Page 177 of Rome: The Ballerina

If I wanted to save myself the agony of hearing my mother and father chastise me for making Rome a mother before I made her a wife, I had to think with the head on my shoulders and not on my dick. The battle was challenging, but it wouldn’t be long. I was ready to see Rome in all white. I was ready to make Mellow my wife.

“Babyyyyyy.” She cried out.

I watched as she unfolded in front of me, blossoming like a flower. Her pollen coated my hand. It was plentiful. She was plentiful.

Two minutes.I wanted her there in sixty seconds. I wanted our plans to fall through. And, I wanted to make this night special. We both deserved it, but Rome deserved it so much more than me. Her body had been through so much.

“Mmmmm—Saint.”

After experiencing a miscarriage, she wouldn’t be the same young, fragile girl she had been. Things would be different. She would be different. The lessons learned would be gifts as much as curses.

Her grip on my shoulder tightened. Her ascend was notable. She stiffened. Her limbs locked. And her body froze.

“Oh baby,” she moaned, feeling a quickening in her stomach.

I ushered her orgasm toward me. I needed that.Immediately.

“Saiiiiinnnnt.”

She landed beautifully. Her appreciation coated my fingers, touching my wrist with ease. I leaned forward and kissed Rome’s lips.

“One minute, love.”

I ejected my fingers and left Rome standing outside of the car. It wasn’t long before I joined her again. With a wet wipe, I cleaned her center and then my hand. I took the bag and placed it in the backseat before helping her into the car. She was still on cloud nine. Unable to speak. Unable to think.

Now look at your pretty ass.

I made myself comfortable in the driver’s seat. Rome was still unmoving. Unresponsive. I reached over, removing her phone from her purse. I put in the code to unlock the device and went directly to her playlists. Whatever she was playing as she prepared for the night had my interest. Every song that filled the speakers was a hit. I found myself moving and grooving during preparation, making it feel like a breeze although it took nearly an hour.

I search through the lists. They were plentiful, but neither seemed to contain the songs I heard over the last hour. I turned to Rome, desperate for her help.

“Bab–”

“The Huffington Note,” she interrupted, “R and S Date Night.”

I paused, realizing what she was saying to me. What she was revealing.

The Huffington Note | R+S Date Night

“Date Night?” I chuckled.

She would never fail to amaze me. Her thoughtfulness would be the glue that held me together, even when I felt like falling apart.

“You made that for us? For tonight?”

She nodded. “Yes. I thought maybe you’d–”

“I do.”

“Do what?”

“Like it.”

“Good, because I worked hard on it.”

“When did you make it?”

“The night of our first date. I’d dreamt about it. Even about this moment. I just figured I’d– I don’t know. I felt so strongly about it,” she explained, reaching into the backseat, “And I remembered how excited you were to get your new vinyl player that I had the tracks added…”

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