Dytto’s World

That she swore up and down during one of their many…many heated arguments over the phone—the ones that she ensured took place on the privacy of her backyard as she paced the length of the pool deck—that it'd be a cold day in hell before she attended one of his shows.

Mania be damned.

And she didn't necessarily lie.

She's not there for him.

She's there for him.

Carmelo.

Her boyfriend.

Well…

And just like that, a fresh wave of intense anger is revived when she recalls what invited the emotion that's been dominant and consistent when it comes to that irritating ass man.

He's fucking ridiculous.

But she should have known. She should have known that there was no way in hell for last night to end the way that it did and he not have something up his sleeve. He was far too calm upon her departure for him to not be scheming and planning. He probably already had Paul on the fucking phone before she even hit the elevator.

April 18th, 2026 — WrestleMania 42 - Night One

The feel of his big, calloused hand palming and squeezing her ass preceded the loud echo of that same hand coming down on her ass, the slap echoing throughout the suite but ultimately lost among the pre-existing, louder dominant noises.

The headboard brutally beating into the pillows they'd learned a long time ago absorbed the only set of noises that could be controlled and maintained. Everything else was always something beyond the realm of control, including the way she cried out and cursed at the stinging aftermath of his slap.

Karesse detested the way that his deep voice managed to overpower everything else, that she could hear that dark chuckle even in the midst of his heavy balls slapping repeatedly against her pussy that both throbbed and squeezed around his thick ass dick. In all the years that'd passed, every time still felt like the first time. That unforgiving stretch and impossible depth that always made her initially dub over, hand—when not restricted—reaching for her stomach.

It was unreal how deep he always felt.

How deep he was.

"I don't know why you're trying to be so quiet." She kept her eyes and mouth shut, more than certain that if she bit down on her lip any harder, she'd draw blood. The same way he drew back almost entirely before ramming back into her. Karesse's nails scraped against the sheets, searching for a sort of anchor that was ruined at least three positions ago. Damp, soaked, somewhere in between and beyond, whatever the case, they were no use.

"Acting like you ain't in tears over how good this dick feels," he continued, once more palming the globe of her ass that bounced off his dick with fervent passion and desire. Naturally, she needn't put in much effort, but as always, it was a high she couldn't not chase. "How it always feels." Couldn't not heed to the aching in her lower back that he kept pushing down on as he rammed his cock into her. Couldn't not eagerly throw her ass back to meet him thrust for thrust. "How your Tribal Chief always makes you feel."

It was a road that offered one end and one end only.

"S—shut up," she managed through heavy pants, the weight of her breasts slapping against her chest just another source of deafening sounds that couldn't be avoided.

One of many things that could never be avoided with the man behind her.

But Karesse was suddenly pushed down on the mattress, the absence of Roman's cock in her weeping, needy, pulsing pussy a deprivation that had her instantly groaning through closed lips. Frustration briefly spiked to an all time high when he flipped her over on the mattress like she weighed nothing, and despite that being far from the case, especially since the birth of their daughter, it tracked.

She licked her lips and soaked in the sight of his big, hulking body over hers, the groaning of the mattress underneath the weight of his knee lost in the way her eyes could only focus on his dick. Thick, erect, hung between his equally thick tree trunk legs, the tip flushed and glistening with their conjoined juices.

Roman smirked down at her before reaching for her ankles and pushing back her legs before his gaze refocused to her spread legs and throbbing cunt. His eyes darkened.

"That's a pretty ass pussy right there." Karesse watched with a coiling stomach as he brought his thumb to his mouth, pink tongue swiping over the pad before it disappeared between her legs. Her head lolled back at the slightest but stirring press of it against her swollen clit. "All puffy and creaming from taking daddy's big dick."

Karesse started to trail her hand down her slick body to tend to her throbbing, sensitive pearl only to feel a shift.

Roman's hands locked behind the back of her thigh, his baritone voice dropping an octave as she heard the bed creak once more and felt his minty breath between her legs. "And she taste just as good as she looks."

Her clit was exchanged for the back of Roman's head. Her fingers nestled and tangled into his silky, dark curls as he the sound of him slurping on her pussy for what had to have been the third time tonight had her writhing and moaning on the bed.

