a💗

"You can't keep marking me up like this, baby."

Layla sat up in bed carefully sliding on her laced thong as she watched the man who just fucked her into oblivion study the nail markings on his back in the mirror. She rolled her eyes, small smile forming as her gaze met his, "Well it's kind of hard to hold back when you fuck me the way you do…"

That handsome smug smirk she's convinced she'll never get used to, tugged the corner of his lips as he walked towards her, his callused thumb gently tracing over her bottom lip as his voice lowered, "Looks like we both can't help it…"

The way his rippling muscles were on full display as his dark gray sweats hung low around his waist, made the aching spot in between her legs pulse.

Layla had to admit there were times when she'd forget that the man she spent many sinful nights entangled with, wasn't just any man…that the Roman Reigns was a public figure who had an image to maintain. 

Not to mention, a family and wife at home.

The same wife who she had seen wrapped around his arm the night she had decided to treat herself to an upscale dinner in Miami for her twenty-first birthday.

A solo trip that somehow took a turn she never could've expected…

She remembers the way his table was at a distance, secluded, but still close enough to where she was able to observe. It didn't take much for her to notice the way he was practically eye-fucking her from the moment she walked in. 

Roman's demeanor was alluring without him even trying. 

It was impossible not to study the way his huge biceps battled against the fabric of his black shirt as he reclined back. Or how his black, diamond chain glimmered from a distance as their eyes constantly met. 

Its when his wife went to the bathroom and she was ready to pay her tab that the waiter informed her it had already been taken care of. And not even a minute later, she was handed a small paper with a phone number written on it leaving her even more puzzled. 

The was, until she saw Roman's subtle smile from across the room…his look alone giving her all the answers she needed. 

It seemed the rest was history.

Roman was unlike any other man Layla had ever met. He was patient and attentive, the first man to actually have more interest in getting to know her rather than just wanting her for her body. The moment she told him she was a virgin and wasn't ready for anything, she thought she'd never hear from him again. 

But the truth was, she couldn't of have been more wrong.

A trip that was only supposed to last two weeks somehow extended to over a three month long stay. 

Any free time he had, was spent with her. Countless nights between the two were filled with conversations for hours on end, and it seemed the longer they spent getting to know each other, the more Layla could feel his layers slowly peel back.

Learning that Roman's marriage to his wife wasn't exactly what he portrayed to the world, had to be one of the most intriguing parts. 

Laura, his wife of ten plus years who had met him in college and has clung to him since. A woman who was fully aware of her husbands promiscuous lifestyle from the moment they started dating but chose to turn a blind eye in order to secure herself a wealthy and promising future. 

According to Roman, while Laura loved him and their eight-year-old twin daughters they shared, the one thing she seemed to love more was having his last name and the benefits that came with it. There was a disconnect between them that only seemed to grow over the years. One that they were supposed to be working through… 

But given the fact that he was spending as much time away from home as possible any moment he wasn't with his kids, told her everything she needed to know. 

The situation as a whole was such a mind-fuck to Layla. It was hard to even grasp, let alone, wrap her head around. But as messy and conflicting as it was, it wasn't enough to scare her away. 

Not when he was so addicting.

The desire to have Roman in a way she'd never experienced with another man, built with every moment she was within his presence. Passionate kisses where he'd eventually have to pull away due to the hardening in his pants, no longer existing since the night she pulled him back towards her and told him she was ready.

Losing her virginity to a married man was never the plan.

But as wrong as it was, the truth is, Layla wouldn't change it for a fucking thing.

Horror stories from her friends recounting how their first experience went, couldn't have been further from her own. Because unlike most men, Roman was gentle and reassuring through every step. The way he looked at her as if she was the only woman to exist, is a mental image she'll never forget for as long as she lives.

His gentleness and passion outweighed any trace of the initial sting and discomfort Layla felt as she took him. The sweet words Roman muttered as his eyes remained glued to hers, made her stomach flutter. One of the most meaningful memories being how he took care of her after. 

The way he carried her exhausted body over to the warm bath he made her, proceeding to go back to the room to change the sheets as she got settled. How he then joined her in the tub, sitting behind her as pulled her towards him reclining her body against his chest. Those full, soft lips of his peppering kisses against her temple as his thumb traced circles against her thigh.

It was almost as if there was a softness to him that he only reserved for her. 

But there was also a dominant and protective side to him. One that at times could come off as possessive… 

A possessiveness that in her opinion, only made him that much more fucking attractive.

Because the truth was, there was no safer feeling than being with a protective man who took care of her in every way he could. A man who brought her a comfort and sense of peace that she couldn't even begin to describe. Who took care of her each and every need, eventually moving her down to Miami because they both seemed to be fucking miserable without each other.

And now almost a year later, here they were.

Layla smiled, now sitting at the edge of the bed as Roman leaned down to kiss her forehead before reaching for his discarded shirt on the ground, "You should start packing a bag, baby…"

At that, her brows furrowed, confusion setting in as her eyes trailed over him, "Why?"

"Because you're coming to Italy with me."

It was always such a surreal experience seeing Roman in his element.

The pure adrenaline Layla felt the moment his entrance music hit, sent shivers down her spine. The sight of his loose hair, and oiled body alone, was enough to make her pussy flutter in anticipation for what was to come later.

It was as if the atmosphere shifted the moment he stepped out. Loud chants cheering his name erupted throughout the arena as Roman soaked it all in. The way his eyes subtly scanned for her in the crowd before his match started, brought a smile to her face. 

It seemed, from the moment the bell rung, everything that transpired after, felt like a blur. Because the truth was, all Layla could focus on, was him. It was one thing to see Roman's matches on screen, but a completely different feel seeing him perform in the flesh. He was so precise and technical with every movement, there was such a dominant and resilient nature about him. 

One that had her clenching her thighs together as she watched him secure his win.

Without a moment to waste, Layla quickly weaved through the crowd in an attempt to make it back to the suite as soon as possible. The hotel being relatively close to the arena, and Roman providing her with a personal driver, only made it that much easier of a task. 

Roman's familiar cologne scent still lingered in the air as Layla stepped inside the suite. She hummed to herself, placing her phone down on the counter in the open lounge before walking into the main bedroom. 

Her anticipation for Roman's arrival seemed to only grow as the minutes passed. Which is why she decided to put on the red lingerie set she had purchased specifically for this night. Not that it really mattered given the fact he'd more than likely end up ripping it off her in the matter of minutes.

His birthday not even a week prior, being proof of that. 

A night Layla planned to prioritize him and focus solely on his pleasure, thrown right out the window the moment Roman decided to spend the entire night worshiping every inch of her instead. 

The memory alone causing her cunt to throb with need. 

To make matters worse, it seemed the longer she laid in bed scrolling through socials, the more videos of him would take over her feed. 

God, she'd do anything to have him here already. 

That handsome ass face of his being the same one she was riding just this morning as he groaned underneath her, made her bite down on her bottom lip as her head reclined against the pillow. 

Layla's hand slowly trailed down the span of her stomach, eyes shutting the second her fingers teased the sensitive spot in between her legs. Her crotch-less panties granting her all the access she needed as she slowly parted her slick folds. Just the mental image of him was enough to allow her mind to imagine her filthiest desires. 

She gasped the moment her middle finger swirled against her clit, thick thighs spreading further apart as her mouth parted. It was as if everything around her faded the more she focused on the thought of him. 

Roman was the only man she'd ever been intimate with in any shape or form, he practically taught her everything she knew. He was the first man who she'd ever given head to, or received head from. Having her pussy devoured for the first time by such an experienced man, let alone "Roman Reigns" of all people, was a life altering experience to say the least. 

Because when it came to any form of intimacy, Roman gave his all. Thorough and dedicated in each and every way. That big ass dick and talented mouth of his took more than enough care of her, and if Layla was being completely honest, she couldn't fathom sex being any better than what she's experienced and continues to experience with him. 

"Shit," Layla's back arched off the bed the second her drenched fingers upped the pace, her eyes still clenched shut as as her soft whimpers echoed across the room. She could feel her impending orgasm on the horizon as she squirmed against the mattress.

"Always so impatient, pretty girl…"

Roman's deep voice startled Layla causing her eyes to shoot open as she looked over. It seemed she was so focused on the pleasure she was feeling that she hadn't even heard him enter the suite, let alone seen him leaning against the door frame watching her from across the room.

"Baby…"

Roman smiled as he closed the distance, his wet, loose hair and gold chain dangled over her as he leaned down for a kiss. That familiar rich, woodsy cologne scent invaded her senses as his lips moved against hers. The way he kissed her with fervor made her pussy flutter as she continued to rub her clit. 

Layla could feel the bed sinking underneath Roman's weight as he sat next to her. Her gaze instantly gravitated towards his growing erection as he discarded his shirt and sweats. The look of pure hunger in his eyes matched exactly what she felt for him, which is why she quickly climbed over his lap straddling him. She gasped as he adjusted himself, the way he deliberately pressed his bulge against her dripping cunt, made her grin as she bit down on her bottom lip, "You're already this hard for me, daddy?" 

Roman smirked, mouth hovering over the crook of her neck as his big calloused hands palmed her ass, "For you, always."

If she wasn't soaked before, she damn sure was now. 

Layla cupped his handsome face, placing soft, delicate kisses against his jawline, observing the way his eyes shut as her teeth gently grazed his ear, soft voice muttering the same three words she told him the night she lost her virginity, "I need you." 

Roman groaned into her as she rolled her hips against him. His big dick harder than ever as he jerked her body upwards giving him the room he needed to discard of his briefs and position himself, "Hold onto me, baby."

Layla's hands planted against his broad shoulders as Roman's thick mushroom tip teased her entrance, a small hiss leaving him the moment he lubricated his length with her wetness, "Fuck…" 

They groaned in unison as she sunk down, slowly taking him inch by inch. "You're so damn b—big." It was one thing to accommodate to Roman's sheer length, but his girth alone was enough to make Layla moan, forehead resting against his as her nails instinctively sunk into him. 

The way he always seemed to give her a moment to adjust was greatly appreciated, especially when his big ass dick filled her to the brim the way it did. Roman smiled as his grip around her hips grew firmer, "You take me so well, sweet girl." 

Layla blushed, eyes on his as she slowly started to bounce against him. That sharp ass jaw of his immediately clenching as her pace gradually increased. Roman's fingers worked to undo her bra freeing her big breasts before gliding his tongue against her hardened nipples. 

"Tight ass pussy was made for me and me only, baby." His big hand smacked the side of her ass as he started to meet her thrusts. The loud sounds of his heavy balls slamming against her squelching cunt filled the room, as did her moans. Roman's words only fueling her to give her all as she bounced against him. "No one else is ever gon' fucking touch you, you understand me?"

"Y—yes, baby."

"That's exactly what daddy likes to hear, beautiful." The look of satisfaction on his handsome face as he smiled made Layla's pussy clench around him, their conjoined sticky juices now coating their lower halves as his big dick continued to plunge into her. 

"So fucking tight," Roman's big hands guided her up and down his cock as his lips that always felt so fucking magnetizing, pressed into hers for a steamy, sensual kiss. His eyes shut, tongue sloppily colliding with hers as she moaned into him. Soft whimpers escaped her the second his veiny dick started to nudge against her g-spot, further encouraging her to bounce on his dick with fervor. The sound of Romans low grunts made her swollen cunt pulse around him.

"Does my pussy feel better than hers, daddy?"

At that, Roman's eyes opened, his gaze instantly meeting hers as his tongue swiped against his bottom lip, "So much fucking better, baby." His big arm wrapped around her slick body alleviating the burning in her thighs as he took over. "Even when I'm with her, all I fucking see is you." Roman managed to deepen his reach, big dick pummeling into her as her soaked pussy clenched around him. Something about the way he was looking at her, felt different. Roman's honey-brown eyes bore into her as his pace momentarily faltered, "I love you, Layla."

Her eyes watered as she studied him, the pure bliss that was coursing through her body along with those three words he muttered, managed to send her over the edge. Layla cried out as her orgasm took over. The hold he had around her waist, growing firmer as he pulled her closer, kissing her temple. 

"Love seeing your pretty ass face when you come for me." Roman's own pace slowly became more erratic as Layla's body jolted against him. He continued talking her through it as his own release was imminent. "Gon' always take care of you, baby… give you any and everything you fucking want."

Layla panted, heavy breathing on both ends as she still attempted to meet his thrusts ignoring the fact that she was practically seeing stars at this point. Her teeth teasingly pulled on his bottom lip as she smirked, "You wanna know what I want, baby?"

"Tell me…"

The pure intrigue and curiosity in his voice made Layla smile as her mouth hovered over the shell of his ear. Roman's grip around her tightening as her soft voice whispered the very thought she had been holding in for a while now, one that she no longer wanted to keep inside…

A/N: happy belated v-day <3 i meant to get this out yesterday, but life got in the way. enjoy! 💌

you watch on as the pastel pink alarm clock on your bedside table turns to 11pm.

only one hour left until this shitty holiday is over with.

normally, you love valentines day.

all the decor? all the pink? the free excuse for your clingy ass to kiss and show love to your man all day? lover girl heaven.

it’s a day that you annually spend having breakfast in bed, dressing up in every bow clothing item you have, going for a drive around town, dancing around the kitchen, and capping the night off with a rose petal filled bath and the most romantic love-making with your boyfriend jimmy.

well, annually as in every year before this one.

since you two started dating five years ago, this is the first year you’re apart on valentines day.

just to clear the air, it’s not his fault.

he had no idea he’d be missing out until late yesterday afternoon when he got an email from his boss saying that he was pencilled in last minute for a house show in texas, due to his twin brother jey’s usual opponent getting emergency surgery.

when he became champion for the first time in nearly three years this past december, he was quick to remind you that his schedule could get a bit messy and hectic when it came to things like this.

in all fairness, you’d never even imagined that it would interfere with a time like this.

and, without sugar coating it, you’re really fucking sad.

you did everything to try and make the day feel a little less lonely.

you watched the valentines day peanuts special, which worked for about fifteen minutes until snoopy was cutting out little hearts for woodstock.

you did a valentine’s day makeup look for instagram, which never saw the light of day since the first thing to pop up on your timeline and kill the vibe was your cousin katrina and her man out to dinner.

you even booked a nail appointment, which you have no complaints about, as your tech absolutely killed it once again.

but now, even after all of that, you’ve never felt more alone.

you’re snapped out of your thoughts when the doorbell rings, echoing throughout the house.

your feet move faster than your brain does and, even through the confusion, you open the door.

a delivery truck pulls away from the curb causing you to look down.

a bunch of red heart shaped balloons, a bouquet of red roses bigger than your head, and two gift bags sit on your stoop.

“jimmy,” you whisper, before bending down to carry everything inside.

you set everything down on the couch and immediately open the bags, fishing out a bunny jellycat and a cartier love ring that you’ve been eyeing for months.

you don’t notice that you’re crying until a tear rolls down your cheek.

as you go to grab your phone, you notice a paper sticking out of the flowers.

you pull it out gently and immediately smile.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

See you soon.

❤️ - J

before you can cry about that too, your phone chimes signaling that you got a text.

and suddenly, this valentines day isn’t that bad after all.

tag list: @uceyliyahh @christinabae @bebesobrielo @biancasreign @myamericannightmare @partypoison00 @li-da-savage @tribalchief2112 @isabella-2025 @chasssssworld @wrestlingprincess80 @amethyst09 @luvrgirl4roman @skyesthebomb @mselenalovebug @moxley99 @wooahmiri @romanreignshairdresser @fearlesschimera @esposadomd @voidstiles18 @bloodlineslut @sharmelasworld @caralinda0914 @justazzi @trippiexlove @fafomama @gabriella-15 @transparentphantomface @sualeo @yana3sworld @lovelyjay45 @lexisnicole25 @usocrazy @psilovey0u @nanamiismine @lovelikebuttahbaybee @dwill484 @maniuce ♡

join my tag list here! ᥫ᭡

request a one-shot here! ❦

check out my gifs, twitter and tiktok! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Solana’s glazed eyes roll back and her stomach caves inward as she arches her back off the mattress. Her fingers dig into said mattress, fisting the sheets with an unforgiving grip that’s similair to the unforgiving waves of pleasure rolling throughout her entire body.

“Roman.”

His name falling from his wife’s parted lips force Roman to rip his enchanted gaze from the motion of her big, soft breasts jutting back and forth from the intensity of his thrust to the way she writhes in visible, obvious pleasure on the bed underneath him.

It makes his dick twitch, thick pink tongue dipping from his mouth and running over his bottom lip. Makes his next thrust hit harder and dig deeper. A goal achieved when the sweet, beautiful sound of her whimpers intensify. Pleasing a woman sexually has never really been an issue for Roman. Nothing he worried about because countless experience and ratings of 10/10 across the board all but prevented any sort of insecurity in that area.

In almost all areas of his life.

But Solana has always been the exception.

From the moment she sat on his lap in that restaurant what feels like a century ago, pressed her lips together, pretty eyes dipping as she powered through nerves to issue her request, she’s been his priority.

Her pleasure has been her priority. He’s only ever wanted to make her feel good. 

Most especially in the bedroom. 

With everything she’s been through, she deserves that and everything more.

So to see her eyes clench shut, to feel her slick walls gripping his dick, and to watch the way she writhes with an insatiable hunger, it’s nothing short of fuel. A drug he can’t get enough of and would gladly overdose on if it means he can spend the rest of his life being with her like this.

Being in her like this.

His eyes flick down to where their bodies connect, his breath catching as the glimpse of his dick coated white, her cream gushing and dripping from her tight ass pussy. “Shit, baby,” he groans. “You creaming all over me.” He’s rewarded with another moan that brings about a smug smirk. “C’mon, sweetheart. You know I like words.”

She groans through a closed mouth, the scowl on her face making his smirk deepen. It’s seeing the way she shifts her hands to her chest, the arch in her back depending as her hands graze over and gently squeeze her breast, however, that make his breath hitch.

Triggers an idea.

“But you know what I like more?” Roman smooths his hands up and down her hips as her eyes flutter open, reflecting a haze of lust. She’s visibly dazed, mouth partially ajar, and dark eyebrows caving inward. 

“Ro—”

His name abruptly lost in the quick motion of him switching their positions. It’s suddenly Roman whose back is against their soft, dark sheets and the sight of his wife upward instead of downward. He glides his hand to the back of her ass, as her own plant on his chest. Not once does his dick slip out, instead still seated inside her warmth. Her eyes latch onto his. “Papi watching his pretty girl on top.”

Solana’s swollen lips—still puffy from the way they made out fiercely during foreplay that only lasted a couple of minutes before her palm was smeared with his cum as she stroked his dick to life—lift into a small smile.

She says something in Spanish as he glides his hands to the front of her, traveling up and over the folds of her stomach, her head nodding back when she starts to grind on top of him.

His pupils dilate and his jaw clenches at the feel of her nails pressing into his abs and then his own hands when she travels the length of his long arms and cages his palms against her heavy breasts. Roman finds it impossible to not buck his hips to fuck up into her, especially when the first assisted thrust makes her mouth drop open and her eyes flutter once more.

It’s also impossible to look away from her, for him to not soak in the sight that can cure and heal him on even the roughest of days. 

Like those days, more often than not, that he still can’t comprehend just how the hell they ended up with seven children in under eight years. Two sets of twins, at that. With several of said kids being only a year and some change apart in age. For a man a few years shy of fifty, even with his wife being a decade younger than him, it blows his fucking mind.

But then she does that thing she does. Like she’s doing now. Where she either willingly slides herself on top of his dick or allows him to position her to where she should never leave. Moves and gyrates sensually and slowly, sometimes leaning back just enough so his eyes travel up the slope of her thick ass body and grant him the perfect view of her glistening, fat pussy lips swallowing and dripping over his big dick while she bounces up and down. Spelling her name and claiming what will always be hers.

And he gets it.

Understands fully how and why they ended up with seven kids. 

Solana’s moans and whimpers amplify as her intensify subsides just enough to let him know she’s close. He can feel it in the way her pussy is clamping and fluttering around him. The bed rocks and trembles under the intensity of their sweet, sensual, steamy lovemaking. A silent witness to the most carnal of acts over the years.

