Page 122 of Rome: The Ballerina

Back and forth, he worked his fingers inside of me. The movement of his thumb was repetitive. The combination was sending me far and rapidly. He understood his assignment far too well. He was a craftsman, and he was on a mission to make a masterpiece.

“Saint…” I cried out.

My legs buckled. I could no longer withstand my own weight.

“Saint!”

His lips met the side of my neck. He kissed down my shoulder and then back up toward my neck.

“Oh f– uhhhhh– Sai–”

He placed his lips against my ear.

“Let that shit go, Rome.”

I did as I was told. The choice wasn’t mine to make. I didn’t have another option.

The galaxy twirled behind my eyelids as my stomach tightened and my treasure sparkled. At the eruption of my volcano, I fell against Saint. My lava flowed onto his hand, announcing my climax.

Deep, long, and uneven breaths hardly assisted to slow my heartrate. I rested a hand on my chest, hoping it didn’t burst. Silently, I prayed to come down from the mountain peak I’d been perched on by the man still standing behind me with a steady heartbeat and steady hand.

“I love how you make a mess of me,” he whispered against my cheek as he extracted his fingers from my pot of honey.

I dripped down his fingers.

Fluffy.

White.

Creamy.

Thick.

My cum wasn’t minimal or invisible like most of the girls I’d watched on the videos that helped me reach the heights I visited less often than I’d care to admit. It was plentiful. And, it leaked from me like semen did from the head of a man’s shaft.

I oozed. A heavy, notable flow.

“And the way you can’t ever lie to me,” he added, “I know how you cum.”

“Sai–”

As his name began to slip from my lips, I was hoisted in the air and pulled closer to his chest. He climbed the stairs while managing to keep his orbs on me. His hunger was apparent. His thirst was tangible.

The hallways felt neverending. Much like the wait for this moment. This man. And, our life together. But, here it was. Here it all was.

Carefully, Saint pressed my back into the sheets of the large circular bed that reserved one-third of the enormous room he was standing in the middle of. No words were exchanged. We didn’t need to communicate verbally. Our bodies were reading one another like a Black Romance novel.

Long slim fingers tightened around my neck as oversized lips found mine. Saint drove his tongue inside of my mouth and began spelling his name on the inside of my jaws. He hardly missed a beat. Simultaneously, my skirt was slid down my legs.

I maneuvered to finish what he’d started. My panties followed. He grabbed the tail of my shirt and pulled it upward, dislodging himself from my mouth and disconnecting his hand from my throat. Saint flung my shirt across the bed.

His clothes were next. As he rekindled the flame between my tongue and his, he unbuttoned his jeans. His shirt slipped right over his head, putting us both out of our misery before it could begin.

My world came to a screeching halt when Saint pulled away. Panting, I dug my elbows into the bed to get a better look at the culprit. He’d released me for good reason, calming my nerves.

He pushed his briefs from his waist. Behind the black fabric was a sandy monster of some kind.Of my kind. I shoved the lump down my throat in one large gulp. My lashes fluttered, trying to be sure I was not seeing things that were unreal. After a few blinks, I noticed nothing had changed.

This is real. I concluded.

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