"Stop all that damn moving," he groaned, ceasing only momentarily to issue his one and only warning. Countless, prior experiences taught her well that he was a one and done. After that, he'd just use his strength to lock her down against that mattress while he ate her out until she was practically sobbing and begging him to stop. That she couldn't take it anymore.

It never made a difference.

From the moment their sexual relationship reached the level to where he didn't have to factor in her inexperience, that was all she wrote.

He always put her through the mattress and flipped, bended, contorted her in ways she didn't even realize were ways.

But it was when he finally decided that she'd had enough, Karesse on the brink of pulling her hair out by the roots, that the atmosphere shifted when they changed positions once more. For the final time. And she knew this well and with all the confidence when he kissed his way up her body until he reached her mouth. His hands hooking behind her thighs that autonomously locked around his waist the same way her wrists crossed behind his neck as her fingers tangled in his hair while they continued to make out. His pace shifted to accompany this more intimate positioning of their connected bodies.

Karesse panted and moaned into his mouth as he transitioned from that filthy mouth of his that would make Only Fans highest paid worker blush and stammer to the proclamations that always caused warmth to bloom in her chest.

In her heart.

"….always you…."

"….fucking hate being away from you…."

"…..I love you…."

It was the last one—often repeated more than once—that she always reciprocated. She didn't know how not to. Not in these singular moments where everything outside of what she felt in the deepest part of her soul didn't exist. Where, even if a facade, everything seemed and felt right.

She drowned in it willingly.

But it was a temporary sort of quicksand, as when they both reached their fill, and he peeled himself off and away from her, Karesse remained in bed as the reality that existed outside of the room gradually returned to the front and center.

Where it should have never left.

"We're going on the road with him."

Subtle yellow lighting reflected off the defined line in the middle of his back, shadows in between the bulging muscles that were flexed from the mid-movement of him pulling his shirt back on. She tried to distract herself by counting the amount of bruises—varying shapes, sizes, and hues—along with tiny scrapes and cuts. Some from the fight.

Some from her nails clawing down that same back not even ten minutes ago as he thrust desperately and sloppily inside of her before exploding, ropes of warm, white, hot cum still seeping from her swollen, puffy vagina.

But the moment he turned around, her distraction was deprived and irritation revived. The scowl on his face already letting her know exactly where this was about to go.

Where it always went.

"What?"

Karesse rolled her eyes and leaned back against the headboard. Her hands against her chest keeping the thin fitted sheet covering the bulk of her body that was still slick with sweat that had her edges and kitchen all but completely reverted back to its kinky kurly state.

"You heard me," she repeated. "I said we're going on the road with him."

Roman kept his gaze steady on her, finally pulling his shirt over his head before following up with a newfound but understand irritable tone. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"Roman," she sighed. "You know exactly what it means." Because it's exactly what she'd done with him at some point. "Melo wants us to join him for a little bit so we could spend time together, and I said yes."

Forever watchful and observant, Karesse kept her focus on him while her free hand hidden under the soft sheets tapped at the mattress that still felt damp under her fingertips either from the mess they'd made of the perfectly clean, pristine sheets prior to her arrival to his room.

It's what allowed her to see that familiar flash gleam in his eyes. "And why the fuck would you say that?"

She closed her eyes. "Roman—"

"You're not going."

Karesse's eyes snapped open just as quickly as they clamped shut. Her bottom lip dipped open just enough for a tiny breath to escape. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." He walked across the room, snatching his pants off the velvet, cream colored chaise lounge they started on as he reclined back and tugged her on top of him, impaling her on his dick that she role with a disgusting amount of fervor and desire before they transitioned to the bed. He snatched his pants and turned around, face morphed into that irksome ass scowl that made her want to punch him right in his beautiful ass face. "You're not taking my daughter away."

It wasn't that Karesse was expecting Roman to leap for joy at this news. No, she knew the moment she finally gave Melo an answer as they sat on the sofa together in their shared suite following her getting Bri down for bed that it would be a whole fucking thing. She just wasn't expecting to already be over all of it before the fireworks could even fully begin.

"Stop being dramatic. You'll still see her." She contemplated sharing that she'd already asked for Melo to send her over the set of dates he knew and had so she could start figuring out flights back home to accommodate that. Because that's all she's ever done it, seems. Accommodate him.