“You gon’ come for me, pretty girl?” He’s rewarded with an enthusiastic nod of her head as he gently squeezes her big ass titties, weighing heavy in his palms despite her own braced on his thighs as she continues to ride him. “Gon’ let papi fill—”

“Mommy. Daddy. We’re bored. Can you play—”

The intensity of the scream of horror that erupts from Solana’s mouth is matched only by the way she quickly scrambles to move off of Roman who hisses a quiet, “shit” that’s easily drowned under the sound of the additional set of screams. Screams from the faces of their three oldest children who stand in the doorway with ajar mouths. 

Lina, Leya, and Tama. Eyes as wide as saucers. Lina being the one to shove her siblings out of the way as they slam the door shut.

The minute it’s closed, however, the panic doesn’t end.

It only begins.

“Roman!” She shouts from the side of the bed, face flustered, sheet covering her body sweaty body. “I thought I told you to lock the door!”

“I did!” He shouts, running a hand through his hair, damp at the roots from his exertion. “That damn Lina must have picked the fucking lock.”

“Oh my God,” she breathes, one hand over her mouth. “That didn’t just happen." He can't tell if she's talking to him, herself, or them both. Though, in all honestly, it doesn't make much of a difference. They didn’t just walk in on us having sex.”

“Pretty sure they did,” he mutters, falling back on the bed, eyes shut. His head is suddenly pounding and the neglected pressure and weight of his still fully erect dick is a pain he can’t ignore but is forced to. 

“I can’t believe this is happening.”

“It did.”

“We’ve traumatized them.”

“Sol, that’s a bit fucking dramatic.”

She gasps, one hand over her mouth. Her voice is muffled against her palm but audible, nonetheless. “They’re never going to be the same.”

“We already have them in therapy. They’ll be alright.” His shrug and perhaps dismissive comment earns him a glare that makes him roll his eyes. “Baby, come on. It’s not great, but it’s not the worse thing ever.” Surely. Surely, there are many other things he can list off the top of his head that could forever scar his children. 

This isn’t one of them. 

“But you know what does fucking suck?” She frowns, and he gestures to his lap, the outline of his big dick and wet spot where cum is smeared against the sheets stare back at them. “Being so close to feeling that pretty puss—”

“Roman.” She closes her eyes and runs her hand through her blown out hair. He can’t help the way his eyes drop to her chest, the outline of her chocolate nipples through the thin sheet making his mouth water and cock twitch. “Really?”

He shrugs once more, unsure where the issue lies, hence his blunt explanation. “We might as well finish—” Solana’s fist colliding with his bicep, however, silences him. 

“Roman!”

“What?” He cuts his eyes, running his hand down his face. What’s done is done. What harm is there in them both finding their release before they tackle the fallout this….incident will have caused. 

But it seems Solana isn’t seeing it that way. 

Her pretty eyes narrow into slits that draw his gaze away from her big ass titties he’d much rather have in his mouth right now. “Our seven and six year old children just walked in on us having sex, and all you can think about is resuming?”

Perhaps he should consider his answer before providing it, but in this moment, he can’t think of any other response than what’s provided in the most casual of tones.

“Well, yes.”

It’s the wrong answer. 

Solana punches and shoves at him once, twice, three times before she stands up from the bed, ranting in Spanish the entire time, the sound of the bathroom door slamming as he closes his eyes and curses lowly. 

“Baby, was that a no?”

“ROMAN!”

Not a word is said. The only sound that fills the Reigns family living room is the volume of the TV turned low and Dulce in the corner playing with one of her squeaky toys, turned away from the unexpected emergency family meeting.

Lina, Leya, and Tama all sit on one sofa. The oldest with her hands squeezing the edge of the sofa. Tama kicking his legs up and down. Leya holding onto her latest Build-A-Bear that Roman gifted her when he took the girls out two weekends ago so that Solana could spend time with the boys. 

Meanwhile, Solana sits next to her husband who is leaned back into the sofa with his arms crossed. A position that indicates a level of nonchalance that’s the polar opposite of his wife who is perched on the edge of the sofa, hands folded gracefully on her knees.

“Well.” She eventually clears her throat, kickstarting the conversation no parent ever wants to have. “I know….I know you guys must have questions.”

Of course they do. At seven and six, the oldest set of kids, coined the OG’s of their siblings, are never short of questions to issue to one or both parents. Leya being the exception. She’s not as vocal as her siblings, often preferring to ask hers in the form of little notes, diary entries, and whispers that follow the tug of a sleeve. 

She’s like Solana. Quiet and reserved.

Lina and Tama couldn’t be any more opposite.

The eldest boy the first to ask, continuing to kick, his eyes ever so often drifting to the TV. “What were you doing?” 

It’s only one of many questions to follow, however, as Lina purses her lips together. She reaches to push back a curl that’s just one of several to slip out of the bun she did herself this morning, wanting to try to do her hair on her own. A valiant effort with a subpar outcome. “And why were you guys naked?”

“Are all your clothes dirty, mami?” 

“Did the clothes fairy take all your clothes?”

“Is it because we’re poor now?”

“Fucking hell,” Roman curses lowly. Solana subtly shifts her right thigh into his leg, the closest thing she can do without actually shoving him in front of their children who are hitting them with a number and variety of questions they weren’t fully prepared for. Obviously. “No, we’re not poor, son.” 

“Babies.” Solana manages a small smile despite the way her stomach is in knots and has been in knots from the moment the door opened and revealed her in the midst of….riding. “Mommy and daddy…..we…..well, we were playing a game.”

Lina tilts her head to the side, and Tama frowns, as if not following. Leya is the only one who’s remained silent, allowing her siblings to be her voice as she gently caresses the lilac mane of her stuffed animal. “Is that why you were sitting on top of daddy?”

Solana feels like her body is on fire. Like she accidentally hit the heat on the thermostat this morning instead of the AC. She can only imagine how flustered and reddened her face must be.

This is a mess.

“Yes,” she manages. How? She hasn’t the slightest clue. Similar to how she’s not entirely sure how to explain said game to her children who haven’t even hit double digits yet.

“What’s the game called?”

Thankfully, a lifeline is thrown as Roman decided to enter the discussion, saving his wife from Lina’s follow-up. “It’s not for kids.”

Tama’s frown deepens at the answer, his confusion written all over his adorable face. At six, he still holds a level of baby fat. Chubby cheeks and thicker limbs with a head full of hair and the best hugs for his mama. “The game is called It’s Not For Kids?”

Roman leans forward and shakes his head. “No, I’m saying the game we were playing isn’t for kids.”

Lina tilts her head to the side. “How come?”

“We’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“How old?”

“Very old.”

“Like you?”

Roman opens his mouth, clearly to say some smart shit back to his smartass son only to quickly pivot. He looks over at his wife, his deep voice gruff and almost murmured, “don’t ask me to have no more goddamn kids.”

“Roman.”

Lina giggles. From a baby, she’s always been most entertained by Roman’s potty mouth. He’d be going off on someone over the phone as the girls sat with him in his office, in their matching bouncers, because they’ve always wanted to be by him, and she’d be smiling and babbling away. What he always feared causing them to fear him has always been the side of him that Lina especially has found most entertaining. “Daddy, you said a bad word.”

“It’s cause he’s old,” Tama supplies, leaning over and grabbing his feet as he explains to his sisters, “uncle Dwayne said old people can say bad words.” 

Lina nods with agreement, as if the explanation unlocked the part of her brain that’d temporarily forgotten such important information. “That’s why mommy doesn’t say bad words. Cause she’s not old.”

Roman, however, has shifted from one question to another, finally landing on the one that’s the most pressing following their short exchange. He frowns. “How old do ya’ll think I am?”

Tama doesn’t miss a beat answering with a straight face and utmost confidence. “105.”

Solana’s quiet gasp beside him is only partially registered as his eyes widen. “A hundred—” Roman runs his hand over his face, stroking at his beard he’s almost certain is going to be entirely white before the end of this conversation. “Both of ya’ll asses are getting taken out my will.”

“Roman!”

“What’s a will?”

“Something only you will be in, Leya,” he answers with an abundance of ease. At this point, her spot is guaranteed. Aria, Nick, Koa, and Kai as well, too. But these other two hellion children of his?

Yeah, they can be taken care of by Solana’s side of the family.

“The point here,” Solana steps in, stressing the word ‘point’ and clearly wanting to get things back on track. She reaches over, hand on his knee, smile directed towards the sources of the headache Roman can feel brewing. It started when he was so fucking close to coming all in his wife until they decided to be fucking cock blockers. “—is that mommy and daddy were doing what mommies and daddies do, and it’s not for kids, but we’re sorry that you saw us.”

Leya hugs her stuffed animal closer, deciding to break the silence she’s always comfortable sat in, even from the moment she said her first word. Roman and Solana have always said Leya rests in the quiet because she knows her twin will always fill it for her. For both of them. And God has that been the truth.

“Is that the game that makes babies?”

Still reeling from his disrespectful ass children’s ridiculous ass belief regarding his age, Roman is only somewhat paying attention to Leya's question that has Solana looking, once again, like a deer in headlights.

“Umm,” she starts, engaging in the quickest creation, navigation, and finalization of a mental pros and cons list that one can mentally conjure in such a do or die moment. “Y—yes. It—it is.” 

Tama’s face settles into a scowl that is reminiscent, once more, of his father who sits across from him wearing the same expression. A mirror. “You and daddy play the game a lot.”

“Is that why you have so many babies, mami?”

“She’s not having any more. I can tell you that much.”

“Roman, please,” Solana hisses, casting him a quick side glare and widening of her eyes that nonverbally implores some sort of request for cooperation vs sabotage. 

“But you were just playing it.”

“It doesn’t always make a baby, Lina.” Solana explains, reviving her smile and resisting the urge to elbow her unhelpful husband. “Just….sometimes.”

“Well, how do you—”

“Look,” Roman cuts in. The shift in his voice, deeper and with a hint of irritation, draws the focus of his kids and his wife. “The deal is this. When your mom and I are in the room with the door closed and especially with it locked, you guys aren’t to come in. We told you before we went upstairs we were going to be busy and to knock if you needed something.” Tama opens his mouth, hence Roman lifting his hand to silence what he already has a rebuttal for. “You guys wanted something. You didn’t need anything, and I don’t know how the hell you can get bored when we got this big ass house and there’s three of you.”

“Your dad is right, babies.” Solana sighs. She runs her thumb over Roman’s knee, adopting a perhaps gentler approach to what is an undisputed truth. “Your bothers and sisters are down for naps. I fixed you lunch not even an hour ago and made snacks. You didn’t really need us.”

“But beyond that—” Roman gestures between the terror non-twins with his index finger. “Ya’ll gotta stop with this picking the locks shit. I get that you were young when you first stated doing it and didn’t really know better, but you guys are older and should know better by now.” He focuses his gaze especially on the eldest of his unruly children. “And I know it was you who taught your brother and sister.”

More Tama than Leya being the student, because Roman has no doubt the most well behaved of his offspring has never utilized any of the criminal like behavior taught by her sister. She’s always just been an innocent bystander. An unwilling accomplice.

Confronted with a truth she can’t deny, Lina instead pouts and crosses her arms. “But I already showed Aria and Nic!“

“You what?” And just like that, Roman’s blood pressure shoots up once more. Or maybe it’s just been up since the kids walked in on them and is just reaching levels previously unknown. “They’re only 2 and 3. How the hell did you—”

“Well, don’t teach or show them any more, okay?” Solana forces a smile and lifts her hand to caress the back of Roman’s neck, fingers brushing against the soft curls and making gentle circular motions near his scalp. A small, subtle but helpful act that always helps to calm him down, which is evidently needed given these damn kids are two more questions or statements away from giving him a stroke. 

Tama is the first to fold, giving a dramatic sigh while looking at Sol. “Okay, mami.” 

“I won’t do it anymore,” Lina also concedes, shoulders dropping as Leya reaches over to take her hand, offering a small smile.

It’s a sweet gesture, but Roman is still confused. “Now why the hell couldn’t ya’ll just listen when I sa—”

A semi loud buzzing sound redirects focus and causes Solana’s hand to drop from its soothing position to lean over and grab her phone. Roman peers down as she taps her fingers quickly and pulls up a familiar screen. The app that connects to the baby monitors in all of the younger kids rooms. The inside of Nicolás room with his small body sitting up in the middle of his bed, still swaddled in his Cars themed bedding. Rubbing his eyes, his dark hair ruffled and a small frown on his face, Solana hits the volume just in time for a soft “mommy” to fill the living room.

“Nicky’s up,” she says more to the kids than her husband. Locking the phone and reaching it to Roman, she stands up, his eyes briefly shifting to the back of her ass that’s curved and sitting perfectly in her skin tight shorts. “Mommy’s gotta go check on Nicky, but you guys can ask daddy any more questions you have.”

It’s that last sentence, however, that stops Roman from licking his lips and reaching to palm his wife’s nice, round ass and instead look up at her with a shade of bewilderment. “Wait, what?”

Solana turns and leans over, pressing a kiss to his cheek, whispering quickly, “you got this, papi.”

His jaw tightens. “Sol—“

Another peck to the corner of his mouth before she’s walking out to tend to their middle son. 

That leaves just him with the eldest three.

The OG’s. 

Except the time for them bombarding him with question after question, most of which he knows he can’t answer even remotely as well as his wife, is over as he has his own question. 

“How old do you think your mom is?”

Roman is far from a stupid man. His wife being ten years his junior comes at little surprise to no one. Solana, in his opinion, has always looked a bit on the younger side. A youthful face that hasn’t changed much since the first time he laid eyes on her. Thus, he expects the guess to be on the lower end of the number spectrum.

He just couldn’t have anticipated how low.

“25.”

His jaw drops just a few inches, gaze locked between Terror Child 1 and Terror Child 2. “25?” He could see it. Sure. Again, not even forty, she’s far from old, and unlike himself, hasn’t a gray hair in sight. But it’s the large gap in age guesses that has him puzzled. 

Lina nods with a big smile. “Uncle Dwayne said you bought mommy from the mommy store because she was a sweet young thing.”

“Yeah!” Tama adds enthusiastically, sharing his own horror story that has Roman’s fingers burning and itching to call and cuss out his fucking stupid ass cousin. “And cousin Zilla said you love mommy a lot cause she’s got a gyat.” Tama frowns looking between his sisters and then Roman before ultimately shrugging with defeat. “But we don’t know what any of that means.”

“They said they'll tell us when we’re older.” Leya offers the final statement with a small, innocent smile and gentle squeeze of her sister’s hand before she hugs her stuffed animal once more.

Meanwhile, Roman is back to square one. On the verge of a stroke.

There’s so much to process. So much to digest. First things first, he’s cussing out both Dwayne and Zilla. Probably firing the latter cause what the fuck?

“So let me get this straight.” Brows caved, tossing her phone on the sofa to the side of him, Roman is all hand gestures and deep scowl as he tries to make sense of the nonsense. “You think your mom is 25, but I’m 105—”

“106,” Lina interjects. “You just had another birthday when mommy was talking.”

Tama nods, face just as serious as his voice while he clarifies as if it’s the most obvious thing, “old people grow up really faster.”

Roman closes his eyes.

These. Fucking. Kids.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, leaning back into the sofa, head back as he tries to count backwards from 10. Or 100. “Go to your rooms.”

The chorus of their giddy laughter is the backdrop to his misery. How the fuck did he end up with two such fucking nightmares of children? It’s like they spend time figuring out ways to drive him fucking mad. 

He keeps trying to tell Solana those two are gonna send him to an early grave, but she doesn’t believe him.

Bet she’ll believe it when he’s on his deathbed, and she’s holding his hand while the fucking Joker and Harley Quinn are standing at the edge of said deathbed asking when the bank closes.

Thoughts of revisiting the previously abandoned discussion of boarding school are interrupted when Roman feels movement. He snaps his head forward only to be met with Leya reaching for his arm as she climbs onto the sofa. Her stuffed animal set in the same spot where Solana previously sat. It’s the twinkle in her eyes, however, and the way she almost nervously lifts her hand to his face, that give him pause. Her small palm pressing gently against his cheek. The smile that grows as his beard no doubt tickles her before she leans over and wraps her arms around his neck. Just like that, all the tension and frustration melt away.

What’s left is the peace and calm. His hand on the small of her back as he returns her gesture when she pulls back just enough to look at him. Roman pushes her curls out of her face, seeing so much of Solana in her. Beyond just appearance. Leya inherited every bit of her mother, including Solana’s uncanny ability to soothe him on his darkest days. 

But something tugs in his chest as he stares at her. He sees those same eyes that stared back at him with innocent wonder the first time he held her. This tiny human being who he was secretly terrified of dropping or holding too tight. Not keeping his hand in the right spot to support her neck. So many concerns and worries that’ve calmed slightly but will always remain to some degree.

And it baffles him. How quickly time has passed.

Seven. Lina and Leya are now seven. 

It feels like only yesterday he and Solana were bringing the girls home for the first time, and now he can recall the way they crowded their parents when Koa and Kai were carried through the front door for the first time.

It’s fucking surreal. 

He opens his mouth to return her sentiment, the I love you, daddy she murmured in Samoan as he reflected on time that seems to be moving much too quick for his likening. 

And then the fucking deviants.

“Happy birthday, daddy!” Lina shouts happily, running into the living room and jumping on the sofa, as Leya giggles and leans into him. “You just turned 107!”

Tamasa, of course, is not far behind, instead standing before him with his head titled, tossing up and down the football that’s not that much bigger than his head with practiced ease. “Do you need a cane now?”

you can’t say you accomplished his hair, but he is proud of you for allowing your curiosity to get the best of you. your inquisitive yet naive question is what got you in the deck chair position. your legs pulled tight to your chest, hooked loosely over his shoulders as he hovers over you. his hands come up, cupping your face as he presses slow kisses across your cheeks, your temple, and the corner of your mouth. you let out a shaky breath, “it’s t-t-too…too biggg!”

“make room for me, baby.” he leans back slightly as he replies, his hands slipping from the back of your head. one settles against your hip, holding you in place while the other drifts to your clit. his fingers are tapping and petting it as a quiet breath leaves your mouth, your fingers tighten around his biceps. jimmy, himself, lets out low moans of approval as he spreads the top of your folds and rubbing gently against your clit.

“c’mon, wet this dick up…it feel good?”

you answer him with the softest little whimper, embarrassed almost as soon as it leaves your mouth. if anyone else ever saw you like this, you think you’d die on the spot. but this was jimmy, he makes you feel so safe.

his middle and ring fingers are slick w your wetness as he pressed down to apply a little pressure so he could feel your sensitive clit pulsing under his fingertips. “wanna try again, ma?” he suggested as a gentle reminder before he made you cum too early.

he could see the gears in your head turning, you wanted him so bad, even if you’re too timid to say. he pulled his fingers away, his eyes never leaving yours as he sucked them clean. he began easing you into the deck chair position again, his forearms rested beside your head while your knees stayed tucked close to your chest.

you couldn’t help but think of how he made you feel so good with just his fingertips. and while his hands rested behind your head, your mind thinks of what’s to come while you’re pinned under him.

his mouth finds your neck again, sucking and kissing the delicate skin there as he slowly rocks into you. he uses this moment to assess your comfort levels… the louder your moans got, the deeper he went. the more your eyes rolled, the harder he rolled his hips.

he keeps hitting those nerve endings inside of you, brushing against that sweet spot effortlessly. there’s your answer, like it’s come full circle. it curves just right, it doesn’t take long before you’re overwhelmed by it. he doesn’t let go of you, holding you close as he keeps punching that same spot again and again.

“…plea, pleaseeee! baeeee,” you cry out, clinging to him. your fingers are desperately grabbing at his arms, his back, anything to hold onto. his pace made your hands slip lower down his forearms, your grip getting weaker by the second. one of his hands stayed tangled in your hair while the other gripped your throat.

