In the dimly lit office, the only source of light coming from the desk lamp, sat a tall, dark-skinned woman named Tasha. She was a successful businesswoman, known for her sharp mind and sharp tongue. Her hips were wide and full, a testament to her African heritage. She was alone, working late into the night, when she heard a soft knock on the door.
“Who is it?” she called out, her voice low and sultry.
“It’s me, Jamal. I saw the light on and thought I’d check to see if you were still here.”