"When?" He pressed, stepping into and sliding up his joggers. "When you feel like it?"

"And how is that any different from how things are now?"

Her sharp rebuttal was met with silence followed by his eyes diverting to the adjacent wall. "That's fucking bullshit, and you know it." She leaned back in bed, arms pressed to her side to keep the sheet intact, knowing full and well what exposure of her nude body would do to him. To the both of them. He flicked his gaze back to her. "I'm with her almost every day of the week." Another gleam she opted to ignore as well as the dip in his volume. "I'm with you."

Karesse couldn't necessarily deny him that. From day one of Briella Mae's arrival into the world, Roman has always done any and everything he could and can for their daughter. That included heading right over to her/their house right after dropping off his youngest two children with her at school. He essentially took care of Brie while Karesse worked, because while many hailed working from home being the easiest thing ever, holding a supervisor level position in a mostly male dominated industry meant that she had to ensure to cross every 'T' and dot every 'I.'

Especially as a black woman.

Roman kept their baby girl busy while she worked her nine to five that was often filled with small to large gaps in the day that allowed her to spend time with them, and when Brie was down for naps, him.

Sometimes, it all felt so….domestic.

And for a second, it worked. That warmth in her chest that bloomed and was borderline overwhelming every time he looked at her like that, stroked her soft skin as they laid in bed together, limbs as entangled as their souls. Made her feel what no one else ever had.

But that was then, and this is now.

Nothing has ever felt or been more different. A realization that made her counter that much easy to issue.

"Will you be this summer?" She pressed. "Will you be with her or me most of the week when your kids with her are home for the break?"

"Karesse—"

"When you wine and dine them all over the world cosplaying as this perfect husband and dad while sneaking FaceTime calls with me and Bri while wifey is being pampered at the spa and the kids are laughing and having the time of their life in the background?"

Karesse hated everything about this conversation, but nothing filled her with more rage and hostility than discussing that bitch. Hate has always felt like such a strong word to use towards another human being. At least, that's how she's always felt. And perhaps it was the—now that she's older and can look back—ridiculous, childish back and forth between the two of them, that set them down the path they ended up on.

Nasty texts that once resulted in Karesse throwing her phone across the room when she received a 30 second clip of the two of them having sex.

Roman and his wife.

It eventually followed up with Karesse hitting an Uno Reverse card as she pulled up her iCloud and sent over an almost five minute, first person POV video of Roman eating her out.

But again, all of that would prove nothing more than child's play compared to the ultimate, culminating event that, even a little over a year over, Karesse still can't bring herself to fully think about, let alone discuss.

All she knows is that she hates that bitch with every fiber of her being, Briella Mae will never be around her alone, and that her hatred has no expiration date.

Period.

Rendered silent once more by a truth he couldn't deny because she, because they, lived it, have lived it several times over, Roman resorted to what he always did when backed into a corner.

He projected.

"Isn't that what you'll be doing if you go gallivanting around the country with him like some fucking groupie?" He sneered. "Dragging my daughter—"

"Oh, you're so full of shit." Any little amount of effort and consideration she'd set aside for the conversation is DOA and was DOA the moment he started off by telling he what she wasn't going to do with her child. She tried. Truly. But Roman could be so fucking impossible at times.

He could also be hypocritical, and in that moment, he was both.

His presence was suddenly the cause of her discomfort and prompted her to kick the blankets off as she also started to journey across the suite to redress.

"Karesse—"

"This conversation is over with."

As she slid her dress over her body, completely disregarding her soaked panties she planned to just toss in the trash, she could feel his heavy footsteps behind her.

"The fuck it is," he huffed.

She spun around on her heel, looking up and glaring while attempting to adjust the top of the sleeveless dress that kept rolling down over her boobs. "I have nothing to say to you right now, Roman."

Nothing nice, anyway. Sliding on her heels, it was only when she was upright that she felt his hand on her arm, her body yanked into something hard and warm and far too inviting for everything that just occurred over the past five minutes.

"Rom—"

"Karesse."

She kept her eyes closed, refusing to meet the gaze she already knew would have her melting in his embrace instead of how tempted to shove on his chest with little to not results. His hold, in many ways, was relentless.

