Page 123 of Rome: The Ballerina

This is real.

Oh God, it’s magnificent.

Perfect.

So, pretty.

“Can I–” I paused, unable to divert my gaze.

“Can you what, Rome?”

Wordlessly, I slid to the edge of the bed. I lowered my body to the floor and took Saint’s dick into my palm. I ran the length of his shaft, keeping my left hand on his meaty head where his glands called home.

Beautiful.

It was as precious as I’d imagined. As thick. As long. As memorable.

Unable to contain my intrusive thoughts, I widened my mouth and drew closer to Saint. As he laid against my tongue, he flinched. His entire body pulled backward. I pushed forward, keeping him mounted right where I needed him. And, slowly, I tightened my lips around him.

Backward.

Forward.

Backward.

Forward.

Saliva began to seep from the small open corners of my lips.

Backward.

Forward.

Backward.

Forward.

It dripped from the middle, falling onto my chin. Bubbles formed around my mouth.

Breathe.

I obliged as I found the strength to shift my gaze. Saint’s nose and mouth were both pushed upward. His eyes were low. And, his chest imploded and exploded with each very careful breath he managed.

Backward.

Forward.

Backward.

Forward.

“Fuuuuucckkk, baby.”

This is right. This has to be right.

Slightly excited about the evidence of my success, I grabbed the base of Saint’s shaft and pulled my hand forward. I traced my mouth’s movements with it, not stopping until my fingers rounded his head every time.

Backward.

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