I wanted to be close to her, but I just couldn't bring myself to let go. It's been two months, and every time she tried, I pulled away.
She deserved to feel wanted, but I couldn't get past the way I saw myself now. I felt her frustration, but mine was so much heavier.
"Baby, no... maybe, later"
She sighed and got up, walking to the bathroom and slamming the door behind her. I flinched at the sound, guilt twisting in my chest. I felt bad—of course I did—but what could I do?