"Hear me out." Resilience somehow remain undeterred as she kept her eyes shut despite the feel of his hand on the small of her back, the other gliding through her hair that hung, partially straight, partially curled over her shoulders and fanned her back. "She starts preschool in the fall."

"I know that."

"Then we need to be getting her ready for that," he countered, voice significantly softer, in that way it always relegated to when he realized she was shutting down on him. When he realized that, once more, he allowed his emotions to get the best of him and had subsequently put his foot in his mouth. "She doesn't need to be dragged from city to city every week—"

"But it was okay when we did it with you?" Her counter was accompanied by the way she forced her eyes to open just in time as his jaw ticked, the smart remark she knew he wanted to say shoved aside for something less antagonizing but just as irritating.

"That was different," he said, voice even. "There was a reason."

"And there's a reason now, Roman. The only difference is that you're not that reason anymore, and that's something you can't seem to accept."

Because when the roles were reversed, their daughter almost thirteen months, Karesse had done the exact same thing she was proposing. Joined Roman on the road for a couple months. Went with him from city to city with their young daughter in tow, and while perhaps the disastrous fallout from that whole debacle fueled part of his vehement objection to her plan, it wasn't enough to get her to change her mind.

The minute Karesse accepted her boyfriend's offer, the deal was done.

She didn't tell Roman to ask for his permission. She told him so he'd know in the next couple of weeks, she and baby girl would no longer be an easy 15 minute drive from his big, fancy mansion in the gated community where police roamed on the regular and kids could play freely and safely in the street without a care in the world.

That reminder, however, along with the way his hand started to inch its way down her body allowed Karesse to remember where she was and who stood before her.

With what was objectively unnecessary force, she jerked out of his embrace and forced herself to ignore the brief pang of hurt that flashed across his face.

If she had a dime for every time the role was reversed.

"I have to go," she said, refusing to entertain what should have never been revisited in the first place. She should have never replied to his text. "Besides, your family is waiting for you."

Yeah…..his failure to follow after her or even try to prevent her from leaving the room—wouldn't have been the first time—should have tuned her into the fact that he was up to something.

She just could have never anticipated it was this.

The time it takes for her to actually get to him is infuriating for a variety of reasons, most of which stem from the fact that what should be enjoyable, one of the happiest days of her life, has been soiled by the man who's been nothing but a thorn in her side since the day they met almost five years ago.

May 22nd, 2021 — Playmates

"He's back."

Karesse lifted her eyes from the wad of cash in hand that she just finished counting and met the vibrant emerald eyes of her coworker.

Kiana, KiKi, was easily one of the most beautiful women Karesse had ever laid eyes on. A flawless, deep complexion. Sharp, perfect features with striking eyes and curves that made every man and woman who laid eyes on her swoon almost immediately. Her no-nonsense approach to the business and life in general was something Karesse looked up to the moment she met the woman almost a year prior.

Almost a decade older but looking the same age as Karesse, there'd always been an almost maternal dynamic between them what with her always looking out for the, in many ways, naive twenty year-old.

Hence her heads up.

Karesse turned in her seat as Kiki slid in between her chair and the other unoccupied seat. They were in the midst of switching sets, hence why more bodies ambling and moving about vs sitting like she was. Karesse was on the tail end of her shift while a handful of the many other women were just getting started, hence the overwhelming aroma of perfume, fluids, and far too much hairspray.

"What?"

Kiki chuckled. "You heard me." She focused on the successful application of the first eyelash before turning to the young girl. "Well? You better go make that money, girl."

Money. The one thing Karesse never seemed to have enough of. Even what with her taking up her secret job as a "midnight ballerina" in conjunction with her part time job at Starbucks. The amount of income brought in covered her tuition, sure, and it most definitely made life significantly easier than where she started—utterly broke and on the brink of having to drop out of school after fucking up as badly as she did—but after all her other expenses, she barely broke even.

The past month, however, had been different.

Largely due to the man who was, as he had been for the past few weeks, waiting for her. He wasn't the first man who dropped a stack on her for private lap dances, but they were far, few, and in between. Not to mention the visits were always sprinkled out.

