Page 117 of Rome: The Ballerina

“I’ve missed you,” I rushed out.

A smirk accompanied a nod as Saint rested a hand on his chest.

“I’ve missed you, Rome, probably more than I could accurately describe at this moment.”

“Every day,” I breathed as I swallowed.

“All fucking day,” he responded, leaning down again.

His lips touched mine. Gently. Softly. His eyes were still on mine as he pulled away. He took me by the hand and led me out of the front door.

Click.

Clack.

My heels plopped against the floor while following Saint like a sick, lovestruck pup. I was partly surprised as I climbed into the SUV with his assistance. He made it around to his seat as I tried processing the fact he’d changed vehicles.

Eighteen minutes passed us by before we were coming to a complete stop at our destination. Our palms had grown sweaty against one another. We parted momentarily and rejoined before enteringYama, a sophisticated hippy spot that I’d heard great things about but had never gotten the chance to visit.

Hand-in-hand, we entered and were immediately instructed to follow our host. We were led up a spiraling staircase that was wrapped in warm lights and greenery. Low, ambient music played throughout the entire establishment.

Daniel, our host, pushed open the steel door and instantly, the music ceased. A comforting silence met us on the restaurant’s rooftop. I stepped out, fully immersing myself in the liberation I was experiencing. The altitude was a swift emotional and mental booster. It also acted as a dose of serotonin. Or, maybe it was the man I was staring at, just a few feet away from me, smiling as I swayed my hips in the open air.

My fluidity allowed me to move freely on the pavement the rooftop was made of. And, as if the moment couldn’t get any better, the sound of a saxophone serenaded me. All of me.

My movements.

My heart.

My head.

My big, big feelings.

My vulnerability.

And, all of the fears that accompanied the sheer act of allowing a man into your world. Your already perfect world, knowing he had the power to destroy every bit of sanity and security you’d established for yourself.

Emotions mounted as I finally came to terms with the fact that this was new territory. It was dangerous territory. It was risky territory. And, I was here. Knee deep. Ready to truly experience womanhood and partnership, even though my bloom was late. Delayed. Stalled. Stilled. I was ready now. Fully. Wholly. Completely.

You’re not a baby, Rome. You’re my baby. There’s a difference.

Saint stood near the table that had been prepared for us with his hands collapsed in front of him. A smile that reached his eyes kept my feet grounded from the heaviness of my heart. Candles surrounded us. Fire flicked in my chest and on the wicks of the candles. It danced, matching my movements.

Until I could no longer stand the distance between us.

Until I couldn’t fathom another second without him by my side.

Until I desperately wanted his lips against mine.

His hands on my skin.

His erection inside of me.

Claiming me.

Marking me.

Introducing me to a world of newness.

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