Page 125 of Rome: The Ballerina

Out.

Saint inhaled my blood. It rested on his tastebuds. Slid down his throat. Mingled with the contents of his stomach. He was officially mine. I’d marked him. Sealed our union with blood.

When our lips disconnected, his made a home next to my ear. Mine next to his. My hands rounded his neck. Everything was changing inside of me. Around me. For me.

“Mmmm.”

In.

Out.

As the pain subsided, I discovered pleasure as the replacement.

“You feel so fucking good, Mellow,” Saint moaned in my ear. “Fuck, baby.”

“Uhhhhh–”

His strokes were slow and fluid. My lubrication made his attempts feel effortless.

“Yessssss.”

I grabbed his face and brought him back to my lips. I pushed into his mouth, silently pleading for the warmth of his saliva and tongue.

“Mmmmmm. Mmmmmm,” I groaned into the hollowness of him.

In.

Out.

“Shiiiit,” Saint mumbled. “Shit.”

His strokes grew closer in delivery. I could feel him penetrating me so precisely, ending somewhere in my stomach. My body was engulfed in flames.

I lowered my hands to his arms and ran them up and down. His veins protruded. His elbows were locked. He was struggling to keep himself together.

“Mellow–”

In.

Out.

“Saint,” I whimpered into his mouth.

“I ca– I can’t– I don’t wanna pull out,” he confessed.

“Then doooooooon— uhhhh.”

His wrist flexed, helping to get his hands underneath me. He hugged my body, dancing around my mouth with his tongue. An ocean full of tidal waves crashed into my shore. Overwhelmed and completely undone, simultaneously, I felt a quiver in my belly.

In.

Out.

Saint peeled his chest from mine. Cool air filled the space between us, hardening my nipples. They stung from their rigidness. Sensitive to the touch, I shuddered as his fingers wrapped around the right one.

In.

Out.

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