This man, however, had quickly become a regular as had the generous tip he always left. It'd helped a lot. Karesse would never deny that, but it didn't stop all the questions that rushed though her brain every time he showed up.

Some of which were answered when Kiki clued her into the fact that her…admirer of sorts wasn't some average Joe. He was famous. A professional wrestler, which explained his disgustingly perfect build. Valleys of solid, hard muscle that always flexed under her gentle touch as she danced atop him. A man like him was built for some sort of contact sport.

He was the top billed athlete in his sport, at that.

And paid very…very well according to several sites.

He was also married.

A stunning wife and four beautiful kids. That part didn't necessary surprise her, however, as she'd quickly learned through her time at the club that wedding bands were often nothing more than props for men to maintain and feign the image of wholesome, family men.

Roman Reigns was no different.

And yet he was.

Because unlike many of the men she was forced to entertain with balding, uneven hairlines, and arrogance that didn't match their 5'6 height they always rounded up to 5'10, Roman carried himself with regality and swagger that tracked. He was exactly who he thought he was, and that was….intriguing to Karesse.

Hence the way something in her stomach twisted every time he showed up—as he had, consistently, every Saturday night for almost the past month.

So while she continued to be surprised every time she exited the dressing room and maneuvered her way through the dimly lit and congested club, bodies mushed together, and met his waiting expression, she couldn't deny there was always a level of relief that accompanied his appearance.

If he intended for his visits to become a regular thing, she could get used to that.

Could get used to him.

A sentiment that was all but confirmed later that evening when what'd become routine quickly progressed into something else.

Her eyes lifted to his, her arms around his neck as she straddled his lap. The thin strings of her barely there top undone less than a minute into the song, hence the way her breast were free, exposed, and pushed against his chest. But it was the way his hands glided up her back, another roughly grasping at her ass, fiddling with the gold bottoms her ass all but swallowed, that made her take pause.

She struggled to keep her smile at bay, fully allured by not only his hypnotic gaze, but the scent of his cologne. Most men who requested lap dances carried with them a subtle odor she forced herself to ignore, as she recognized it was often a minimal level of perspiration fueled by the difficulty that came with composing themselves to keep the erections at bay.

Roman, from the night they met, always smelled good. Even with the bulge she felt pressing against her through her spread thighs. "You're not supposed to touch."

A cardinal rule she laid out the first time she entered the room with gold lining edging and dark green velvet furniture, accompanied by a pole and small platform to allow for greater flexibility and performance.

It was a rule he'd always respected.

Up until now.

He chuckled, and it made her body shiver. His voice was so damn deep. "Then push me away."

She had two options in that moment. Do exactly as he said. Or do exactly what she wanted.

She went with the latter.

Karesse grabbed his face and smashed her lips against his, instantly moaning and melting when his own hands pulled her close. She'd only kissed a couple of guys in her life at that point, but less than ten seconds into said kiss, it easily jumped to the top of 'best kiss' ever list.

She might have initiated it, but he quickly took control, tongue over her bottom lip and in her mouth, as his hands continued to explore her body while she writhed on top of him. Her moan, however, must have triggered something for him. He interrupted said kiss, her minty breath fanning his face, lips eager to feel his back on hers as he eyed her quizzically.

"How old are you?"

Karesse chuckled and shook her head, kissing around his mouth. "Now's a fine time to ask."

But what she considered a potential poor attempt at weird ass foreplay, he fully meant.

His mouth set into a frown. "I'm serious."

And she knew it. Could tell by the shift in his voice and stalled venturing of those big ass hands touching her all over, leaving invisible trails of growing heat and desire in its wake.

She sat back on his lap and smirked. Her hands found his and guided them to her chest. Unlike many of the girls she worked with, she didn't have massive ass tits—homegrown or manufactured. A moderate C cup, what she lacked up top was more than made up by the ass, thighs, and hips she used to wine, shake, and jiggle all over that stage to keep her bank account in the green and life on the right track.

Still, titties were titties, and the way he'd always eyed hers with hunger indicated they were big enough for him, and that was good enough for her.

She locked her palms on top of his, catching the subtle twitch of his thumb over her puckered, dark nipples. "How old do you think I am?"

But despite that minute sign of cracking, his resolve remained. "How….old."