“mhm, you like that? that curve hitting yo spot, mama?” he smirks, squeezing your neck just a little harder before finally crashing his mouth against yours. you pulled away first, soft broken sounds falling from your lips that sounded like his name. his soft belly pressed against your lower belly as he coaxed an orgasm out of you.

you pout, a shaky whine falling from your lips. “i’m…i think…i-“

“i know, gimme that nut lil mama”

the wind is knocked clean out of you as your legs clamp around his neck, he keeps you close as he tells you how much he loves you.

then, he reminds you you’re still finishing his hair after this.

the first thing she thought was that she won, and that she was too spiked up on adrenaline to really process exactly what just happened.

her holding a championship belt—a world championship belt, she should have added—was one of the more surreal things for her that weekend. as attention-grabbing as it was for her, she could barely remember all of the events that transpired after. she could recall posing for the photos with the championship for social media and the website, but she couldn’t remember explicitly doing it; she recalled her mouth moving as she answered the questions in the post-show, but she didn’t think that she actually did that. the words sounded like hers, but she didn’t think it was her mouth that was moving.

wrestlemania weekend, no matter how exhilarating it was, always tended to leave her overstimulated in the bad way. she couldn’t keep track of how everything was going, even if she was certain that she was the one performing the motions. she remembered being in the audience for the second night, flexing the championship belt on her shoulder and smiling with that high fashion beam. the moment the camera pivoted to other things, she allowed that ironed grin to falter just enough, even if she couldn’t completely shut it down. she did her job well. after all, so much of wrestling to her was performing, and at the very least, she could perform attentiveness and wonder. her mind continued its cocooning while she allowed herself to continue watching the main event, even as she gasped on cue when the announce desk broke or at the false pin.

in some twisted way, she could feel herself grounding back reality as they watched the match. roman was the person she could easily track, because she was absolutely abysmal at avoiding his gaze. he was magnetic in the way that only somebody who was the main event of wrestlemania for the 11th consecutive time could be. he felt larger in life, elusive, and rightfully so. they hadn’t spoken, but she knew that her admiration of him wasn’t a well-concealed secret among the roster. she was only fortunate that nobody ever made it clear to him. not that that mattered, since roman was part-time anyways. she was certain he wasn’t even aware of her existence. that was fine with her—at least then, she wouldn’t be able to embarrass herself in front of him.

she did come to the realization that the match was veering towards the end sooner than she would have wanted it to. apparently, a thirty-minute match would not help her get back into herself; she considered that a bit foolish of her. she found security escorting her to gorilla again for more press photos now that they had all of their crowned champions for the weekend. she shook hands with everyone, smiled graciously, and posed. the only thing she hadn’t anticipated was pr telling her to stand next to roman for the photo of the new champions for monday night raw.

at first, she made an attempt to stand a respectable distance from him, enough to portray as close. “get closer,” she heard someone say. her eyes, wide and dazed, wasn’t sure if she caught that correctly. before she could react, though, his hand (an admittedly large hand she definitely hadn’t fantasized about several times in an attempt to get off after watching his title matches), tugged her by the waist, placing her right by his side. both of them raised their belts high, staring down the camera with precision and no shortage of cockiness. at least, she attempted to emulate that.

the first thing she registered was that he smelled good, even through all the sweat and exhaustion. she deciphered notes of sandalwood and something that was distinctly roman reigns. the other thing she could process was how warm he was compared to her cold skin. “overwhelming, isn’t it?” he murmured through the static of her mind and the shutter of the camera.

her answer didn’t feel as automatic as perhaps it should have been, her voice foreign to her own ears when she responded, “how do you ever get used to it?”

even when all of the press shoots were done, he kept his hand on her waist, helping the two of them make their way to the dressing rooms. he answered as they walked, “you just do. take the loud with the quiet—it gets easier over time.”

she didn’t know if she could believe him. the entire weekend wasn’t even really loud anymore, now veering into overload as he dropped her off at her room, which granted barely enough privacy to take a moment to breathe before more celebrations began.

she knew that a few glasses of champagne slid down her throat a few times throughout the evening, but not enough to warrant being any way incapacitated through alcohol. she knew that she shook her head and said something about excitement and gratitude for being given the opportunity. she knew that she was smiling. yet, she couldn’t really register that the alcohol was going down her throat, that it was her head moving, that it was her muscles contorting into that beam, that it was her feet guiding her towards the corner. she wasn’t sure if she could properly breathe, even though she rationally understood that her body was able to breathe on its own, and could handle it just fine.

“you look like you’re five seconds from tapping out to an anaconda vice,” a voice dryly remarked. naturally, she turned her head up towards the direction of the voice’s owner. she most likely couldn’t keep the shock off her face when her brain finally managed to process (however slowly) the present visual and auditory stimuli that roman reigns was addressing her. but, this time, of his own volition.

she technically felt more than properly realized that his expression shifted from amiability towards concern—more specifically, that it was her fault. her breath hitched, pondering if she did anything wrong. did she not answer fast enough? did her smile seem too off? or worse: did she make it too obvious she was into him? the hypotheticals had her lungs struggling for air. not that she could entirely register it, because one moment, she was in the corner of the room with the otc, and the next moment, he had his hand on her waist, escorting them both out to the elevator.

“let’s get you some air,” he murmured, keeping his voice that unwavering baritone as he closed the elevator door, forcibly shutting the door before anyone else could enter and overwhelm her further. once the doors closed, he cautiously pulled her in, strong arms caging her into him. his voice broke through the fog, “it’s alright. deep breath in for me, yeah?”

her lungs followed, matching his pace as the elevator rode all the way down to the resort’s car garage. every instance the elevator door opened and stopped at a floor, roman immediately pressed it shut, ensuring total privacy and external insulation for her with every shiver she gave. each descending floor granted her another breath to return to herself.

by the time the elevator reached the intended destination, she felt mostly back. she regained enough clarity to realize that she was in a parking garage, following roman reigns to his car, an admittedly nice one. her steps began trailing behind his, hesitant while he guided her to the passenger seat, opening it for her to slip into. the moment he shut the door and joined her in the driver’s seat, she closed her eyes, shuddering an exhale so large, as if she was atlas and the belt was the entire planet on her shoulder.

“fuck,” she whispered, “i’m sorry you had to leave the party ‘cause of me.”

he extended his hand, leaving his palm up for her to take if she wished. she took it, allowing his hand to dwarf hers. “don’t apologize,” he said, unrepentant about affixing that heavy gaze on her erratically panting chest, “first one’s always the one that hits the hardest.”

“didn’t want to take you from the party though,” she murmured in apology, shuffling awkwardly in her seat to evade enough of the heat of his eyes. “you deserve to celebrate.”

“got my celebration right here, babygirl.” his free hand brushed her cheek, gently tugging her face up. she couldn’t avoid the sensation of heat on her face. her eyes frantically flitted anywhere but him, though he seemed to know what she was attempting to do in the first place, because he leaned in enough to rest his forehead against hers. roman’s tone took on a more impish foundation as he mused, “you’re cute when you’re trying to be subtle.”

“i’m sorry,” she squeaked out again, “it’s unprofessional, and i know it’s probably creepy for a twenty-something to be having a crush on you. i promise i’m not a stalker or anything like that.”

roman tilted his head forward enough to rub his nose against hers, lips curled into an amused smile. “now, who said anything about stalking?” her eyes bolted wide open to that, pulling away to make some sense of his mirthful eyes.

“i mean, it’s weird, ain’t it?” she mumbled, “you’re like…a superstar. i didn’t wanna make it weird for you ‘cause you’re not always here. i didn’t wanna make it unpleasant or uncomfortable for you every time you came back.”

roman chuckled, breath fanning against her lips and retorting, “trust me, angel, i wasn’t ever uncomfortable with you staring at me.” he didn’t have to say much else then, his insistence enough for her to brush her lips against his for a tentative peck. roman deepened it, shifting his hands to tug her closer past the console.

“fuck,” she moaned against his lips, fingers brushing his beard firmly. she leaned further over the console, shifting herself on the passenger seat to rest more of her upper body against his.

he groaned, amused still, yet more fond as they continued to make out, “sweet thing, aren’t you? all soft and needy from some kissing?” her cheeks flared, though she didn’t deny it when she kissed him again, squeaking when he forcibly maneuvered over the console functioning as a barrier.

her mind blanked out from being shifted however awkwardly from the passenger seat to be on roman’s lap—at least she figured this time it was from something pleasant rather than dissociation. she squeaked as he pressed her form up against his, allowing him to take all of her weight while she straddled his hips. “fuck, you’re adorable,” he cooed against her lips.

“thank you, sir,” she responded, voice growing shriller as she realized what she just said and what she just called him. for all of her troubles, she earned a deep-bellied rumble that let her know that she probably didn’t have to stop calling him that. if anything, he was turned on, if the growing bulge pressing into her clothed heat was any indication.

“call me that again, babygirl,” he growled against her mouth, the same way he did when he demanded acknowledgement.

“yes, sir,” she repeated, earning a heavy spank on her ass, “fuck!”

roman swallowed her sounds with a guttural groan, pressing her closer. his other hand came to cup her sex through her panties, shifting the skirt of her dress up to give him better access. naturally, she ground down on it, rocking back and forth against the weight and heat of his palm. “such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” he breathed into her ear, allowing her to move her own hand down to fully grasp just how hard he was at the sight of her. she nodded, skin gently flushed from want and his attention.

tentatively, she palmed him, applying just enough pressure to not seem shy, but not being overzealous and presumptuous about how much pressure he would maybe like or want. roman responded beautifully to her touch, groaning especially husky when her finger rubbed the tip of his length, swirling the budding beads of precum around. his own hand shifted so that he could slip right through her panties; her own arousal coated his fingers in an unabashed, honeyed gloss. “sorry,” she mumbled, though she only sounded semi-repentant.

roman smirked against her skin, wetly smacking her pussy; she could only squeeze his dick harder for that. “cheeky little thing, aren’t you?” he mused mirthfully, spanking her again, “but, i can’t blame you, can i? that’s how you got that championship.”

there was a part of her that lit up embarrassingly at the mere prospect that roman reigns watched her championship match, however short it was. when she mustered more courage to look up and gauge his reaction, she could only see pride reflected in his gaze, but also an awareness that he knew she wasn’t expecting it. “of course i watched, baby,” he chided fondly, kissing her forehead and then her pout away, “wanted to see you win your first world championship—the first of many. now, up you get, ‘cause i want you sitting on my cock.”

sue her. she was eager, exuberantly eager while she shifted her hips, allowing him to remove her panties. her own fingers worked to quickly undo his pants, pushing them and his undergarments far down enough to unsheath his length. she adjusted so that his tip brushed her slit, whining pleasurably every time the mushroomed head brushed her sensitive clit. “shit,” she whispered, overstimulated, “how are you gonna fit, you’re so fucking big?”

“don’t worry, baby.” his voice was cocksure, self-assured the only way a multi-time world champion and someone completely aware of his looks and its effect on other people. he nearly knocked the breath from her lungs with his cocky smirk as he promised, “i’ll make it fit.”

in one fluid motion, he effortlessly transitioned to slipping the tip inside her gummy walls, engendering a broken moan past her lips, arguably loud enough to shatter his eardrum. roman didn’t seem to care as he gripped her hips firmly, gravity taking over to have her impaling herself onto his dick. “holy fuck,” she gasped. her lips furled into a needy pout, one roman indulged with a searing kiss to her lips, enough of a distraction for the overwhelm that was just him filling her. she shivered and pulsed when she realized that he wasn’t even entirely in yet. that caused roman to groan, an animalistic sound that sent shivers down her spine.

“such a good girl,” he growled into her mouth. his tongue swiped the roof of her mouth, absorbing her squirming and pants with relish. roman’s other hand wandered down to rub tight circles at her needy clit. naturally, her walls spasmed; naturally, he reacted accordingly by spanking her with his heavy hand. it resonated within the metal confines of the car, and her own noises immediately followed suit.

“sir, please,” her voice was wrecked, as it only could be, but still, there was a dreaminess that roman found endearing as he set the pace for her—slow, but thorough. insistent, though not forceful. he only lifted her off half of his length, keeping her full at all times. roman kept his lips on her, anywhere and everywhere he could reach. his hand continued their marking endeavors, heating her ass in rhythm with his hips.

he sounded smug as he wondered, “yeah, baby? ‘please’ what?”

her breath faltered, fingers curling to undo the neatly tied bun of his mane, raking her nails through his illustrious mane. she didn’t yank. he seemed to appreciate that she only tugged with minimal pressure. he smiled against her lips, rewarding her with a steeper bounce, pulling out so only his tip remained before impaling her again and again. any time she attempted to formulate a comprehensible word, he swallowed it with a heady kiss and smack to her asscheek, which made her forget what she wanted to say in the first place.

not that she had much he could parse to begin with other than saying “please” and “sir” like they were the only two words remaining in her lexicon. even then, she wasn’t able to even manage a syllable that simple. that was how he seemed to prefer it based on the thorough thrusts of his hips against hers.

he groaned in her mouth just right when she tugged his tresses again, twice in quick succession and one longer tug. she wasn’t sure if she could explain to him if she was close with how he kept subsuming her mewls and starts of words into his groans and grunts. at this point, she wasn’t sure if she could call what they were doing really kissing so much as a mashing of tongue and teeth. she figured he could tell she was reaching the edge to her climax through the fervent way her walls pulsed around him like a butterfly struggling to escape its cocoon.

“close, aren’t you, babygirl?” he chuckled, her nods rapid and messy. she gripped his hair firmer, more demanding now that she teetered on that edge of release.

she begged, eyes welling with unshed tears from overstimulation, “p-please, sir! wanna cum!” her lungs gasped for oxygen when he delivered on her request, transitioning into thrusting more calculatedly, angling right up at the spot that had her seeing stars.

“right there, baby?” he murmured, repeating that particular thrust. her frame vibrated atop his lap as her climax washed over in unceremonious, reckless fashion. she wailed, throat ripping itself out from the weight of her scream. roman didn’t take that much more to follow after her, spilling those pearlescent ribbons deep inside her cunt with a deep roar briefly reminiscent of the ones preluding his spear. “fuck, you’re such a good girl,” he praised heavily, “sweetest fucking pussy for me.”

he continued thrusting through the aftershocks, arms firmly locked around her while she vibrated in his arms. “i got you, honey,” roman promised, kissing the side of her head while he tempered his pistoning down. he kept her on his lap, letting her tug on his hair enough to anchor her to this plane of existence. her breath fanned against his lips as she stole a kiss from him. he didn’t say much other than repeating his promise, forcing her lungs to follow his cadence until she could do it on her own.

when she did recover, she whispered, “sir,” her voice cracked at the edges from practically screaming herself hoarse.

“you did so good for me, baby. i’m so proud of you.” he punctuated his praise with a kiss to her hairline, not minding the sweat pearling there from exertion. from how he looked at her, how he sounded, she knew he meant it. she smiled, the first one she could feel from the past two days—she knew his pride went beyond her performance on his lap and extended to the two belts stacked atop one another in the backseat.

“thank you,” she responded with a shy heat to her cheeks. her hand moved away from his hair, resting on his heart while her fingers twirled some strands of his hair. roman smiled, one of the softer ones he reserved for his family, mainly. she flushed at the honor of being one of its recipients.

she gasped when he shifted just enough to start the car, accidentally shifting her hips to roll just right against his own. he groaned, sending her a raised eyebrow and barely contained mirth in his eyes. she shrugged, semi-apologetic. roman merely adjusted her positioning so they were both more comfortable as he started reversing out of the parking space and out into the vibrant vegas streets.

“you’re crazy,” she murmured, breathless as she glimpsed outside the window, allowing the oversaturated nightlife to consume her vision while he drove them both back to the hotel.

“yeah, well,” roman responded with the assurance of a champion, of being her champion, “i’m the tribal chief.” he said it like it was simple.

maybe it was to him. her thoughts, naturally, swirled around to the aftermath and to what monday would bring. New challengers, new threats, the inevitable paranoia—she wasn’t sure where she would stand as the weight of the belt grew more prominent on her shoulder, the responsibility chipping at the wide-eyed woman who only ever dreamt of carrying something as prestigious as the women's world championship. as if that wasn’t enough, her mind fabricated worst-case hypotheticals about their nebulous relationship given her feelings and how roman reciprocated, apparently. she wouldn’t be able to look at him without thinking of the mindblowing and grounding sex they had after wrestlemania. She didn’t factor that he would be there more frequently now, either. She could easily visualize the inevitable wetness growing at every instance. To make matters worse, she wasn’t sure what he wanted beyond just the celebratory sex, on the minuscule chance he would change his mind. or—worse—if he only did it out of pity.

before she could fret herself into the next century, roman cut her spiral short with a firm remark, eyes focused on the road, “don’t worry about tomorrow, baby.” at the red light, he tilted her chin towards him with a thumb and index finger. “just focus on me, alright? i got you. i promise. i’m not going anywhere.”

it suddenly struck her that he perhaps meant it beyond just trying to tether her back into her own body at this point, even if that intention still stood. her eyes peered up at his features as he returned to focusing on the road, applying gradual acceleration on the pedal as the car continued along the route. she parsed the relaxation in his posture, paired with the understated confidence that things would work out in their favor. her eyes flitted back to the two belts, resting like a perfect match, a picturesque display of harmony.

shifting just a little more, she rested her head along his heart, listening to his heartbeat while her own rammed at full throttle in anticipation of what the future brought her. starting with, naturally, the growing hardness still inside her.

The soft glow of the crescent moon outside is set against the onyx blanket of night, riddled with glimmering stars that pulse and beam. The faint humming of the AC unit is set against the TV that’s set at a volume low enough to where its audible for her to hear, but in the grand scheme of things, it's truly nothing more than background noise for the chaos and commotion that is her head.

Karina rolls onto her back and closes her eyes. Her hands run over the soft, dark sheets, the smooth, cool touch under her fingertips and short nails reminding her of the fact that she recently changed her bedding. A usual task, but one that was done for reasons other than what has been the case for the past almost two years.

It brings a frown to her face, the way her hand is able to explore the span of her queen sized bed, met with nothing more then 300 thread count instead of something else, someone else, the absence making her fingers flex and itch. 

The decision to leave her phone, screen up, on the dresser, and across the room was an intentional one. As was her ensuring that the phone was right side up. The glow of a notification illuminating just enough in the dark of the room to inform her when an alert has arrived. Twice now she’s been able to resist temptation, but it’s the third spotlight that diverts her focus from the TV and has her reconsidering.

She’d set an intention for herself. Surrounded herself with nothing but reminders, colorful sticky notes covering half of the anchored mirror in her bathroom and a notepad sitting on her nightstand with all of the reasons. Reminders to stand strong and firm, but for each item she can recount on said list, it’s just as easy for her to create counterpoints. 

Her brain and heart at battle with neither willing to concede anytime soon.

It deepens her frown and the weight in her chest that’s only grown heavy over the past two days since she sent her text and silenced his notifications.

But the heart has a way of finessing autonomous control, creeping in and taking over without one even realizing it. Karina is reminded of such when she’s only a few inches away from her dresser, hand reaching for her phone that’s gone dark, the time of lighting from the most recent notification long past.

She stops herself and stares at the screen for longer than she’d like to admit. Wills herself to close her eyes and instead shakes her head. 

“I can do this,” she whispers. Hand scrunching her short, silk nightgown, she turns to climb back into bed, grabbing the remote and shutting off the TV.

She needs to try to get some sleep.

But Karina also knows that her brain won’t allow her such joy, thus her getting up once more, this time to head to the kitchen and grab a melatonin. She hasn’t slept well all week, and with tomorrow being Saturday, thus her day off, Karina fully intends to take advantage of her clear schedule.

At least she did, because all actions are halted when she hits the switch to light up the hallway and finds a partially unexpected detour right outside of the kitchen. 

She stands still, completely unmoving, eyes never ripping from the sight before her. 

“What are you doing here, Roman?”

Once upon a time, her initial question would be a different one. Less of the what and more of the how. How for every attempt she made to draw the line in the sand between them, he always seemed to find a way to bypass said line before she could even complete it.

It started off with little things. The type of gestures that make women swoon and sigh. Flowers sent to her job once a week, to the point where the staff, even Dr. Green, had made a joking comment in between patients about Karina scoring a “good” one. Calls at the start of her day while she moved around her bathroom and room getting ready for work only to be repeated later in the evening as she laid in bed, sometimes on FaceTime with him until she fell asleep and only awoke in the middle of the night to her phone at less then 50%.

He always wanted to see and be around her. Even on days where she was physically drained, cramping, or just not feeling well and decided to skip the gym. Despite her many protests that she was fine, he’d still show up at her apartment, often wielding a host of “get well soon” supplies that consisted of all her favorites. Things she’d mentioned as far back as the impromptu lunch they shared together on the first day they met. Roman didn’t forget anything. To the point where it seemed almost abnormal, if not impossible.

He’d later share that through several routine evaluations while in the military, it’d been said he most likely has Hyperthymesia. She can still recall the way his mouth curved into a small smile at the confused look on her face.

“Most people call it photographic memory,” he explained. “Once I see, read, or even hear something, I never forget it.” His thumb brushed over her hand as they sat at a table tucked in the corner of the restaurant, an old Fleetwood Mac tune serving as background noise. Something twinkled in his eyes that made her stomach flip as his voice dipped but his enunciation never more clear. “I don’t forget anything.”

