Page 109 of Rome: The Ballerina

Quietly, she stared, openly admiring me. I folded under her gaze. I felt my heart pump a mile a minute. I lowered my head with a smile.

This fucking girl, man. This fucking girl.

“I’ve dreamt of you for years. Having you sit across the table from me feels surreal. I wish I could say the dreams were better, but I’d be lying. They don’t compare.”

She paused.

“You’re awfully handsome when amused. And when you’re utterly smitten. Like now. The way your face tightens when you smile, I really enjoy that. And, that. Right there. Holding a finger over your mouth to suppress the chuckle waiting to emerge. I enjoy that, too. You’ve said it to me, so now I’m saying it to you, Saint.You’re perfect.”

My dick stood three feet in the air underneath the table. She was hardening it even more with every word she spoke. Making this moment about me was never the intention. It was all aboutRome. However, she was generous with her compliments and honesty. She couldn’t keep them inside. I’d noticed it as she encountered Olla just minutes ago.

“Naturally, your skin is flawless. Your eyebrows are so thick. Your eyelashes are so long and curled upward.”

She was describing my dick and had no idea. I was intrigued by her description. So much so that it attempted to split my pants to thank her.

“Your nose is wide. Your lips are full. Your eyes are lusty. Lively. Low, yet wide with interest. You’re intrigued by me. You’re enamored. And, I like that. In fact, I love it. I love it for me and I love it for you. Because, admittedly, there’s no one in this world that can make you feel the way I will. Not just today, but every day. Not only because I said so, but because I’ve experienced it. In every lifetime.”

Finally, she took a deep breath.

“To answer your question… No one has broken my heart. No one has had the chance to.”

Confusion wrapped me up completely. I didn’t quite understand how that was possible. She was beautiful. Talented. Flawless.

“How old are you, Rome?”

“Twenty-four,” she responded swiftly.

Twenty four and has never had her heart broken. She was rare in every sense of the word.

“I’ve been waiting for someone special, Sac. No one has done me dirty.”

“No one has–”

“Taken me on a date. Pissed me off. Cheated.”

She sighed, shaking her head.

“Courted me. Ghosted me. Lied to me. Strung me along. Played with my head. Embarrassed me. Betrayed me.”

“Loved you?”

She shook her head.

“Chased you?”

She shook her head.

“Kissed you?”

She shook her head.

“Entered you?”

She changed. Visibly. The air tried leaving her body. Her breath hiked in her chest. Her eyes grew tired. They sagged with desire. Passion. Lust. Desperation. Salacity. Still, she shook her head.

“No.”

She wasn’t as quiet. As calm. Yet, her eyes still hung low. The desire was still present. So was the lust. And desperation.

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