Karesse, to her credit, maintained the image of indifference as she forced a sigh. "Twenty-five." Except her answer did nothing to chip away at the way he continued to eye her. She chuckled, praying her growing apprehension didn't betray her. "What? You wanna see my ID?" She shook her head. "Come on, you really think they'd let me work here if I wasn't grown?"

Her second question followed up with the way she leaned over and kissed the shell of his ear seemed to do the trick. His hands lifted to her waist and then the back of her hair when he yanked her head back and smashed his lips back onto hers.

She smiled into said kiss.

Yes. Yes, they would.

Because she was, in fact, not that grown. Sure, her ID reflected a DOB that matched what she'd just told him, but what twenty year-old didn't have a fake ID?

They clocked it the day she attempted to apply, desperate and with no other options, but they also saw what had always been the case for her.

That while her face leaned on the youthful side, she was thick in all of the right places, thus age restrictions being optional and inconsequential.

So while it wasn't a lie reserved specifically for him, as it was a reserved, default lie, it was still the beginning of what she could have never imagined to be a life changing journey.

June 5th, 2021

Karesse flashed a small smile and placed the five dollar bill in the open palm of the delivery driver who offered a distracted grin, the white ear buds in his ear that peaked through shaggy brown hair clearly more interesting than a customer's pleasantries.

Accepting the boxes, the heat from which traveled to her fingertips and made her bite down on her lip with a tiny hiss, Karesse bumped the door closed with her hip. She started to shift the boxes close to her chest, allowing the smaller one on top to slide close to her chest, as she went to turn the deadbolt lock. However, the weight of the boxes were relieved and allowed her both hands to lock the door back.

Roman stood before her, the boxes in hand that she could barely hold with two hands looking like two small to-go plates in his big hands and against his even bigger, broader chest. The private rooms they'd spent time in before transitioning outside of the club always seemed too small for someone like him, and despite her apartment being twice the size of the room, it still felt too small for him.

Karesse was unsure if there was a place that could accommodate someone like Roman Reigns.

"Thank you," she murmured. Turning to finish locking the door, she spun on the heel of her sock covered feet to see him looking down at the boxes curiously. "What?"

His gaze lifted to her, and he chuckled. "Think you got enough?"

Karesse rolled her eyes and shrugged, pushing her silky hair behind her ear. "You look like you like to eat."

She quickly realized that it was the wrong choice of words when something flashed in his gaze as he raked his eyes over her. "You ain't wrong."

Clearing her throat and doing her best to play off how flustered she felt, which was stupid as fuck considering he'd seen and groped every inch of her, Karesse walked into the kitchen, Roman in tow. Hitting the switch, she shuffled over to the fridge and bit down on her bottom lip seeing limited options.

"Ummm, is—"

"Water is fine," he answered. She turned to see he'd placed the boxes down on the counter and was standing with his arms crossed. It was only then she realized he'd removed his hoodie that didn't make much sense for one to wear in June, especially what with the brutal Floridian heat.

But she figured it was more so to help conceal his identity, especially with the way he kept the hoodie over his head as they climbed the two flight of steps it took to reach her apartment.

"Cool," she agreed. Karesse pulled out two water bottles from the pack of 24 that sat on the floor where linoleum met the carpeted area that stretched throughout the rest of the two bedroom apartment, sans the single, shared bathroom.

Plates prepared and drinks in hand, it wasn't until they migrated to the living room and the TV played some random replay of an old SVU episode that Karesse felt the strange tension that'd never been felt prior to this—their first time interacting outside of work—gradually melt.

"I didn't think you could even eat this stuff," she muttered, picking at her crust, eating it piece by piece, dipping it in the wing sauce that was just about gone. "Let alone this much."

He chuckled. "I probably shouldn't."

"Yeah, I heard old people have to be mindful of their diet and shit. Especially active old people." The small smile played on her lip as he looked at her with irritation that only made her grin widen. She waited until she was done chewing, reaching across to grab a napkin to dab at the corner of her mouth. "What?"

"Shut up." She did so only for the sake of the water bottle she'd twisted the cap off to down the remnants of food that remained despite thorough chewing. She was always so damn hungry after work. People don't realize what energy is expended from dancing. The first few weeks of work, she most definitely tapped out and passed out on her bed the minute she got home. "Where's your roommate?"