And he doesn’t.

She thought it impressive, felt deeply moved at how he’d, regardless of it simply being the way his brain is wired, never allowed any opportunity to be missed where he could show her how attentive he was. 

How much he cared.

From ensuring the delivery of her favorite variation of flowers—roses, tulips, and forget-me-nots—to tracking down the vinyls, items collected since childhood, that she’d been searching for high and low since childhood.

He seemed to make the impossible possible, even if she hadn’t asked him to. She didn’t ask him to do much at all. He just did.

And she appreciated it.

What she gradually started to not appreciate, however, were….other things.

Growing up in Virginia Beach meant there was no shortage of military men, some of which she’d briefly but never seriously entertained. Mostly in her early twenties. Thus, Roman having a bit of a temper didn’t shock her. She expected it. So long as, one, it was never aimed towards her, and two, that he could control it. That first part has never been an issue. The second part though….not so much.

She’d understood it the first time she saw it. A group of silly, young high school boys who’d nearly knocked her over while skateboarding on the board walk. Their scoff and dismissal of Roman’s gruff “watch it” resulting in him snatching up one of the boys by his collar. Barking at him to apologize to Karina. 

That was fine.

But then a couple days later, Karina arrived at the gym a little earlier than planned and opted to not wait for Roman. In the midst of grabbing a set of weights, she’d been shocked to find some overly tanned, Jersey Shore extra douche bag had moved her bag to the side, along with her phone and water bottle that were sitting on the bench, and claimed it as his own. 

Naturally, she’d tried to confront him about it, but he simply looked her over, scoffed and made a smartass comment about her hitting the treadmill instead. Karina was fully prepared to report him to the staff when out of nowhere came Roman. He’d yanked the bastard up so quickly, shoved him into the mirrored wall, and punched him so hard that the sickening crunch sound of his nose breaking was the only thing that broke her from the shock.

Karina reached for Roman’s wrist, instantly noticing how the enraged expression on his face melted almost immediately when her eyes locked with his. It was as if her single touch dragged him from 100 all the way back down to 0.

She’d been so nervous that he was going to get fired over what occurred, but it only resulted in a slap on the wrist and a ban for the man who learned very quickly, as the kids say these days, what FAFO really means.

But while Karina appreciated Roman defending her, as they laid in bed that night, sheets damp and clinging to their slick bodies, she attempted to talk to him.

Tried to explain that as nice as it was to have him feel so strongly about defending her, he didn’t have to. That she didn’t want him to end up getting himself into trouble one way or another because of her.

He wasn’t necessarily defensive, but he definitely was standing ten toes down on his commitment to defend her.

To her.

It was commitment that she would soon realize extended to areas and in ways she could have never anticipated. 

He’s sitting on her sofa, legs spread, hands clasped together. Black hoodie, dark shorts, and his hair pulled back. Roman has always looked slightly older than his actual age, but in a way that works. Rugged yet handsome looks that few could pull off. He could.

He does.

Karina can’t, however, ignore the way she can tell he hasn’t been sleeping well. The darkness under his eyes confirm as much. For a moment, she feels bad, especially when she catches the glimpse of thin silver around his thick neck, his dog tags resting perfectly between his tatted chest. 

She licks her lips, fully aware of the fact that he typically wears them when haunted by memories he can’t forget and a past she only knows bits and pieces about. Just that he joined the military when he was eighteen, him and his two closest friends. Mox and Seth. 

That Roman eventually flew back stateside a number of years later, seat upgraded to First Class when it was learned he’d served. An announcement over the PA regarding said service and a round of applause to thank him for his service.

He returned home to fanfare.

But his two closest friends returned home in boxes with flags draped over their coffins that their family members sobbed over with unconsolable grief.

Karina would guess that Roman has some form of PTSD. He has to. No one serves in any form of the military, deploys overseas, experiences combat, and comes back the same person they were when they left. He carries scars she’ll never see, and it’s part of why she’s always done her best to be understanding. To be gentle and considerate with his struggles.

It's also why she suddenly is regretting initiating their most recent break.

Even if she knows it’s for the best. 

“I miss you,” he finally answers. She closes her eyes and looks down, digging her toes into the soft, cream carpet.

I miss you, too.

Words she won’t allow herself to share aloud and instead forces herself to remember why she initiated said break following yet another one of his outbursts. She can hear the sirens, the flash of red, white, and blue cast against her face. The way she hugged herself as she gave her statement to one officer, the other talking to Roman who leaned against the patrol car with cavalier indifference. With a similair stance and not an ounce of concern or regret for the man who sat outside the ambulance, his busted lip, broken nose, and swollen eye being tended to by paramedics.

Karina knew he’d get off. A combat vet with enigmatic charisma and connections to law enforcement she still doesn’t fully understand. What would get most arrested or taken in always results in a slap on the wrist. It’s somewhat part of the culture in the 757. NAS Oceana and Training Support Center Hampton Roads, both located in Virginia Beach, are the largest bases of their kind in the world. The military have always received special treatment. She’d seen it with the two Navy guys she briefly dated before Roman, but never to the extent seen with Roman. 

Like the time she decided to bite the bullet and attempt to file a restraining order against him, only for the cop who took the report ending up being someone Roman knew. An old friend from bootcamp.

A friend who tipped him off.

To this day, she hasn’t a clue what happened to said report. 

It felt unheard of.

Though, to be fair, there’s very little she hadn’t seen or experienced before. 

Since Roman Reigns entered her life. 

Karina can still recall the day she stepped foot into the gym for the first time in years. The last time she’d attended was for a group class her friends talked her into attending. Hot Yoga.

She wasn't a fan.

It was the first and last time she’d allowed her car to pull into the parking lot that was always full no matter what time of day she drove past it. An unavoidable passing no matter which route she drove to work. But each time she sat at the light, only a turn away from ending her unspoken sabbatical, fingers tapping against her bedazzled steering wheel, she thought about it. 

Thought about breaking her years long streak of avoiding what she always seemed to put off. It wasn’t even that she felt the need to lose weight. That she even wanted to. Years of hard work devoted to learning to love and embrace the curves she used to try to conceal with oversized hoodies and black stretch pants just to avoid the rolls caused by the skinny jeans all of her peers wore almost exclusively. Of realizing that not all bodies were meant to look the same. Karina came to recognize that her beauty never was and never will be dictated by the number on the scale. Let alone some outdated standard—like BMI—that was never meant to represent or factor in diversity. 

She might not love her body all of the time, but she loves it most of the time, and that’s what matters most.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t get in the habit of moving her body in a way that’s overall healthy and good for her. To feel good, because being freshly thirty with no kids yet and no potential prospects anywhere in sight, the disappointment was starting to set in. Disappointment she could tell was only a few more lonely nights away from morphing into depression.

Karina knew she had to make a change. 

And so she laid in bed at night, scrolling through fitness videos from women who looked like her. Who proudly showed off their stretch marks and tummies that could jiggle instead of the textbook “skinny” fitness gurus she’d once idolized and prayed to look like one day as a naive preteen who didn’t know any better.

Karina even challenged herself to start off with beyond the basic thirty minute walk on the treadmill. It was part of the routine she’d put together based on almost two weeks of studying and research. But it wasn’t the most important thing. What was most important was walking past the row of treadmills, ellipticals, and other cardio based machines. It was blowing out a big breath and popping the strap of her bright orange sports bra that matched with the high waisted, tummy control and booty scrunch leggings. An two piece set that was minimally beyond her comfort zone but also the perfect outfit to test and stretch said comfort zone. 

Karina popped in her pink ear buds before she got out the car, already had her curated workout playlist that’d started off with Bodak Yellow, and found that Jesus still answers prayer when she was able to land an empty bench not in use. A woman with headphones and long blonde hair she had pulled into a tight ponytail was Karina’s silent neighbor. It didn’t bother her though. She preferred the silence. It allowed her to focus on recalling the specific order in the set she’d studied and committed to memory.

Memorization felt like an insurance policy to avoid unintentional embarrassment. 

Or injury. 

And three songs in, the confidence arose in tandem with each slow, steady raise of the free weights in her hand. She felt good. She felt strong.

She was also doing it wrong.

Karina had as much confirmed when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She’d briefly dropped the weights to reply to a text from her mom, thus her head being down and not allowing her to see him approaching through the mirrored wall. Not that it would have made much of a difference. Her reaction would have been the same regardless.

It was hard for her to hone in on the specifics of what initially drew her in. Having to look up to meet his warm, hazel eyes and the soft, crooked smile on his handsome face. Full lips pulled back just enough to reveal a set of perfectly straight, white teeth. The way his massive body almost entirely eclipsed hers. The tight, black Under Armor muscle shirt clinging to every defined, hard, sculpted muscle on his body. And that were plenty. Intricate tattoos wrapped around both arms, and, as she would later find out, his chest as well. Karina was in the middle of removing her ear bud and roving her eyes over what was easily the most attractive man she’d ever seen when he upped the ante and chuckled.

“Sorry to bother you.” There was no denying the somersaults in her stomach at the sound of his smooth, deep voice. Tall, fine, and he had a sexy ass voice? Yeah…never a bother. Ever. “And I hate to be that guy, but…” The way he trailed off, the subtle movement of his jaw, and his tongue flicking against the hood of his mouth should not have made her thighs press together. “Your form is a little off.” And because having a perfect appearance and panty soaking voice wasn’t enough, he had to set the bar impossibly higher with a dash of flattery. “You’re doing great for a beginner though.” 

Sincere or not, it was an effective add-on that also made her chuckle and nervously roll her eyes. “That obvious?”

Of course it was. This man looks like he lives, breathes, and eats the gym for a living. Far from a small gal, it's ridiculous how he towers over her in height and width. Nothing but pure muscle and brute strength wrapped around a solid frame. If there was anyone who would be able to point out someone clearly new at this, it would be him.

So much for doing a good job. 

“Naw. Your form isn’t what made me notice you.” His smile softens, his eyes gleaming and twinkling with something that made her chest tighten. “It’s just what gave me an excuse to talk to you.”

And just like that, the tension eased, her smile revived with the same ease his smooth reply rolled off his tongue. 

She offered her hand. “Karina.”

His gaze dipped down, Karina instantly overcome with a sense of warmth at the way his much larger hand eclipsed hers. Fully aware of the stroke of his thumb across her knuckles. 

“Roman.” 

Formal introductions led into a shared workout of sorts, even if he spent majority of the time helping and instructing her vs actually getting his own workout in. Naturally, one thing led to another, and she accepted his offer to join him for lunch.

She learned a lot that day. Learned that he was new in town and still had a few unopened boxes sitting around his house despite being moved in for over a month. That he’d recently accepted a job at the gym as a personal trainer after almost twenty years in the military. He didn’t say what branch or specify what exactly he did, and she didn’t ask. Something told her, however, in the way his eyes temporarily dropped to the table they sat at, that it was beyond just a desk job.

She guessed that he had combat experience and left it at that.

They must have sat at that restaurant for over an hour, and not once did the flow of the conversation stall. It continued to flow as naturally and organically as the smile that remained on her face the entire time they conversed. Even as he walked her to her car, palm on the hood of vehicle, eyes on her as she typed her number into his phone. 

It was there in the parking lot as well, as he twisted a tendril of her dark coils between his long, thick fingers that she absolutely did not imagine elsewhere on—or in—her body, that he issued his proposal. 

Offered to train her. 

To be her personal trainer. 

It, like him, took her by surprise. She decided to start implementing the gym into her life for solely self-care and maintenance purposes. She wasn’t looking to lose weight or to do anything to change how her body looked. She’d worked too hard to learn to embrace and love her curves to risk falling back into dangerous “thinspo” mindset and was thus ready to politely decline.

But then he brushed his rough, callous thumb across her cheek and offered to do it on his own time. Off the clock and without the need for her to modify her membership to include the training. Suggested a trade of sorts where in exchange for his training, she could help him learn his way around town. Like the small mom and pops restaurant on the corner of Independence and across the street from Greenbrier mall where they’d sat at for God knows how long.

And suddenly, it felt less like a step back and more of a step forward in the right direction. Like she’d finally figured out and landed on the best route to pursue.

So she accepted. 

Karina sometimes believes that to be the day she sealed her fate, and if not that, then most definitely the night of their first, official date. He’d scored dinner reservations at Ruth Chris where they sat, like most of their outings outside of the gym, for a minimum of an hour. Long after meals were finished, and even then, she’d made it a habit of sorts to pick locations close to the beach. So they could walk the boardwalk together. Sometimes even along the grainy sand where she’d slide off her shoes and hold up the bottom of her skirt or dress to avoid the gentle waves that kissed the space where water met land. 

Holding hands, talking, laughing, bonding, connecting. 

It all culminated to that moment she reached for him as he turned to leave. After walking her to her door and reminding her to text him when she awoke the next morning, as he always did following one of their outings.

The minute her fingers enclosed around his wrist as he turned to look back at her. Karina was only able to part her lips a few mere centimeters before his hands were on her face, his mouth on hers, and her body on fire. She still hasn’t a clue when exactly the door was shut and locked, but she certainly recalls every single detail of that night.

The way he maneuvered his hand between her thighs, easily sliding her panties to the side as he pumped one, two, and three fingers inside of her until she came all over his hand. The way her lids fluttered watching how he licked them all off in front of her before guiding her to the kitchen where he propped her up on the counter and dropped to his knees. Her hands initially planted on the cool faux granite as he sucked and lapped at her pussy like it was the first and only thing he’d had to eat all day. As she came once more all over his face before they traveled once and then twice more.

By the end of the night, there was barely an inch of her apartment they hadn’t sullied. Clothes strewn all over. The aroma of sex lingering and seeped into the sheets that covered their nude, spent bodies.

It was hands down the best sex she ever had. That was easily one of the many things that had her hooked.

But as amazing as the sex is, it doesn’t and hasn’t overpowered the very many problems that have littered their relationship. 

Because as sad as it might be, Roman getting violent and assaulting men who even so much as look at her for too long, has been the least of her worries.

No, those worried come in much larger, problematic forms.

Like the way she’s had to ask management at her apartment complex to change her locks. Twice. Both times having to jump through hoops, dancing around the real reason as to why. Unwilling to say it’s because despite Roman returning the key she’d given him, even after the changes, kept finding his way back into her place. Often already in her kitchen, making dinner for them when she arrives home from work.

Several times he’s welcomed himself into her apartment without her permission.

The Ring camera she put up at his strong recommendation following some stupid teenagers breaking into her apartment? Yeah. Changing the password only does so much. Again, he finds way to access her account. 

It’s the way she’s lost count of how many times she’s tried to explain to him why this is all wrong, how he’s not respecting her boundaries, and every time he finds a way to justify his behavior or convinces her that said behavior isn’t as bad as it objectively is.

“I just can’t take you being upset with me, Mina.”

The nickname he’d adopted for her she’d once asked him about given her friends and family have always called her Rina. She couldn’t figure out where the ‘M’ was coming from.

“Because you’re mine,” he’d explained, twisting her coils as they lay in bed together in his place that he always referred to as theirs. Went as far as to already set aside room in his closet for her own stuff. Kept an extra pair of scrubs for her that he’d purchased on his own volition. “My Rina.”

It felt romantic at the time. Now she realizes just how serious he was.

When he said she’s his, he meant it. 

Several of his obsessive actions over the almost two years that they’ve been together have all but proved it. 

Like the time she attempted to get away from it all, agreeing to an impromptu girls trip with her closest friends down to the Dominican Republic. It was only the third time she’d been out of the country, the first two being with the man she was trying to get away from. Separation to allow for clarity. But changing all her passwords for the umpteenth time and disabling location tracking and sharing didn’t stop Roman from showing up. Sauntering in with all the suaveness at the restaurant she was at with her girlfriends like it was the most normal, romantic thing in the world. 

A belief she might have unintentionally reinforced what with her leaving said restaurant and spending the night with him, effectively ending the supposed break they were on at the time.

Actions she got chewed up over from all ends, primarily from what she’s always coined the “Top Tier” of her friend group. Three friends she’s known the longest and hold the closest bonds with, all of whom have always been on varying ends of the spectrum as it pertains to Karina’s relationship with Roman.

Krista has always highlighted the obvious problems but overall expressed support. 

Shiva doesn’t allow a week to go by without randomly announcing that she has “dibs” on being godmother and matron of honor.

Avril….Avril just might actually hate Roman. She hasn’t been a fan since the first obsessive incident Karina disclosed. She reminds Karina a lot of her mom. The woman who, as far back as Karina can remember, stressed to her the importance of never letting a man get away with shit. Completely unforgiving and unwilling to acknowledge any minimal or small slight as anything but egregious and intentional, Myra Patton leaves little to no room for shit when it comes to men. It’s why, in Karina’s opinion, her mom has been single for so long.

She understands having strong boundaries, but the scars from Myra’s tumultuous relationship with Lyle, Karina’s absentee/deadbeat dad, run deep and have sworn her mom off all men. Her wall is impossibly high, thus Karina sharing very little with Myra regarding her complicated relationship with Roman.

But then on the other end of the spectrum, there’s Karina’s dad. Hands down the first man in her life to hurt and disappoint her. Karina will never forget sitting on the porch steps with her backpack and suitcase packed. Swatting away flies and ignoring the scorching sun that blared down on her body and made sweat accumulate across her back, forehead, and in all the folds and creases of her body. She’d sometimes sit out there until nightfall and her mom finally forced her to come inside because he wasn’t coming.

He never showed up like he said he would, and by the time Karina hit her teenage years, she stopped expecting and wanting him to. These days, they only communicate on the major holidays and her birthday, where he’ll post on her Facebook timeline. Not even a text or phone call. She prefers it that way though. Is way past the point of yearning for his love.

It does make her wonder though. If the little girl inside of her who always felt neglected by her father and just wanted to feel wanted and desired in conjunction with her mother’s arms length approach and philosophy regarding love is what brought her to where she stands.

Somewhere in the middle unable to let go of Roman’s hand.

Unable to let go of him. 

It makes her chest thud as she watches him rise from the sofa. Her mind screams at her to step back. In more than just the physical. 

But again, she is paralyzed and consumed by all things him. Her mouth parting and stomach coiling when he’s in front of her. His arm swooping around her back to pull her into him, to continue the drowning she’s incapable of stopping.

Her breath catches in the back of her throat. “Roman….”

“Karina.” Her eyes slam shut as his fingers dig into her skin, thumb caressing the fabric of her gown. His heat travels, the proximity between them both suffocating and not enough. There’s equal desire to lift her hands to his chest and push him away just as much there is to feel the cotton wrinkle under her touch as she pulls him closer. “Baby, I know…I know I need to work on some things.”

“Ro—”

“And I will.” His deep voice is nothing short of pleading as his thumbs continued to ruffle with her gown, each stroke heavier than the one before. Coaxing her to open her eyes, to meet his gaze that she has no doubt reflects the sincerity in his voice. “I’d do anything for you. I love you. You know this.”

It’s at that final statement, however, that she wills her eyes open. Sure enough, he’s staring down at her with nothing short of sincerity and a hint of desperation. Maybe more than a hint.

Karina sighs, hating the way one of the immediate things she takes note of once again is the deepening of the lines around his eyes. The scruff of his beard. Sleep deprivation and lack of maintaining certain aspects of appearance. Two of the first things that always take a hit whenever she attempts to place distance between them. And she hates it. Not that she notices it.

But that she cares.

That she feels bad.

That it makes her want to take his hand and never let go.

Karina swallows, unwilling to let her thoughts betray her. “Then why won’t you give me space when I ask for it?”

How she’s able to issue the question that immediately crossed her mind following his last statement is beyond her. She just knows that she sees what flashes in his warm gaze, the subtle tick of his jaw and the evident delay in his response that indicates he’s thinking. 

“Because that’s not what you need. It’s not what we need.” His voice is slow and gentle, as if talking to a child who simply lacks the ability to understand. Far from condescending but easily in the valley of invalidation. 

He’s not listening to her.

“Roman—“

“I know what you need, Karina,” he interrupts. Her chest tightens as he ups the ante, traveling his hands up her body, stopping only when his thumb is nestled right under the swell of her big breast. “You need me, baby. Just like I need you.” 

Words she’s heard before. Several times over. More than she can count. It should be redundant. Wash, rinse, repeat. And that may be the case, but so is the way her stomach continues to knot and the heat from his body calls to her. Makes her want to lean and melt into him. 

Especially when she realizes that her hands have lifted to his chest yet not an inch of her has moved in an effort to shove him away. 

“We’re perfect for each other, Mina,” he continues. Karina’s lips part ever so slightly when he dips his head to the crook of her neck. His soft, dark tresses spilling over her chest, the familiar scent of Argan oil from his shampoo has her eyes fluttering shut once more. Her fingers slowly dragging down his chest—solid, defined muscle that instantly evokes sinful memories of how it feels to have her palms braced on him. Using his strong, sturdy body to brace her as she rides him, his deep voice talking her through every step. “Every fucking inch of you was made for me. Made for me to feel. For me to love. For me to touch—”

The knots in her core intensify as does the pulsing and throbbing in between her legs. “Ro—”

“For me to fuck.” 

There’s always been something magnetic about Roman. A pull that she’s never been able to resist. The current and riptide that’s unforgiving and unavoidable. And Karina is reminded of as much when he hikes her up on his waist and carries them into her bedroom. With how he carefully lays her down onto the mattress, one knee up on the bed as he climbs over her. All the while her hands never leave the back of his neck, fingers embedded in his loose curls, while his roam and grope every part of her soft, squishy body. Her own mouth parted when he eases his hands up the sides of her thick legs, squeezing and jiggling the meat of her hips. 

She’s left panting, chest beating, and a whine sitting at the back of her throat when he kisses the corner of her mouth. Her eyes lock onto his, the soft glow of the lamp on the nightstand highlighting his side profile. In the dim room, his eyes darkened and mouth parted similar to her own, he’s never looked more beautiful. 

It’s what confuses her sometimes. How something and someone so physically beautiful can also be someone capable of acts so heinous.

Beauty that belies the beast. 

Karina licks her lips and reaches for his shirt when he grabs her wrist and kisses her palm. “No one else knows how to love and take care of you like I can,” he murmurs against her burning skin. Heat laps at every inch of her, similar to how he plants a trail of kisses starting with her jaw and continuing downward. “No one can make you happy like I can.”

His words mingle in with the sensations that paralyze her body. Karina manages to hoist her ass up just enough, elbows anchored onto the bed, thus allowing her the perfect view as he sinks to his knees at the end of the bed. He tugs her body towards the edge, Karina falling backwards only to arch upwards almost immediately when he flattens his tongue against her cunt.

“Fuck,” she curses. Her hands are gliding across the mattress as he uses two fingers to spread her slick pussy lips apart, granting and allowing his thick pink tongue greater territory to explore. Thorough and attentive in all the ways, it’s the circular motion he flicks across her swollen clitoris that makes her hand shoot to the top of his head.

He immediately swats it away. 

“Stop moving.” The only warning issued as he resumes eating her pussy with fervor, intensity, and precision that has her feeling like she’s only seconds away from her climax. Her thick thighs clamp around his face, locking him in, and it’s way he moans and grips her thighs, hiking them over his broad shoulders, that nearly does her in.

“So good,” he groans. The swipe of his tongue up the length of her, including the gentle probe against her asshole, making her curse once more. “Been in fuckin’ agony without this pussy.” 

Karina hates the way her mind immediately shifts towards agreement as he continues to suck and slurp, her juices dripping down onto the bedding that she just changed this morning. She’s lost count of how many packs of sheets and loads of linen only laundry she’s had to complete since the entrance of Roman Reigns into her life.

He is both the source and cause of all messes in her life in every single way.

But it doesn’t prevent her body from inching off the bed just enough to buck into his face creating a loud, squelching sound that fills the room and dances alongside her panting and moaning.

“That’s right,” he coaxes, her pussy contracting around his finger as he begins to pump her in tandem with his oral onslaught. He kisses her clit and sighs. “Always so responsive. I’ve taught you well.”

Another statement she can’t negate. While Roman certainly wasn’t her first time, he has been her first for many other things. Namely just the extent to which he worships her body, the boundaries he’s encouraged her to push and explore. The way he’s helped her to recognize just what her preferences are inside the bedroom. The ability to initiate in ways she never would have before. Gradual introduction to and revelation of kinks she hadn’t even known she had. 

The euphoria that is having a man who loves to give just as much as he loves to receive.

He’s helped her recognize that sex should always be mutually beneficial and pleasurable, an accomplishment she’d never had with any prior sexual partners.

Selfish. She’s now realized that they were selfish, and even more, fatphobic. Subtle and minimal in ways she hadn’t exactly caught on at the time.

“I just prefer to be on top.”

“Shower sex is overrated. Trust me.”

“I don’t think that position would really work for us.”

Rejections that she chalked up to personal preference. Now she knows that they were just being assholes. 

Weak assholes.

Because the way Roman flips, twists, bends, and everything else under the sun her when it comes to sex more than proved everything she’d mentioned before was more than possible. Just not with them.

But most definitely with him.

That and some more.

A lot more. 

All emphasized when in the blurry, hazy aftermath of her orgasm, Karina looks down to see Roman no longer buried between her thighs. He stands at the edge of the bed, naked, bronze skin glistening like the remnants of her essence that drip from his salt and pepper beard down onto his chest. But it’s the way he’s stroking his dick, big hand moving up and down all thick eight inches of turgid muscle, cum leaking from the tip, that has her mouth watering. 

Has her pussy pulsing despite the orgasmic aftershocks that have yet to subside.

Her eyes meet his when he starts to hover over her. She reaches to grab him, to bring his mouth back onto hers, when she’s suddenly yanked up and turned over.

“Rom—“

Karina gasps loudly when he slaps her ass, his hands locking onto her hips and forcing her upwards and onto her knees. She moves to look over her shoulder only to gasp once more when she feels his weight atop her and the connection of heat against heat.

Her head drops, eyes shut, and fingers curl into a fist against the mattress. Roman nuzzles the side of her face, inhaling deeply, damp beard transferring her juice onto her cheeks. Karina dips her tongue out to taste the remnants that drip near the corner of her mouth when his grip tightens. She winces at the same moment he chuckles. “Talking about a fucking break.” Karina moans and wiggles her ass against him when Roman slides his dick up and down the length of her wet, sticky pussy lips, collecting her dew to coat his dickhead. “Only fucking break you need, baby girl, is for me to break this pussy back in.”

Words that barely register and matter when in one swift, fluid motion, he enters her.

Karina cries out once more from the mixture of pain and pleasure. She bites down on her bottom lip to the point she’s certain blood has been drawn. Small indents in her pouty pink lips like the ones she’ll no doubt leave alongside his strong shoulders before the end of the night. 

If they can make it that far.

Karina winces and attempts to reach back behind her, her body jutting almost violently from the way he’s digging into her. “Baby, wa—wait.”

He ignores her, hands anchored on her fleshy hips, the thought of him staring at the recoil of her juicy ass bouncing off his dick making Karina’s protests falter and her resolve weaken. “Look at how this pussy gripping me.”

His dirty talk, as always, has her milking and dripping all over his cock, the darkened skin of her inner thighs coated with her cream. But as good as he feels inside her, there’s a level of pain and discomfort that’s gradually outweighing the pleasure. The morning after they had sex for the first time, Karina felt like she’d been hit by a fucking truck. Her bones felt heavy, limbs numb and without the ability to function as normally. But it was the throbbing in between her legs, the hiss she emitted out slightly parted lips as he washed her in the shared shower they took afterwards that took the cake. 

Had her reaching for and popping an Ibuprofen that typically is only utilized when she’s PMSing or on her period. 

Roman easily has the biggest dick out of all her prior sexual partners. The first time she saw it, watched him undo his pants and drop his boxers, dick springing to life with cum already coating the tip, her stomach dropped. Heard the return of words spoken to her by her best friend, Krista, forever ago as they sat on the sofa in her mom’s house one weekend. Each with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and Secret Life of the American Teenager playing on her mom’s new 50inch TV.

“Ya’ know the best thing about being thick bitches?” She started, metal spoon hanging out her mouth as she licked it clean before smiling wryly. “We’ll never get stuck with micro penises. They gotta have enough so it doesn’t fall out while we’re riding it.”

Only eighteen at the time and still a virgin, Karina was mortified. 

12 years later, the words have never rang more true. 

Karina’s discomfort must somehow register to Roman. His low chuckle manages to make its way to her ears despite the loud, consistent smacking sound of him pounding her out and her headboard slamming into the wall. 

If not for the situation, she might tell him to stop simply for the mere fact they already put two holes in the wall; she doesn’t want nor need to add anymore. 

He slows down, palming and squeezing her left ass cheek. “See what happens when you deny daddy his pussy?” Karina’s groan is smothered through her closed mouth as his long fingers spread her cheeks, thumb probing against her asshole. Her fingers drag against the sheets once more. “Can barely take this dick, but I know you can.” He slaps her ass again with less force than the previous one, but she quickly realizes it’s only because the intensity has been transferred elsewhere. “Just gotta let me stretch you out again.”

In a matter of seconds, his hand is again knotted in her coils with a grip that would be the cause of her wince if not for the way his left arm swoops around her body. How his forearm locks against her soft belly and pulls her ass up just enough to deepen her arch. How he leans over her body, his heat transferring to hers, and resumes pounding her out.

“Shit!” 

“You missed me, didn’t you?” Each thrust of his big dick makes her pussy squelch and tears leak out of her eyes. He feels like he’s in her fucking stomach. So damn deep. So fucking good. “Tell me how much you missed me, Karina. How much you missed this dick.” 

“I missed you,” she cries, voice muffled from both her tears and the bedding that has her mouth partially covered. “Missed this dick so much, daddy.” 

“Of course you did, sweetheart.” She hates the way his smug tone and breath fanning the shell of her ear that he gently bites on make her want to throw her ass back against him. He can’t be any deeper than he already is, stretching her out just how he said he would, but God, there’s an insatiable door he’s seemed to unlock for her when it comes to sex with him. 

It’s indescribable. 

“Fuck, Mina. You know how much I love this pussy? How much I love you?” He yanks her head back, her eyes shifting to lock with his. “Acting like you don’t know who the fuck you belong to.” Roman kisses her hard, and she moans into his mouth, any prior resolve and reluctance to waver from the paltry boundaries she tried and failed to set every single time collapsed and defeated the moment he carried her into her bedroom. Perhaps even before that. 

He bites down on her bottom lip, making her eyes shoot open to see him staring at her with the same love and lust drunk expression she’s certain is written all over her own face. “I own every inch of you just like you own every bit of me.”

There’s an almost menacing undertone that makes chills shoot up her arched spine, but it’s outweighed by the sweat accumulated in the creases of her rolls and across her forehead. Drowned out with each delicious thrust and grind of his dick inside of her wet pussy. 

“Tired of these fucking games.” He growls, snapping his hips in tandem with each punctuated word of ownership. “You. Are. Mine.”

It’s nothing he’s not said before. In every way imaginable. All the iterations and variations. Solidified in the way he brings his hand on top of her left one, fiddling with the diamond on her ring finger. The ring that, despite several breaks since his proposal almost three months ago, she hasn’t removed.

Even after she initially told him she needed time to think, wasn’t sure if she was ready to take such a big step when they clearly have issues to work through. After she returned home that night following their date, twisted and turned until she finally fell asleep. After she awoke to the sound of soft snoring, the feel of a heavy arm across her plush body, and the ring she’d gently handed back to him on her finger.

Again….the ring that hasn’t moved. 

She, however, is moved when she comes all over his dick, and Roman’s response is to roll her onto her back, slide his hand up the back of her big thighs and enter her once more. Continuing to fuck her even through the aftershocks of her orgasm. 

Her haze is as blurry as the sight of his massive body over hers. She can briefly make out the outline of his lips spreading into a smug smile. “You better save your energy, sweetheart, and let daddy take care of his girl, cause Imma be in this pussy all fucking night.” Her stomach twists from both excitement and apprehension. She has no doubt he absolutely means what he says. She’s never met a man with such a high sex drive. “You’re ovulating. You know what what means, princess?” Her hands move on top of his right one that’s wrapped around her throat. “That means it’s time to put a baby in you.”

Karina's eyes shut once more as she arches her back off the bed, Roman guiding his hand to grope and squeeze her heavy breast. She licks her lips, mouth dry, pussy continuing to be wrecked as he pistons in and out of her. 

For some time now, he’s made clear his desire for them to start a family. Indicated he wants to start sooner rather than later given their almost seven year age difference. Karina can’t say she was or even is entirely opposed. It’s just, once again, the order in which these things occur, in her mind, should only be figured out and dictated once they work through the issues that continue to cause these failed breaks she keeps initiating. 

Pregnancy, however, is something that might occur sooner or later, problems and Roman’s obsessive behavior be damned.

He already found his way into her Flo app, tracks her cycle and, clearly, her ovulation dates. 

She’s not on birth control anymore after briefly restarting once realizing Roman wasn’t going anywhere and sex between them was quickly reaching a point where Plan B’s and the pull out method could only do so much.

But that ended up being an epic disaster and the source of an argument between them when he found the pack in her nightstand drawer.

That was the last time she saw it.

And the last three times she attempted to pick up her refill and get back on track, she’d come home only a few days later to find her them missing.

He popped each and every pill out of the packet and flushed them down the toilet.

She even met with her OB-GYN and scheduled an appointment to get an IUD.

Roman got into her MyChart and canceled the appointment. 

Even her last resort of picking up a box of condoms from the drugstore resulted in nothing more than him taking the box, looking at it, and throwing it away in the trash right in front of her.

The last resort's last resort came in the form of Karina convincing herself that she’d get him to start pulling out again as they did when they first got together. But each time resulted in nothing more than Karina wrapping her legs around him tighter, crying and begging for him to come inside her. A request he eagerly and happily obliged to until his cum was leaking out of her swollen pussy. 

After that was when she ultimately gave up. 

And since then, while she’s not overtly thrilled at the thought of getting pregnant right now, especially while unmarried, the truth is that she’s not entirely opposed either.

A sentiment reinforced when Roman gently caresses her face, ghosting his lips over hers, gently brushing away the tendrils laying against her forehead. “God, you’re gonna look so beautiful carrying our child.”

Visions flash before her now closed eyes. The feel of his hand intertwined with hers, his big body between her spread legs as he travels precious kisses all over her swollen stomach. A small smile on her face as they discuss potential baby names, unopened boxes sitting in the unfinished nursery waiting for them to decorate. 

The sort of domestic future she’s always visioned for herself. One that’s never felt more doable and possible until Roman. 

Hope swirling and rising even hours later after he finally finds his fill after filling her more times than she can count. After the shared shower where he ran the wash cloth over her body with gentle touches and soft, murmured words of praise and adoration. The way he handled the changing of the sheets and bedding, pulling her body into his as she curled into him, his voice low and his determination unassailable. 

“You’re mine forever, Karina.” He travels his mouth around the perimeter of her hairline, hand on the back of her neck, hers over his heart where her name is spelled out in blank ink among the valley of other permanent markings of his journey. Of his life. Of him. “That’s never going to change. I’m never letting you go.”

It's a proclamation that sends chills down her spine.

But the problem aren't his words. 

The problem is she’s not sure she wants him to.

She’s not sure she wants him to let go. 

Not sure she wants to let go.

ᥫ᭡ . . . a 𝗆𝖺𝖿𝗂𝖺 𝖺𝗎. 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗂𝖼𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖺. 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍. 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗒. 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄. 18+ 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ✩ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒⠀⠀⠀⠀𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒐𝑺𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆⠀⠀⠀⠀⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ✩ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒

ᥫ᭡ . . . 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗎'𝗌 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗅𝗍𝗒𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝖾. 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇, 𝖼𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗂𝖼𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖺. 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍. 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗒. 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌. 18+.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ✩ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒⠀⠀𝑾𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 𝑰 ⠀⠀⠀⠀𝑾𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 𝑰𝑰⠀⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ✩ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒

ᥫ᭡ . . . 𝖺 𝗇𝗎𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗍𝗌, 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗂 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖻𝖺𝗅 𝖼𝗁𝗂𝖾𝖿. 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍. 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍. 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗒. 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌. 18+.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ✩ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒⠀ 𝑨𝒄𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒍𝒆𝒅𝒈𝒆 𝑯𝒊𝒎 ⠀⠀⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ✩ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒

ᥫ᭡ . . . 𝖺 𝗀𝗎𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗇𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗀𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝖾.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ✩ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒⠀⠀ 𝑨𝒄𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑮𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆⠀⠀⠀⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ✩ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒

A/N: today was my birthdayyyyy! unfortunately, there was no thick, six foot something samoan man in any of my gift bags this year, so i wrote this to make up for it. enjoy! 🙈

side note: the concept of this was heavily inspired by the amazing @dpriestxripleysgirl and her “pretty little problem” series! be sure to show some love if you haven’t already! 💌

the morning sun peeked through the open slit between the sets of your floral curtains, causing you to let out a groan and turn onto your back.

once your eyes are finally adjusted to the light, you look up and a quiet gasp exits your mouth.

dozens of pastel pink and gold balloons cover the ceiling above your bed, swaying ever so slightly in reaction to the fan spinning a safe distance away.

before you could call out his name, jimmy walks in carrying a tray of food, that gorgeous smile spreading across his face the second he notices that you’re awake.

“morning birthday girl,” he coos gently, setting the tray down on the bed next to you and a glass of a yellow liquid onto your nightstand.

you smile sleepily, opening your arms. “morning, daddy.”

he chuckles and lifts you like you weigh nothing before sitting back down onto the sheets, holding you tight in his arms.

he kisses you slow, his warm palms sliding up your pajama shirt and slowly down your back. 

you hum against his lips, keeping your arms wrapped around his neck and hands in his curls.

“someone slept good,” he teases when you two finally pull apart, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

your smile fades immediately, a pout replacing it. “ugh as if you wake up any neater! leave my bed head alone!”

he smoothens out his beard full of black and gray hairs. “i’ll let that slide, but only because it’s your day.”

you roll your eyes, climbing off of his lap to grab your favorite pastel pink scrunchie at your dresser.

“anyway,” he begins again after watching you for a few moments, a not so subtle smirk plastered on his face. “i made your favorite: an omelette with enough cheese to make a lactose intolerant person drop dead, hash browns, extra crunchy bacon, fresh fruit, and pineapple juice to drink.”

as much as he teases you, especially in the morning, you simply can’t deny how insanely good of a cook jimmy is.

anything you want - pasta, pizza, even taco bell that you once didn’t wanna get out of bed to go buy because your cramps were about to be the death of you - he’s in that kitchen cooking like you guys invited over gordon ramsey himself.

but the problem was, as amazing as it all sounded, you didn’t want any of what he just listed. hell, you didn’t even want breakfast in general.

there was one thing on your mind: birthday cake.

last weekend, you overheard him on the phone with a nearby bakery placing the cake order ahead of time while he thought you were still in the bath that he spent over ten minutes perfecting for you.

you almost came on the spot at the sound of the requests he was making: a red velvet base, layered and topped with strawberry cream cheese icing.

and the best part? sparkly, heart shaped, pastel pink, and bordered with bows in the exact same shade.

four of your absolute favorite things ever.

moral of the story, you had to have this damn cake and you were hellbent on eating it within minutes.

making sure to stick your bottom lip out and upper your tone extra sweet, you head back over to the bed. “daddy?”

jimmy’s smirk alters. “uh oh, i know that face all too well. what is it, princess?”

you find yourself playing with the drawstrings of your pajama pants before taking a nervous breath.

“c-could we have some cake first?” you ask, staring through the baby pink rug beneath your feet like it owed you ten million dollars.

when he doesn’t give you an immediate no, you decide to push your luck a little further.

“breakfast looks amazing but i just want my birthday cake. i waited sooo long for it! almost four hundred days! pretty, pretty please?”

a few moments of silence pass, jimmy still giving you nothing but an occasional blink, before he finally speaks.

“you do realize i’ve been up for over an hour cooking you all of this food, right?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest and nodding towards the breakfast tray. “making sure your bacon is damn near charcoal? making sure your juice came straight from a fruit and didn’t taste like some processed bullshit?”

you nod immediately. “i’ll eat it all after, daddy. i promise!”

he lets out a quiet sigh, running a hand over his face. “fine. go get the cake.”

you squeal, jumping back into his lap and peppering his bearded face with what must’ve been a hundred kisses.

he playfully taps your butt, signaling to sit back up. “i’m changing my mind in 3….2….”

you cut him off by sprinting off of the bed and out of the bedroom, straight to the fridge downstairs.

you open the doors and quickly grab the beautifully wrapped white box labeled with the bakery’s name and speed-walk upstairs, wisely deciding not to run.

after all, it’s too pretty to accidentally drop.

“hurry, daddy! hurry!” you chant after handing the box to him and taking a seat on the bed, your legs criss cross applesauce.

jimmy just chuckles, carefully unwrapping it before unveiling the cake.

from the first view, you’re in absolute love.

it’s the perfect shade of baby pink with the perfect amount of sparkles. and the best part? it’s all made just for you.

sparkly silver candles are already placed neatly inside, almost as if he knew you’d pull something like this.

he holds the cake in one hand while grabbing a lighter that, ironically enough, was left on top of his nightstand from your guys’ smoke session late last night.

“alright princess,” he begins once the last candle is officially lit. “make a wish.”

you frown, slumping your shoulders. “you’re not gonna sing to me?”

he sighs, chewing on his lower lip. “need i remind you that i was originally only up this early to feed you breakfast?”

you roll your eyes, kissing your teeth. “fair enough.”

he’s unable to hide his smirk as you look back down at the cake, immediately smiling and getting all giddy again.

you close your eyes, make your wish, and eventually blow out each candle, careful to not mess up the cake in any way. even though it’s like 99% impossible.

“alriiiiight,” jimmy says, setting the cake back down to remove the candles.

“it’s so pretty daddy,” you coo, scooping up the tiniest bit of icing with your finger before bringing it to your mouth.

the sweetness of the strawberry and tanginess of the cream cheese combined are heaven sent, causing you to throw your head back and express how good it is with an “mmm!”

he smiles, grabbing the knife from your breakfast tray before cutting you a perfectly sized slice and placing it on a plate. “i’m glad, baby. here.”

you take the plate from him and immediately dig in, the fluffiness of the cake now being added making you damn near ascend.

“it’s soooo good,” you say dramatically, bouncing in place. “you gotta try some.”

jimmy chuckles, reaching out to remove a red crumb from the corner of your lip.

“let’s see,” he says, opening his mouth soon after, signaling for you to feed him a forkful.

you do so and he chews, nodding and raising his brows in surprise.

“i told you!” you call out through a mouthful of just frosting, causing him to laugh.

unable to express how good it is with words, you begin to dance in place, taking forkfuls like it’s your last meal on planet earth.

jimmy sits back on the headboard and crosses his arms over his chest once more. “all this damn sugar at nine in the morning. never again.”

tag list: @uceyliyahh @christinabae @bebesobrielo @biancasreign @myamericannightmare @partypoison00 @li-da-savage @tribalchief2112 @isabella-2025 @chasssssworld @wrestlingprincess80 @amethyst09 @luvrgirl4roman @skyesthebomb @mselenalovebug @moxley99 @wooahmiri @romanreignshairdresser @fearlesschimera @esposadomd @voidstiles18 @bloodlineslut @sharmelasworld @caralinda0914 @justazzi @trippiexlove @fafomama @gabriella-15 @transparentphantomface @sualeo @yana3sworld @lovelyjay45 @lexisnicole25 @usocrazy @psilovey0u @nanamiismine @lovelikebuttahbaybee @dwill484 @maniuce @jeysslut ♡

join my tag list here! ᥫ᭡

request a one-shot here! ❦

check out my gifs, twitter and tiktok! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

it had only been a few months, but you were mentally done being trevantes girlfriend, or his sugar mama as he now likes to tell people behind your back.

you knew he was a aint shit nigga but you didn't know it was this damn bad. the only reason you found out is because he told his friends in a place where your best friend worked, and she heard it in between walking through tables.

god you couldn't believe you let this bird ass nigga be in a relationship with you.

thank god for jonathan. he's stepped up in ways you were absolutely surprised by, and not to mention hes made you into a soft girl with a soft life.

girl maintenance was always at his expense, and you were never without a meal or genuine compliments. and he dropped you off and picked you up from work in his car.

not yours, his.

it was like he was trevante. just better in every way.

you couldn't lie and say you weren't feeling jon. yeah he was a older, well seasoned man, but that was the beauty of how he treated you. he treated you with upmost respect, and he proved to you, in physical and financial ways, that he was here for you and only you.

you honestly wanted to make it official with jon first to fully let him in.

but how were you actually gonna kick trevante to the curb?

you rolled your eyes as you listened to trevante talk about the specific things you would do during date night, not believing whatever his ass was spewing.

there has been plenty of times, including the reason you started getting with jonathan, that trevante would do all the talking, and then would make up an excuse last minute.

this time? you weren't going to give in to any of his bullshit.

"im telling you baby, my boys showed me this really nice place. its far but i swear its worth it. are you getting dressed?" the man would sniffle into the phone, sounding like he was laying down in his bed.

"yes baby, im almost done getting dressed now, just about to put my clothes on." you'd lie through your teeth, deciding to get up to look for clothes. you weren't getting them for his scheme though.

if you were leaving trevante for jonathan, you'd want to have a celebratory dinner.

you would fix your freshly done hair, courtesy of jonathan and his money, absolutely feeling yourself.

"i saw you said you got your hair done, dont tell me you're still doing that pink and black phase you got going. you're a grown woman, pink is childish." you'd look at your phone in disbelief, rolling your eyes.

"excuse me? id understand if you paid for it, but you didn't. when you start paying for shit you can have a input." you completely snapped, first time you actually did to trevante. you wanted to be the girly sweet girl that didnt say much to please her man. not this time.

"why you actin' like that baby? having money isnt everything, you actin' like that shit isnt immature." you couldn't believe you were hearing this stupid shit. what type of spell were you on dealing with him?

"whatever trevante. how are you gonna pay for this dinner anyways, im broke." you knew this would be the catalyst to the date suddenly being rescheduled.

as you went to put the man on speaker and tie your hair up, the smell of cinnamon and long hair tickling your neck would stop you. you quickly put the phone on mute, a wet kiss being planted on your neck.

"he still on the phone? im betting money after you say you're not wearing makeup he's gonna cancel." jonathan softly spoke, placing a soft kiss on your lips after.

he would give you another kiss on the neck before sending a smack to your ass, slowly escaping out of your grasp to go take a shower.

you took yourself off mute once the shower started, going back to lay on the bed. you turned on your favorite show to drown out the sounds of the shower, it thankfully working.

"you really broke? you just got your hair done and shit. you dont save for shit like this? you know we gotta we gotta go out. you're being irresponsible." you wanted to rip his voice box out of his body, you couldn't stand another moment with this man.

"i have a little left that i was gonna use for gas, i'll pay and drive because i know your license is still suspended." the water would cut off, jonathan slowly peering out. he shook his head as he sprayed himself with cologne before getting in the bed.

its been so long most of jonathan's things were at your house, perfectly organized and in their own section. his hands moved from under the covers to your robe, slowly moving your underwear down your legs.

"what are you doin'?" you mouthed, moving the phone away from your mouth. all the man would do is put his finger to his lips, gesturing you to be quiet.

his head would dip under the covers, your body jolting as you felt his wet tongue press against your clothed heat, wetting the crotch part of your underwear. you sucked in a sharp breath, trying to hide your arousal from your phone call.

you'd throw down the phone and pull the covers back as jonathan would pull your underwear down slowly, his nose nudging your clit once it was off.

a soft sigh spilled out of your mouth as you felt his long tongue lap at your folds, all hungry and eager. your head thrown back, rolling your hips in eagerness.

"you alright y/n? whats that noise?" you could hear trevantes voice through the phone, causing you to snap out of the trance and sit up a bit.

"sorry honey, the phone fell out of my hand. what were you saying again?" your voice was breathless but not obvious, thankfully. you looked down to see jonathans smirking face, looking up at you with his deep brown eyes.

you'd roll your eyes playfully and wrap a leg around his neck, pulling him in closer. he would immediately get the gist, going back to feast on your cunt like he was a dog in the blistering desert with fresh water.

"im almost done getting dressed, you're wearing makeup right? if you want me to get used to that stupid ass hairstyle you have to at least care enough to wear some makeup." you scoffed once again, completely annoyed. you cant last another hour in the relationship, much less a day.

your back would arch as jonathan continued to lap at your folds, the sounds starting to become audible. you would let out breathless moans, trying to clear your throat to mask the sounds.

"are you serious trevante? i've been working all damn day, a whole twelve hour shift and you expect me to put on makeup?" you could feel your orgasm approaching, immediately tapping for jonathan to stop. his face would be wet with your juices, confused on why you made him stop.

you softly smiled before pulling him in for a kiss, the taste of your juices immediately hitting your tongue.

jonathan's hands roamed your body, softly squeezing at any chance he got. he was a sensual lover as you learned, and you loved to slightly get him out of just that bubble.

"you're acting like makeups something that takes a lot. you can hurry up and put it on and you can come and get me. if you dont wanna wear it, that cool. just know we not having the date then." jonathan would pull away from the kiss to scoff, shaking his head. of course he was right on the money.

"are you serious? im dressed and everything and you're not gonna excuse one day that im not wearing makeup?" you were so into the argument you didnt even realize you were on your stomach until you felt a certain something slide inside of you.

you covered your mouth to stop you from gasping, your eyes fluttering.

"yeah take that shit," jonathan whispered, slowly thrusting in and out. "hurry up and break up with him, i need you more than he do."

you bit down on your bottom lip hard, nodding as a smirk would fall on your face. you struggled to pick up the phone, clearing your throat repeatedly as trevante talked.

"i dont know what to tell you, if you dont wanna wear makeup i guess you're not serious about going out. better yet, i dont think you're serious about this relationship if you cant just do this one thing." trevante always guilt tripped you, trying his best to provoke you to make you do what he wanted.

this time you were done.

"you know what?" you breathlessly spoke through the phone, gripping it tightly as jonathan picked up the pace. "you're absolutely right. i guess this isnt working out. i wish you the best."

before trevante could say anything jonathan would hang up the phone and toss it to the side, pulling you into him tighter as he started to thrust harder. "god you let that go on way too long."

"but i ended it didnt i? now stop complaining and fuck me." jonathan would simply shake his head, softly sighing before gripping the sides of your neck, continuing to pound you.

you could hear your phone vibrating, probably trevante calling, but you could not care less. your moans would eventually drown it out, biting into the sheets just to calm yourself down.

"uh uh, gimme that, i wanna hear you. don't you wanna be a good girl for me?" you eagerly nodded, arching your back. jonathan would bend down, slowly kissing up your back before pulling you into a soft kiss, a contrast to the thrusts he was giving to you.

"of course i do." it was hard to comprehend words at this point, the words barely stuttering out of your mouth. a soft kiss was placed on your lips before you were moved to your back, your legs wrapped around his neck.

your eyes rolled back as he started to relentlessly slam into you, peppering kisses on your collarbone to calm down your scorching hot body. "fuckfuckfuck."

your back would arch up as he hit your spot repeatedly, only the whites of your eyes showing up at this point. jonathan really got off seeing you like this, and wanting you exactly like that all the time.

"who's pussy is this?" jonathan softly spoke in your ear, his thrusts slowing down. he didnt want the words he spoke to be drowned out by thrusts.

"its yours baby." your fingers dug into the mans thighs, the tempo of the thrusts not changing how fast he made your heart race.

"you mean it?" you immediately nodded, moving your legs to his waist to pull him closer. you both just stayed still, no thrusts, just in each others arms. "like truly?"

"of course i mean it, i wouldnt have broke up with that bum if i didnt. me and this pussy is yours."

jonathan chuckled, nodding before moving his head from your neck to gently kiss you on the lips. your hands would move to run through his hair, gently massaging his scalp as you both continued to kiss.

as you continued to kiss he would move your legs back up to his neck, his hands trailing down to grip your asscheeks. the harsh thrusts would soon return, the sheer impact rocking the bed back and forth.

every gasp and moan you emitted, jonathan would swallow it up with a kiss. your nails now dug into his back, surely leaving marks not even a feral cat could rival.

you started to gush around his length, indicating you were close. jonathans moans filled your ears, the thought of making him feel good clouding your brain.

"shit baby, you're gonna make me cum." his voice hummed against your skin, his forehead now against yours. "are you close?"

"im so close." you softly whimpered, your legs shaking as you could feel the man basically in your stomach. instead of moans you let out loud gasps, barely being able to properly breathe from the intensity of the thrusts.

"yeah? then cum, let that shit out for me." his eyes bore into yours, a soft smile adorning his face. he bit down on his bottom lip, concentrating as he started to bring you to your orgasm.

you could feel the pit in bottom of your stomach, your orgasm quickly approaching. a loud moan would break through the gasps, triggering your orgasm. you could physically feel your juices soak onto the sheets, the sound being almost pornographic.

"fuck im gonna cum." he whispered, still not breaking eye contact with you. he bent down once again to kiss your lips before his body twitched, signaling his orgasm. "oh shit, oh shit."

he continued to twitch until his high went down, slowly pulling out and easing your legs down. he quickly got up to grab something to wipe both of you off, massaging your legs afterwards.

"do you think he's pissed?" you asked, looking up at jonathan. he would burst out laughing, before picking up your phone to look at how bad the situation is.

"65 missed calls and 85 text messages. safe to say he's gonna be pissed when i answer this phone." jonathan would quickly type something on your phone. "also, does this mean we're together now?"

"yes jonathan. a side nigga doesnt continue to be one when the main is gone. you're the main now." he simply nodded, laying back in the bed. he pulled you into his arms, gently pecking your lips before turning the tv back up.

"well i did say that was the end goal, glad we're on the same page." you laid your legs on his thighs, bending to turn the fan on to cool your sweaty bodies.

a ping on your phone would cause jonathan to chuckle, turning the phone to you. "well have to stay together forever, because he was a stupid boy."

"well i hope! and you didn't have to tell him all of that."

"it's definitely more fun tearing his bitch ass ego down. now get up so we can take a shower and then we're getting some food."

"oo lets go to the place he suggested, i heard its really good!”

“i know, i was gonna take you there next week! lets just go now instead.”

vante: baby

vante: im sorry

vante: i didnt mean it

vante: cmon lets just go, you dont need any makeup.

mama: yeah nah she's good

vante: pretending you have someone else isnt funny, cmon

mama sent a photo!

mama: you are weird af and you need psychiatric help , honestly.

mama: also we been fucking for months how my dick taste bitch

the both of you were supposed to go out to dinner later tonight, but of course, hanging out with his homies was more important than spending time with his gf of damn near seven years.

you needed to leave him, asap. it wasnt like he was doing anything for you. as you went to go take yourself a nice hot shower, a message would flash on your screen, causing you to look at it quickly.

it was jonathan, your next door neighbor.

jon🍃🩷: hey mama, you still going out with your man? if not i got sumn new shit and some food for you.

jon🍃🩷: knowing him he cancelled on you for them wacc as mfs he call friends again.

you softly sighed, shaking your head as he was dead right.

jonathan moved into the apartment complex not even two years ago, but he was a fav of everyone, including you. introduced himself with a bag of weed and a sweet smile, and you couldn’t deny the lasting impression he made.

he was much older than you, but he had a certain old man charm about him. he didnt play about you at all, and you respected that. you were pretty sure he wanted to be with you, but obviously you were still hung up on trevantes dumb ass.

babygirl🎀🤍: of course he did, you already know.

babygirl🎀🤍: im taking a shower, but the doors unlocked. you know the drill.

you started to take your shower, taking your time. yeah a man would be in your house, but you trusted jon, he was more trustworthy and reliable than your boyfriend.

you would hear three knocks on the bathroom, indicating jon was in your house, and that he was in the living room whenever you’re ready. you finished up, drying yourself in the bathroom before coming into your room to quickly moisturize and put your clothes on.

“alright jon!” you softly yelled, getting underneath your warm and fuzzy covers. after a couple of minutes the man would walk in, weed in one hand, and longhorn steakhouse in the other. “how did you know i was craving this?”

“i know you mama, you’re always raving about their food.” jon quickly put the food down before taking off his jacket and dumping what he had in basketball shorts pockets on your nightstand. it was mostly his keys, with the exception of a thick wad of cash he almost always handed to you. “thats for you baby, just ‘sum spending money.”

“jon, you always keep giving me money. i dont need $2,000 just to spend.” jon shook his head as you spoke, getting underneath your covers. he wrapped his arm around your waist, getting closer.

you could smell the expensive cologne he often wore, it always sticking onto your clothes. you’ve had to immediately wash your clothes after being around him sometimes so trevante wouldn’t freak out about ‘some random nigga around his woman’, or whatever the fuck he be saying.

“then save it, or use it to pay off stuff. you’re a pretty girl, you should be having your man pay for all this instead of you.” you rolled your eyes playfully, sitting up to take out the food out of the takeout bags. “but he’s unemployed, he dont know the first thing about bills.”

you playfully smacked the man in his chest, giggling. you wanted to defend your man so bad, but everything was true. at some point he wanted to move in, without contributing.

you quickly shut that down, he can continue living with his mama.

“why are you at home mr. jonathan, them girls on that dating app still standing you up.” jonathan softly sighed before nodding, giving you a look that screamed ‘dont start.’ you quickly understood, moving to turn up what was playing on the tv. it was one of your cop shows, you loved watching it knowing your local cops werent as cool as hank voight.

“hurry up and eat your food so we can smoke. and you better eat all and not leave a crumb for ‘leftovers’.” you scowled at the man, knowing you were guilty of it. you couldn’t help yourself, if you were full with two bites left, you were gonna put them in the fridge to eat tomorrow.

“yes sir.”

jon would take a huge inhale of the blunt before passing it to you, leaning on your shoulder. you both had take a couple minutes for your food digest before smoking, not wanting to get sick. the man taught you this, and it always worked.

“i gotta question, and dont hate me when i ask.” jonathan lowly spoke, the smoke not letting him get any louder.

“does it have to do with trevante?” you spoke, your voice slightly laced with annoyance. it seemed like everyone had the same question about your relationship, so much you knew the question before anyone asked. jon nodded, giving you ‘forgive me’ eyes. “fine, ask it.”

“honestly, why do you put up with his bullshit? does he do something you cant get from no one else? because ive only known you for two years and i cant stand him.” with every word he spoke, it seemed like jon was getting worked up talking about your boyfriend. his neck vein aggressively protruded, annoyance and anger lacing his words.

you started to talk, but nothing came out. you didnt have a clear answer for jon. you had been with him since seventh grade, it was a bit of loyalty mixed with love. he was all you knew for years, and it felt wrong just let him go like that. although he absolutely deserved that.

“i honestly cant fully answer that. hes a aint shit nigga, but he’s been mine for almost a decade. i never found anyone really that treated me with love for that long.” you softly sighed, thinking more about the bad times with trevante. it had been so long, you couldnt see yourself going into the dating pool. “at some point i will leave him, but i need to ease out of it.”

jon immediately sat up, a small grin on his face. it was like you had said the magic words, looking you up and down. “alright, then how does this sound. you just get with another man that can ease your feeling out of the relationship.”

you furrowed your eyebrows, giving the older man a confused look. “i would need to find a man for that. you got an people in mind?”

“yeah, me! i’ve been trying to get you to dump that ‘ole tired ass muthafucker for months! why you think i said the side dude shit? i want you, no matter what i have to do.” jon sat up in the bed, licking his lips slowly. you could feel his hands creep under the back of your shirt, the coldness of his fingertips soothing the rising temperature of your body.

you knew this was wrong, but with the mans cold hand cooled you down, and the kindness and respect only a good man could give, you knew you couldnt say no.

“you know what you gotta do to prove yourself, right?” your fingers would graze his beard, your thumb running along his plump lips. he would kiss your thumb, smirking before getting closer.

“and what may that be sweetness? do i at least get a clue?” you gently shook your head before grabbing him by the shirt collar and crashing your lips onto his. it felt like his lips were designed just to kiss you, like his lips were plush pillows.

jon’s hands pulled you into his lap, not once breaking the kiss. his hands gripped onto you tightly, like you would change your mind and run away. at this point, you couldn’t.

your hands roamed around his body as you both continued to kiss, your acrylics softly digging into wife beater. jonathan would slowly break the kiss, softly panting as he moved down to your neck, simply licking and kissing it. he knew he couldn’t suck on it, not trying to alarm your boyfriend.

“god you know how long i’ve been wanting to do this? whatever the fuck that lil boys name is dont even deserve this.” jon would momentarily stop on your neck, making eye contact as he spoke. “strip ‘fa me, im gettin’ a lil impatient.”

you slowly nodded, getting off of his lap as you peeled your pajamas off of you. by the time you pulled off your panties, jons hands stuck on you like glue, moving you on your stomach.

“dont make me take my decision back.” you softly spoke, hearing and feeling the older man getting off the bed and shedding himself of his clothes. you gasped as you felt the mans huge length against your asscheeks, the man slapping it along both of them. “jonathan..”

“mm mm, dont be scared ‘na. arch that back for me so i can show you that you dont need that lil boy.” you obliged and arched your back deeply, holding onto your comforter for stability.

jonathan bent down to kiss along your back, then both of your asscheeks before sitting up. he let out a soft sigh as he started to tease you, running his tip along your now soaking wet folds.

you softly moaned, your eyes already fluttering at the feeling. you were so used to just a quick fuck that this was completely new to you. “fuck jon i need that dick.”

he let out a chuckle, not saying much before gently pushing himself inside of you. he knew he was a big boy, so he wasnt gonna break you in half immediately. you took in a sharp breath as he started to insert himself, feeling him already starting to stretch you out.

“you good mama, i can put the rest in?” your eyes widened, turning around at him. he just smirked, looking down. you followed, realizing he wasnt even halfway.

god you were definitely calling out tomorrow.

“god please.” you breathlessly spoke, chewing on your bottom lip. you braced as he continued, not stopping until he finally bottomed out. you felt full, softly panting at the feeling of him. “shit, you havent even started but i feel you in my stomach.”

“dont worry baby, i promise thats not gonna be the only time you say those words.” jon bent down to kiss your cheek, then your lips before slowly thrusting in and out.

your breathing would become uneasy, trying hard to concentrate. you never felt this way with trevante, mostly being bored during sex with him. you definitely needed this.

“baby, can i speed up?” you immediately nodded as jon spoke, desperation quite evident in your eyes. his hands would move to your hips as he started to thrust faster, the sound of your bodies colliding becoming louder than the tv. “fuck mama, this pussy gripping me like a vice. so fuckin’ good.”

you could barely make words, your eyes rolling back in pleasure. every part of your body was damn near shaking, though there wasnt any other way you wanted it. “fuck, i-its too much!”

“nah its not, you just aint been fucked good before. but its alright, this is the first but not the last time.” jonathan would start to relentlessly pound into you, deeply slamming all of himself in you. “that feel good dont it?”

“so fuckin’ good!” you moaned, your eyes rolling so far back only your whites were visible. you gripped the sheets, your moans and your bodies colliding filling up the room. “fuck!”

the man bent down to kiss your lips, slithering his tongue into your mouth as he rolled his hips into you. your fingers dug into his thighs, trying to push him off a bit, something to not make your impending orgasm kungfu you in the gut.

“girls who wanna cum don’t push me away, unless you dont wanna cum at all.” you frantically shook your head, your hands ceasing with pushing, now just imbedded in his flesh. “bet you wont do that again huh?”

“n-no, i wont.” you continued to moan out, your free fingers immediately moving to play with your clit. your orgasm was quickly approaching, your body on fire.

jons thrusts did not help, the lower half of your body shaking from the impact. god how in the hell did he not have a woman before this? with all this dick he should at least five girlfriends.

“m’ gonna cum, please let me cum.” you gently begged, face buried in the pillows as you struggled to keep an arch in your back.

“you sound so cute begging to cum. ‘gon head and give it to me, cream on my dick baby.” jon softly spoke in your ear, refusing to falter his thrusts.

he softly bent down once again to kiss you again on your lips, wrapping his arms around you tight. you let out one good high pitched moan, your orgasm breaking you apart like you were fine china.

you could physically feel yourself wetting up the older mans length, coughing at the intensity of your orgasm coursing through you.

“oh shit..” you softly spoke, your eyelids starting to get heavy. you would hold onto your stomach as you felt the man slowly pull out of you, letting out a deep breath once he was fully out.

he would get up after he saw you were okay, going to get a wet cloth and wiping both of you off. he would then put his shorts back on, collapsing on the bed. “damn i havent had sex in a while. did you enjoy that?”

“god you made me feel like a virgin again, oh course i enjoyed it.” you giggled, turning to cuddle the man. he would get you both under the covers before holding you, kissing your forehead. “i think i might be okay with the second boyfriend thing.”

“see, and all it took was some dick, nasty ass. i know you’re tired. go to sleep and i’ll make you breakfast in the morning okay?” you nodded, your starting to close. as you drifted off to sleep, you held jonathan even tighter, not wanting to let him go.

infidelity never felt this good.

You stood in front of your closet, thumbing through hangers like they might suddenly offer you the perfect answer.

Jeans were safe. Jeans and a cute little top. Nothing too extra– it was just the movies, after all. Still, you kept pulling this out, holding them up to the light, then putting them back with a soft sigh that felt too loud in the quiet of your room. You didn’t want to overdo it. You didn’t want to look like you were trying too hard.

But you kind of were.

You kept replaying the conversation from two nights ago in your head, the memory looping warm and steady like Jimmy’s voice itself.

He’d been on the phone. That deep, easy drawl rolling through the speaker like honey over gravel.

“Nah, baby, trust me,” he’d said, that rich chuckle vibrating right through your chest. “It’s gon’ be good. Movies. Popcorn. The whole thing.”

You had laughed, skeptical, twisting the hem of your shirt between your fingers. “The movies? Really? That’s what you wanna do when you’re only home for a few nights?”

“Hell yeah,” he answered without missing a beat. “We doin’ this old school. Bet you ain’t know nothin’ about all that.”

The tease had been gentle. It was the way he said it– fond, playful, like he was reminding you he had a few years on you– settled something low in your stomach. He wasn’t pushy. He was just… Jimmy. So sure of himself in that quiet, confident way that always made you want to believe him.

“Trust me, mama. We gon’ have a good time.”

You had never really had a good movie theater date before. The last one ended with some guy spilling soda all down your shoes and talking through the whole film like he was the only one watching. The one before that? Even worse. Awkward silences, wandering hands you didn’t want, and the overwhelming feeling that you were just there. Background noise.

But Jimmy had sounded so convinced. So excited. Like he already knew exactly how the night was supposed to go. Like he’d planned every little detail just to make you smile. And you believed him. You were hopeful.

The two of you hadn’t been seeing each other for very long, but you could already tell he was different. He was the sweetest. Funny in that easy, warm way that made you laugh until your cheeks hurt. He loved his family– talked about them like they were the center of his whole world. Something about that made your chest feel soft and full.

And god– he was so fucking fine. That salt and pepper beard, the way it framed his smile when he grinned at you like you were the best part of his day. You still got a little flutter in your stomach every time you thought about it.

He always made sure you were taken care of. Always made sure you had a good time. So what was there to really worry about?

But, you still wanted to look good for him.

Even if the theater would be dark. Even if he wouldn’t be able to see much once the lights went down. You wanted to be cute. You wanted him to think you were pretty. You wanted that bright, beautiful smile of his to hit you the second he saw you and stay there all night.

So here you were– settling on your favorite pair of jeans that hugged your hips just right and a soft, cute little top that showed the tiniest sliver of skin when you moved. Simple. Pretty. Enough.

You grabbed your purse from the hook by the door, slinging it over your shoulder, then gave yourself one last look in the mirror. You were still touching up your lip gloss, pressing your lips together with a little pop, when the knock came.

Five minutes early.

Your heart did a small, hopeful flip.

You smoothed your hands down the front of your jeans one last time, took a quick breath, and walked to the door. When you opened it, Jimmy was standing there under the soft glow of your porch light like he’d stepped right out of every quiet daydream you’d had about him lately.

And he looked good.

A black jersey stretched across his broad chest, the fabric soft and familiar. The kind that always made his shoulders look even wider. Dark jeans sat low on his hips, and his fresh shave made the line of his jaw sharp and clean. His two little baby hoop earrings caught the light every time he moved. Shades pushed up on top of his head because he didn’t need them tonight– he just wanted to see you clearly.

And that smile… god, that smile. Big, bright, and so genuinely happy it made your stomach do a slow, warm roll.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, voice low as he stepped in close without hesitation. One big hand slid around your waist like it belonged there, pulling you in until your bodies pressed together.

He felt so solid against you. Warm chest. Strong arms. The kind of steady strength that made the whole world feel quieter. Safe. Like nothing could touch you while he was holding you like this. He smelled so good too– clean, warm cologne mixed with that faint fresh-shave scent and something that was just… him. Perfect.

Jimmy leaned down slowly and kissed you.

His lips were full and warm, impossibly soft against yours, like the gentlest brush of velvet. There was the faintest hint of roughness from his beard brushing your skin. Not scratchy, just enough to remind you that it was him.

The kiss lingered, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to taste you. Then he pulled back just slightly, only to press another gentle kiss to your forehead. His lips warm and lingering there too.

“You look so damn pretty,” he whispered against your skin, the words low and sincere, breath fanning warm over your temple.

He pulled back just enough to look at you properly, eyes sparkling with that playful sweetness that always made you feel like the only girl in the world. His thumb brushed slow along your hip.

“You ready?”

You smiled. A little shy, a little fluttery. “Yeah– I think so.”

He took your hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed the back of it. “Good. Imma take care of you tonight.”

Jimmy walked you to the passenger side of his car, the cool night air brushing against your skin. He opened the door for you without a second thought, holding it wide and waiting until you were settled comfortably in the seat.

The moment you slid in, the buttery soft black leather hugged you like it had been waiting for you all night. Warm from the heater he must have turned on early. Smooth and expensive under your thighs.

You sank into it with a quiet little sigh, the scent of the car wrapping around you instantly. That clean, masculine mix of his cologne. A faint hint of the crisp leather. The subtle, fresh pine and cedar air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror. It all smelled like him. Safe. Warm. Like home.

Your heart did a small, silly skip as he closed the door gently behind you, not wanting to startle you. You were going out with your Jimmy. Your Big Jim. The one who always made everything feel taken care of, even something as simple as getting into a car.

A moment later he was sliding into the driver’s seat, and the whole space seemed to shrink around him in the best way. He was so big. Broad shoulders filling the seat. Long legs stretching out as he adjusted. One big hand settling on the wheel while the other reached over to rest on your thigh.

The leather creaked softly under his weight, the dashboard lights catching on the gold of his chain and the faint shine of his earrings. He looked so good it almost didn’t feel real.

The second the engine purred to life, smooth 90s R&B filled the car. Low, velvet vocals and slow, steady beats that wrapped around you like a warm blanket. He turned it down just enough that it was background, not distraction. Then he laced his fingers with yours, thumb brushing slow, lazy circles over your knuckles.

“You aight?” he asked, voice low and easy as he pulled away from the curb. That bright, beautiful smile was still there. It was just softer now in the glow of the interior lights. “You look a little nervous.”

You let out a small laugh, squeezing his hand back. “I’m not nervous. It’s just… it’s been a while since I’ve done this kind of thing. And the last couple times weren’t exactly great.”

Jimmy nodded, understanding flickering across his face. “Yeah, I figured you’d say something like that. But believe me, baby. This one’s gon’ be different.”

His thumb kept brushing the back of your hand, warm and reassuring.

“I got you. We just gonna kick back, eat too much popcorn, and enjoy the night. No pressure. Just me and you.”

The music swelled softly around you, making the dark road outside feel far away. Jimmy drove with one hand on the wheel, relaxed and confident. His other never leaving yours.

He asked you about your week, and he listened. Really listened, even when you told him the little things. Noticing the way you laughed about your coworker’s drama. The way your voice softened when you mentioned something that stressed you out. He didn’t just nod. He reacted. He cared.

“You know I love hearin’ about your day,” he said quietly, thumb still stroking your knuckles. “Even the boring parts. Especially those.”

You felt yourself relaxing deeper into the warm leather. It felt like nothing bad could reach you while you were sitting right here with your Jimmy holding your hand like it was the most important thing in the world.

The theater lights came into view sooner than you expected. Warm gold against the dark night. Jimmy pulled into a spot near the front, killed the engine, and turned to you with that angelic smile again.

“Ready?” he asked, voice playful but soft.

You nodded, squeezing his hand one last time before he let go. “Yeah… I’m ready.”

He got out first, then came around and opened your door like he’d done it a thousand times before. The cool air hit you as you stepped out, but Jimmy was right there. His big hands finding the small of your back, warm and steady through your top.

He guided you toward the entrance without rushing, thumb brushing a slow circle like he was reminding you he was right there.

Inside, the lobby smelled like buttered popcorn and faint cherry slushie. It was quiet for a Thursday night– only a handful of people scattered around. Jimmy kept his hand on your back the whole time, protective and casual, wanting nothing more than to have you tucked close to his side.

He ordered and paid for everything without hesitation. Your favorite candy, the large popcorn with extra butter, the oversized drink for you to share, even the sour gummies you’d mentioned once in passing months ago.

When the cashier handed him the candy, he took it in one hand and offered you the popcorn with the other, that pearly smile flashing again.

“Hold this for me, baby?”

You took it, heart doing that little skip it kept doing around him. He carried everything else– your drink, the candy, even your purse when you excused yourself to the bathroom.

“I got it,” he said simply, slinging the strap over his shoulder like it was nothing. “Take your time. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

You walked down the dimly lit hallway, stomach still fluttering. The bathroom was quiet, the fluorescent lights soft and forgiving. You stepped up to the mirror, set your hands on the cool countertop, and looked at yourself.

Your cheeks were a little flushed. Your eyes were bright. The lip gloss you’d just touched up in the car was still perfect, but you pulled the tube out anyway. Twisting it open and gliding it across your lips again just to have something to do with your hands.

You pressed them together, then smiled at your reflection. It was small, private. Almost shy.

This man…

You couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had just taken your purse without hesitation. The way he’d carried it like it was nothing. Like holding something of yours was just another way of taking care of you.

The way he’d opened the car door, buckled your seatbelt, kept his hand on your thigh the whole drive.

He was the biggest catch you'd ever known. You’d only been on a handful of dates, but he felt so special. He made you feel seen. Like you didn’t have to perform or shrink yourself down. He just wanted you there. Exactly as you were.

You capped the lip gloss and slipped it back into your pocket, then gave yourself one last look in the mirror. You wanted him to keep looking at you the way he had been all night– like you were the only girl in the whole damn world.

You took one more steadying breath, then pushed open the bathroom door.

Jimmy was waiting exactly where you’d left him, leaning against the wall with your purse still slung over his shoulder and the snacks balanced in his big hands.

The second he saw you, his eyes widened just a fraction. That warm brown gaze softening all at once. The sharp lines of his jaw eased, the corners of his mouth lifting into something more tender than a smile.

He straightened up and stepped toward you, free hand finding the small of your back.

“Better?” he asked, voice low and warm, thumb brushing a gentle circle against your spine.

You nodded, letting him guide you toward the theater doors, heart fluttering the whole way.

The moment you stepped inside, the cool, dark air wrapped around you. The big screen was still dark, but the house lights were turned down low, casting a soft golden glow across the wide, empty rows of seats.

Long shadows stretched across the carpeted aisles, and the whole space felt hushed. Intimate. Like the theater had been waiting just for the two of you.

The quiet hum of the projector somewhere high above mixed with a faint rustle of a few scattered people down near the front.

You paused just inside the entrance, eyes sweeping over the cavernous room. The rows sloped upward in gentle tiers, disappearing into the darkness at the very back. Your fingers tightening nervously against the strap of your purse.

“Where are we gonna sit?” you asked, voice soft.

Jimmy didn’t answer right away. His fingers flexed gently against your waist, warm through the thin fabric of your top. Then he took your hand in his, lacing your fingers together with that easy confidence of his. He gave your hand a small, gentle tug and nodded toward the back of the theater.

“C’mon,” he murmured. “Let’s go up here.”

You followed his gaze up all the way to the top. The stairs looked steep in the low light, disappearing into the shadows near the ceiling. A soft laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it.

“At the top?”

“Of course,” he said, squeezing your hand. “Believe me, we can see better up here.”

The words came out smooth. Almost too smooth. The corner of his mouth lifting in that slow, easy way it did when he was trying to sell you on something. His thumb brushed over your knuckles once. Twice. Like he was sealing the deal.

He started up the stairs without waiting for you to answer, his step a little lighter than usual. The faint bounce in it made the chain at his neck catch in the low light.

You let him lead you. The carpet was thick and soft under your shoes, muffling every step as you climbed higher and higher. The golden glow of the house lights faded behind you until the only light came from the faint glow of the emergency exit signs and the distant screen.

Each step took you farther away from the handful of people scattered near the front. The theater felt bigger. Quieter. More yours with every row you passed.

By the time you reached the top, the rest of the theater felt miles away. Jimmy let you slide in first, then settled in right beside you, the wide seat creaking softly under his weight as he filled the space next to you.

He set the popcorn bucket between you and handed you your drink, then draped his arm casually along the back of your seat like it was the most natural thing in the world. You leaned into him a little, resting your head against his shoulder for just a second, breathing in that warm, familiar scent of him.

You tilted your head up toward him, a small smile playing at your lips. “What movie are we watching anyway? You never even told me.”

Jimmy turned his head to look at you fully. His grin widened, cheeks rounding as his eyes met yours in the low light. He held the look for a beat longer than necessary, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting not to laugh at his own joke.

“Oh, it’s a surprise,” he said, voice teasing and warm. His words were smooth, sounding almost rehearsed. “You gon’ like it though.”

You studied him for a second. The way his shoulders shifted just a little. How his fingers kept brushing slow patterns across your arm like he was trying to distract you.

You let out a quiet breath, the smile on your face growing despite yourself.

“Alright,” you said softly, “I’ma trust you.”

You turned your face toward the screen, settling deeper into the wide, plush seat. The trailers started to roll across the screen in bright flashes of color and sound, the dark theater swallowing everything else until it felt like the whole world had narrowed down to this quiet corner in the back row. 

For a moment, it was just the two of you and the low hum of anticipation in the air.

Then you felt something small and light tap the tip of your nose.

You blinked, startled, as a single piece of popcorn bounced off your face and landed in your lap. Another one followed right after, catching your cheek with a soft puff.

You turned your head just in time to see Jimmy’s hand hovering over the bucket, fingers already reaching for another kernel. His lips were pressed together like he was trying to hold back a grin.

He flicked the next one before you could even react. It sailed through the dark and landed square between your eyes.

You gasped. Half laugh, half surprise, the sound slipping out before you could stop it.

“Jimmy!”

He looked over at you with wide, innocent eyes, both hands lifting like he hadn’t done a thing. “What?” But his grin was already breaking through. “I ain’t even do nothin’.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, fighting your own smile. “Boy, bye.”

He chuckled under his breath, low and warm, shoulders shaking as he reached for another kernel. You grabbed a handful from the bucket before he could reach more, and tossed it right back at him. The kernels scattered across his chest and the front of his jersey.

Jimmy’s eyes widened. His brows shot up, mouth falling slightly open as he looked down at the popcorn now dusting his clothes and lap. He stared at you for a long second, completely frozen, like he couldn’t believe you had actually thrown them back at him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you said, voice light but pointed. “I mean, you were supposed to be giving me a good time tonight.”

He let out a low, deep laugh. The grin on his face grew even wider, pearly whites flashing in the flickering light from the screen. He flicked another piece at you, this one landing on your collarbone.

“Whatchu mean? Whatchu mean I ain’t givin’ you a good time?”

You gave him another look. The one that said you better quit playing with me. The trailers kept rolling, bright and loud, but neither of you were watching anymore.

Finally, Jimmy let out a defeated little laugh, shoulders slumping as he leaned back in his seat. “You know what? You right, baby. You right.” His voice was soft now, warm and genuine, the playful edge fading away. “I’m sorry.”

He reached over, sliding his arm back around you fully. You melted into him, head resting on his shoulder.

For a while, it stayed like that. Easy. Sweet.

Jimmy reached back into the bucket with his free hand, grabbing a few kernels and offering them to you first. You took them from his fingers, your lips brushing his skin for a second, and he let out a quiet hum of satisfaction.

Then he tilted the bucket toward you again, letting you grab some for him. You held the oversized cup up between you, the straw angled toward his mouth so he could take a sip without having to take his arm from around you.

He drank slow, eyes half-lidded, the cold soda making his throat work as he swallowed. A tiny drop of condensation rolled down the side of the cup and landed on your thigh. He noticed, thumb sweeping it away without a word, the touch lingering just enough to make your skin tingle.

The trailers faded into the main feature, the opening credits rolling across the screen in glowing white letters. Neither of you were paying attention to the plot yet. You were too busy being wrapped up in him. The solid warmth of his chest. The steady rise and fall of his breathing. The way his fingers kept brushing your arm like he couldn’t stop touching you.

This definitely wasn’t what you were used to.

Jimmy’s touch wasn’t rushed or entitled. It was warm. Deliberate. Every graze of his fingers was a question and he was waiting for you to lean in.

And you did. You wanted this. You wanted him.

The movie had been playing for maybe ten minutes when his hands started to wander.

It began innocently enough– his fingers drifting down your arm to rest on your thigh, palm heavy and warm through your jeans. He gave a gentle squeeze, then let his thumb trace slow, teasing circles along the seam.

You shifted a little in your seat, pressing your thighs together without meaning to. His hand slid higher, fingertips dipping just under the hem of your top, brushing the bare skin of your waist.

Your breath caught.

Jimmy leaned in closer, lips ghosting the shell of your ear as he whispered, “You still good, baby?”

You nodded, the word barely making it out. “Yeah.”

His touches grew bolder. Hand slipping fully under your top, palm flat against your stomach. HIs fingers spreading wide, wanting to feel as much of you as he could. The head of his skin against yours made your pulse jump. He rubbed slow circles there, then drifted higher, thumb grazing the underside of your bra. Your back arched just slightly into his touch, and you felt him smile against your temple.

The theater was dark enough and loud enough that no one down front could hear or see anything. The movie played on, some action scene with explosions lighting up the screen in bright bursts, but all you could focus on was Jimmy’s hand.

The way it explored you with that unhurried confidence. The way his fingers teased the waistband of your jeans, dipping just beneath it before sliding back up. The way he kept you tucked close to his side the whole time, protecting you even while he was wrecking your focus.

You turned your head toward him, lips brushing his jaw. He tilted his face down and caught your mouth in a slow, deep kiss, the kind that tasted like popcorn and salt and him. His hand slid higher up your top, cupping your breast through your bra, thumbing over your nipple.

You let out a soft, shaky breath against his lips, and he swallowed the sound, kissing you harder. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark and hooded. That bright smile long gone. His voice was low, rough at the edges when he spoke against your ear.

“C’mere, baby.”

His hands moved to your chin, fingers gentle but firm as he tilted your face up to his again. He kissed you once more– slower this time. Deeper. Like he was savoring the way you melted into him.

Your hands started moving on their own. Sliding down his chest, over the hard plane of his stomach, until your palm pressed firmly against the front of his jeans. He was already rock hard, thick and straining against the denim. You felt the heavy length of him twitch under your touch. Felt the way he throbbed when you squeezed just right.

Jimmy’s breath hitched. A low, choked sound he tried to swallow.

You unbuckled his belt with shaky fingers, the quiet metallic click barely audible over the movie. The zipper came down next. You reached inside, wrapped your hand around him, and pulled him out into the cool air of the theater.

He was so thick. So warm. The head was already glistening, a thick bead of precum leaking steadily from the slit. You stroked him once. Twice. Thumb swiping over the slick tip and spreading it down his shaft until your hand was shiny and wet.

You leaned down, shifting in your seat until you were half across the armrest. You took him into your mouth slowly, lips wrapping around the fat head and sliding down as far as you could in the awkward angle.

He was heavy on your tongue, salty and warm, the thick vein along the underside pulsing as you sucked. You hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper. The movie barely covered the wet, filthy sounds of your mouth working him.

Jimmy’s thighs tensed hard under you. His hand came up to cup the back of your neck. Not pushing. Just holding. Thumb stroking the sensitive skin there like he was still trying to take care of you even when your throat was stuffed full of him.

“Shh,” he whispered, voice strained and low. “Gotta be quiet… slow down for me.”

You moaned around him anyway, the vibration making his hips twitch. You tried to slow down like he asked, but it was hard. You wanted him so badly.

You bobbed your head slower, taking him deeper each time. You worked him with your mouth and hand. Tongue swirling around the head on every pass. Spit dripped from the corners of your mouth, running down his cock and pooling at the base, soaking into the fabric of his open jeans.

You didn’t care.

You wanted it messy and you wanted him dripping.

“Shh… that’s it,” Jimmy breathed, the words hot against your ear as he leaned closer. “Good girl– just like that. Nice and slow. Can’t let nobody hear the nasty shit you doin’.”

You took him as deep as you could, nose brushing the edge of his jersey, throat flexing around him until your eyes watered. You gagged softly around his thickness, the sound wet and choked, but you didn’t pull off.

You pushed further, letting your throat relax and swallow around him. Spit bubbled at the corners of your lips, strings of it stretching when you pulled back for air before diving down again.

Jimmy’s hand tightened gently in your hair. “Fuck, baby. Quiet,” he whispered, voice rough and desperate. “You gotta stay quiet for me. Can’t be makin’ all that noise.”

His words barely registered.

They drifted in one ear and floated right back out. Lost somewhere between the heavy, intoxicating weight of his cock stretching your lips wide and the thick, salty taste flooding your tongue.

You were drunk on him. Completely, helplessly drunk on Jimmy.

The warm, musky scent of his skin filled your nose with every shaky breath you took through it. The heat of him pulsed against the roof of your mouth, leaking steadily onto your tongue until the taste of him coated everything.

You couldn’t think. You couldn’t focus on anything except the way he filled you. The way he throbbed. The way his fat head nudged the back of your throat every time you sank down.

You sucked harder, the slurping sounds growing louder and messier even as you tried to slow down. Thick strings of drool ran down your chin in messy streams, dripping onto his heavy balls and soaking the seat beneath him.

You reached down with your free hand, cupping his balls. They were so full and tight as you rolled them gently in your palm, massaging them while your mouth stayed stuffed full.

The awkward angle made the edge of the armrest press right against your pussy through your jeans. Every time you leaned forward to take him deeper, the hard plastic dug in, rubbing your clit with a dull pressure that made your hips twitch and grind without meaning to.

The friction was maddening. Not enough but too much at the same time. You couldn’t stop yourself from rocking against it slowly, chasing the little sparks of pleasure while your mouth remained occupied.

Jimmy’s breathing grew ragged. His cock swelled thicker on your tongue, pulsing hard, veins throbbing wildly. You felt his balls draw up tight in your palm, heavy and full.

“Mm– fuck, baby. I’m close,” he whispered, voice strained. “Gonna cum… so fucking hard–”

You didn’t pull off. You took him deeper, throat relaxing, swallowing around his fat cock as it nudged the back of your throat again and again. A few stray tears slipped down your cheeks, spit poured down your chin in thick strands. Yet you still sucked. Messy and eager. Desperate to feel him lose it.

Jimmy’s hips stuttered. His hand tightened in your hair, holding onto you as his whole body tensed.

Then he came.

Hot, thick ropes of cum shot straight down the back of your throat, pulse after heavy pulse. It was so much and so sudden that you had to swallow fast just to keep up. The taste was strong– salty, warm, unmistakably Jimmy– flooding your mouth and sliding down your throat in thick, creamy bursts.

You kept sucking through it, milking him with your tongue, swallowing every drop while his cock jerked and throbbed between your lips. More cum leaked out, coating your tongue, dripping down your chin in messy strings as you tried to take it all.

Jimmy let out a low, broken groan that he tried his best to push down. His thighs were shaking under you, but you kept going. Sucking him through every last spurt until he was twitching, oversensitive, and whispering your name like a prayer.

Only when he finally started to soften did you pull off slowly, lips shiny and swollen. A thin string of spit and cum still connecting your mouth to the head of his cock. You licked it clean, savoring the last taste of him, then sat back up, wiping your chin with the back of your hand.

Jimmy looked completely wrecked. Chest heaving. Eyes dark and glassy. A thin layer of sweat across his brow. He pulled you in immediately, kissing you deep and filthy, tasting himself on your tongue like he couldn’t get enough.

“Shit, baby,” he whispered against your mouth, voice hoarse. “You gon’ kill me one day.”

His hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb gently wiping the mess from your chin and bottom lip. He kissed you again, slower this time. Softer. Trying to pour every ounce of gratitude and want into it.

The movie played on in the background, but neither of you had any interest in it anymore. The theater could have been empty or packed– it didn’t really matter. The only thing that existed was the heat of his mouth, the steady thump of his heart under your palm, and the way he held you like he couldn’t bear to let go.

He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing hard, eyes half-lidded.

“C’mere,” he murmured, voice rough but so gentle it made your chest ache. He tugged you closer, guiding you until you were curled fully into his side. Head tucked under his chin, legs draped over his thigh. One big arm around your waist, the other sliding up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair.

You let yourself melt into him, the solid warmth of his body wrapping around you. His heartbeat was still racing against your cheek, but it was slowing. Steadying. Matching the quiet rhythm of the movie neither of you were paying attention to.

Jimmy pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, then another to your temple, his beard brushing warm and familiar against your skin.

“You okay?” he whispered, the words barely above a breath. His hand rubbed slow, soothing circles over your back.

You nodded against his chest, a small, satisfied smile tugging at your lips. “More than okay.”

He hummed, the sound low and content, and tightened his arm around you. “Good. ‘Cause I ain’t done takin’ care of you tonight.” His fingers traced lazy patterns along your side, dipping just under the hem of your shirt again. “We still got the rest of the movie… and the whole ride home after.”

You let out a soft laugh, the sound muffled against his jersey.

The theater was still dark. The movie playing on like nothing had happened, but everything felt different now. Warmer. Closer. Charged with that quiet, intimate glow that only came after something like this.

Jimmy’s hand never stopped moving, unable to keep off you even if he tried. He kissed the top of your head again, lips lingering. “You’re perfect, you know that?” he whispered, voice so soft it felt like it was just for you.

You snuggled deeper into his side, letting the steady beat of his heart and the low rumble of the movie wrap around you both. 

You reach for the doorknob, creaking the door open gently. Passing a barrier you know you’re not supposed to. Yet desire emboldens you to try your luck without a second thought to the consequences.

Your breath catches when you lock eyes with him. Leaning back in his desk chair. Radiating authority. Like a predator catching you in his trap. A window of light reflects off his black-rimmed glasses. His large palm hovering over his mouse, broken from its trance. He blinks expectantly, wondering why you’re looming.

His tank clings taut to his body, firm pecs protruding through the sheer fabric. Further encouragement for your mission.

"You know you're not supposed to be in here," Roman says sternly, peering over his glasses.

You nod once. “I know…. I just wanted to see you,” you whisper, a little breathless. Your voice a fragile thread, vulnerable yet insistent.

Roman doesn’t like to be bothered while he works. He takes his responsibility as a provider seriously. Tending to his work the best he can. At whatever cost. Hard work, a sturdy foundation on which he’d built his lifestyle after all.

His brow furrows as you stand in the doorway, delicate digits frozen over the cool metal doorknob, taken aback by your interruption. Clearly, no emergency apparent. Though he can see how apprehensive you are to cross the threshold.

Could see your shadow lingering outside his doorway moments ago before you finally pushed through. Expression softening, his eyes journey from the sheen of your chest, to your bare thighs, down to your manicured toes, and finally back up to the coy expression on your face.

He has a soft spot for his baby girl. Would do anything to make you happy. Most days, all it takes for his fulfillment is seeing you smile.

“Come here,” he finally says, swiveling in his chair.

“Yes, daddy,” you breathe, eager to obey.

A swell of excitement ignites in your chest as you promptly shut the door behind you. Footsteps light as you approach the edge of his desk. Like a tardy student summoned to the principal’s office. The verdict still out on how he’d handle your intrusion.

Butterflies swirl inside you as your fingertips tentatively trace the wood surface, following the natural swirls in its design. Wanting to look anywhere but at him. At his stern face. His authority pressing down on your soft frame.

He breaks your trance, reaching a long arm out. Amnesty. Grasping the hem of your pink nighty, he pulls you toward him. You oblige without protest as his firm hand guides your waist into his lap.

Like you belonged there. Like he’d wanted you there all along. A welcome relief from the long day of virtual interviews and emails.

He nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, giving affection freely. Rough beard prickling the soft of your skin. Blasting a cool jolt through you. An instant reward for the risk you’d taken.

Satisfied, you relax against the firmness of him. His embrace a safe haven. A place where you feel completely acknowledged and worshiped.

That is, until Roman’s hand returns to his mouse.

You still. Eyeing his movements suspiciously as his free hand rests on your belly. The warmth of his large palm beaming through your nighty.

Leaning forward slightly, he reaches around. Rests his other hand on the keyboard.Doing your best to stifle a protest, you eye him as he toggles the mouse.

His grip practically swallowing the grey-black. Each click pounding like a heartbeat, syncopated with the shiver running down your spine. Clicking. Toggling. Clicking. The sound echoing in your chest.

Your attention fixates on his movements, longing resurging at your core. Still hungry. You shift slightly in his lap as his hand dances over the keyboard.

Yours move to his forearms. Enjoying the sensation of smoothing your fingers up and down their length. Soothing contact to hold you over while his attention remains fixed.

The glow of his monitor reflects off your skin as your fingers ghost over his hands as he types. Then trace down his long, tattooed arm. You peek below the desk top, a sliver of tanned skin catching your eye.

Instinctively, your hands slip downward to the meat of his thighs. The firm muscle calling for your attention as his remains preoccupied. You grip them, relishing their shapeliness. Emboldened by their owner’s apparent distraction.

Roman makes no indication that he’s noticed. Though an urge courses through you. One that requires stealth to satisfy, so as not to raise any alarms.

You raise your chin, peeking up at him for any clear signs of disturbance. His focus remains sharply fixed on the glowing screen. Seemingly unaware of your gaze until he gently pecks a tender, sideways smooch at your temple. Acknowledgement. Barely.

It only deepens your hunger for more. Motivating you to push further. Your eyes flutter back down to his thighs as your fingers stretch toward the hem of his shorts.

Heartbeat thudding in your ears, you wrap your fingers around them. Breath hitching, you torture yourself with a painfully slow pull of the fabric, further revealing his meaty thigh. A considerable reward for your efforts. Your tongue darts over your lips as you brush delicate circles into his skin. Tanned and supple.

Roman returns the favor. Almost subconsciously. Free hand rubbing gentle circles into your belly. But his other continues clicking. Typing. Scrolling.

A pout begins to tug at your lips. His lack of response thwarting your ego. Emboldening you to stop suggesting and get to demanding.

Determination in your eyes, you lean back further into him. Spine flush against his chest, your hips shift gently around his manhood. Once. Twice. Feigning innocence as you repeatedly make contact with his bulge.

The clicking stops. Silence. The air now mute, save for the swirling of the fan overhead. That got his attention.

His arms come pulling around you as his head dips to your ear. His grip a tight bear hug you don’t want to be freed from.

“What are you doing, baby?” he murmurs playfully.

His baritone voice rippling through your core, causing an involuntary giggle to erupt.

“Nothing,” you protest, weakly attempting to pull his arms away.

Secretly, you revel in his sudden attention. The intensity and anticipation of waiting for his permission coming to a head. Thrilling you. Exciting you.

Your own desperation arouses you as you continue to gyrate to the best of your ability in his lap. Your range of motion now limited by the constriction of his firm embrace.

He hums against you, squeezing you tighter. A subtle cede. Then loosens his grip and leans back against his chair.

Body relaxed, his hands fall to your waist as he peers up at you. The corner of his lip curls into a smirk as he opens his legs wider. Urging you to continue.

Your pulse quickens at the thought of getting what you want. Now feeling naked under the spotlight of his gaze. But you’re a big girl, so you refuse to run.

His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm as your fingers trace down his abdomen. Over his hands. Finally back down to his thighs.

His eyes anchor to yours as he allows you to explore his broad, muscular frame. An air of amusement on his handsome features. Your hands tremble against his skin as you force yourself to slow down.

You continue kneading, your bare foot dragging up and down his thick calf as your arousal grows. All the while, he sits back. Unnaturally still.

His gaze never leaving yours. Like a cobra calculating the correct time to strike. You exhale slowly through your nose. Preparing for it.

In a white-hot flash, his patience breaks. One minute he’s sitting back cordially, obliged to your touch. The next, he shoots forward, grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you flush against him.

He groans in your ear as his arms tighten around you again. This time, it’s him gyrating his hips into your backside. Thrusting roughly as you whimper. You feel him, hard beneath the fabric between your bodies.

Your pussy already slick before you can even register his excitement. His palms grip your waist tightly as he bucks and snaps his hips against yours.

“Ahhh, Romann-,” you manage, desperately griping his hands as he thrusts against you.

Flustered by his excitement. Then the wetness on his crotch momentarily breaks his attention. A brief reprieve from the onslaught.

His thrusts halt as he looks down to inspect himself. Eyes jumping from the damp on his shorts to the damp at the center of your nighty.

He looks back up at you, pulling your head toward his. Temple resting against yours. He searches your face as his hand roams under the pink fabric.

Gaze darkening just as his digits find the source of the puddle in his lap.

“No panties, baby?” he asks, his thick tongue making a tsk sound before jutting out and dragging across his lower lip.

Your heart thuds in your chest. Before you can respond, he pulls your leg up to rest higher on his.

The sudden cool air from the ceiling fan hits your searing core as he pulls your hips back, exposing you to the open air.

You nuzzle your temple against his chin as he makes work of your slick folds. Removing his glasses with one hand to set them on the desk as he peers down between your legs. Continuing slow circles with the other.

You writhe and moan as he rubs voraciously. The dominating, punishing thrusts of earlier now replaced by a focused devotion to your clit.

Your legs splay open. One ankle resting on his thigh, your other foot propped on his desk. Toes curling, you suddenly become so aware.

Almost embarrassed by the naughtiness of the scene. Except the pleasure is electric, overriding the indignity.

You gyrate your hips against his as he pinches and flicks your clit between his warm fingers. Your pussy clenching onto nothing but air and opportunity as you squirm in his lap.

“Is this what you wanted, baby?” he rasps, voice laced with taunt. “This why you came to interrupt daddy’s work?”

“Y-yessuh..pleasee-,” you whisper, quivering against him.

Your voice barely audible over your racing heartbeat.

He nuzzles his head against you. Watching your eyes roll back in pleasure. Your mouth agape. The soft cries that escape your lips further fuel him as his fingers circle your center. Then dip inside you.

“Mmmphh,” you cry out at the intrusion. 

But he mercilessly grips your waist tighter against him. Continues to move his finger in and out of you. One thick digit turns into two.

His rhythm quickens. Coated in your slick essence, they curl up toward your spot before pulling away ruthlessly. Again. And again.

Your cries turn feral as the sensation coaxes you closer and closer to your climax. He holds you steady as you writhe against him.

Greedy for every reaction as he pins you, keeping you from escaping the wave of pleasure he’s building. His patience and attention steady as he ravenously witnesses you come apart in his lap.

Roman isn’t ashamed to admit he loves to take you over the edge. To tease you to the brink of sensation overload before finally pushing you over. Nothing brings him more pleasure in the bedroom.

And so, to add insult to injury, he begins thrusting up against your pussy. Resuming his circular onslaught on your clit.

Your body vibrates at the delicious friction of his thick mound teasing your center as his fingers stroke you. Breath coming out in jagged hitches, your vision blurs.

Sensation luring you to give in to the pleasure. Every thrust, every flick of his fingers pushing you further. Climax a foreseeable promise as sparks begin to dance behind your eyelids.

And just as you reach your edge --

He stops. His grip loosens. The warmth of his fingers replaced by an unforgivable, empty cool. Your eyes snap open in shock.

“Go wait for me,” he whispers evenly in your ear.

You shoot up in his lap, looking back at him like he’d sprouted two heads. His big arms rest against the pads of his chair.

He bites his lower lip, as if stifling a laugh, taking in your disheveled appearance. His eyes like a cold-blooded predator, admiring his work, before he coolly nods toward the door.

Stunned, you finally rise to your feet. Fingers gripping his thighs to steady yourself. The stickiness of your nighty clings to you as you squeeze past his leg.

The tent at his crotch still erect and intimidating, you eye it as you reluctantly move toward the door. But then he adjusts himself and rolls his chair closer to his desk. His hands resume their position on his keyboard and mouse.

At the door, your heart almost drops as you reach for the knob. But you glance back at him once more, only to find him watching you with a terrifyingly calm intensity.

He slowly brings his fingers, still coated in your wetness, to his mouth. Tasting you with a slow, deliberate swipe of his tongue.

His amber eyes never leave yours as he tracks the tremor in your knees, a dark, satisfied smirk telling you exactly who owns your next breath.

“Don’t make me wait,” he asserts.