She took pause for a second but remembered her mentioning said roommate when he indicated initial reservation regarding them going back to her place. Not that they really had much of a choice.

They damn sure couldn't go to his place. For…obvious reasons.

"Home," she answered. "She always goes back home for a month at the start of summer. I think she'll be back sometime next week." Or perhaps after that. Amanda had always been…not the easiest person to catch up with. On top of holding some type of position within her sorority, being a student athlete, and working a part time job meant very little downtime during the school year. So as far back as when they first met, assigned as roommates during freshman year, summer, ironically, has always been the stretch of the year where most communication occurs through texts, phone calls, and FaceTime.

When Amanda was in town though, they always made sure to link up. Even if just for the night.

If only she knew who Karesse was "linking up" with right now.

"Ya'll close?"

Karesse looked over at him, watching as he started to fold over his used napkin atop the now empty, barely any crumbs outside of the stains of the wings plate that he reached over to place on the coffee table.

How his plate was twice the size of hers in terms of serving size and yet she was still trying to finish up her food was beyond her.

"Yeah, she's really cool." Karesse shrugged. "Wouldn't have agreed to move in with her off-campus if she wasn't."

"She still in school, too?"

Perhaps that random acting class she took freshman year paid off, cause the ease in which she skillfully hid the panic that arose at his question, was nothing short of a masterclass level performance. The trepidation that quickly brewed at the sight of his dark, thick eyebrows scrunching together from confusion mixed with curiosity. Spiked at the thought of him pushing for more information that would eventually expose the lie regarding her age.

Karesse offered a small nod. "Never too late to go back, right?"

He chuckled, leaning back against the sofa, her focus briefly shifting to his inked arms. His tattoos were obviously a nod to his Pacific Islander heritage—Samoan, if she recalled the Wikipedia page right—but she wondered if they held specific meaning beyond just cultural. "You say that shit like you're old."

"You would know."

The way he rolled his eyes made her smile return. "What's your name?" As if already knowing what her counter would be, he offered the clarification unrequited. "Your real name."

Once more, this man who she still knew so little yet so much about rendered her silent. One of the first rules Kiki drilled into her when she first started at the club was the importance of anonymity. Men, people, whomever, sought places like Playmates because it was a sanctuary for just that—invisibility. The ability to shed organic, birth assigned identification in exchange for whoever one wanted to be. Dancer or customer.

It was why they all went by stage names.

Velvet was hers. Red Velvet, initially, but she'd quickly ditched the adjective when she learned it was a reference to her complexion.

Karesse was many things, but a colorist was and would never be one of them.

She swallowed, reaching to place her empty plate atop his. "You're not very good with asking questions in a timely manner, are you?"

Because asking her age after she was practically naked, on his lap, lips swollen from their heated makeout session was one thing, but inquiring about her government after agreeing to return back to her place was…something.

Maybe stranger danger was a thing only stressed to little girls growing up. Not boys.

Leaning back into the arm of the sofa, she pulled her legs up to her chest as he shrugged indifferently. "What are you gonna do? Kick my shins?"

Karesse quickly stretched one leg just enough to, in fact, kick him. His leg that felt solid and hard against the ball of her foot. He caught her ankle, keeping her steady so that the heel of her foot sat on his big thigh. Licking her lips, she watched and felt the chills shoot up her body when he traced small circles on the span of skin where the top of her foot met her leg. "I'm serious."

She could tell.

Again, she considered deflecting. Perhaps even coming up with another alias, but guilt ate at her. He hadn't, to her knowledge, been dishonest with her regarding his own identity. Granted, unlike herself, he didn't really have the luxury to do so. While she had her own social media footprint, it was nothing compared to his own.

She already knew so much about him, while he knew so little about her.

It felt….wrong.

But beyond that…she didn't want to lie to him.

Not again.

And certainly not about this.

He'd met Velvet, but maybe, maybe it would be nice if he could meet and get to know Karesse.

"Karesse." She answered after a good two minutes of silence, something stirring in her stomach at the way the corner of his mouth rose to break the smallest smile. "My name is Karesse."  

What makes it infinitely worse, however, is that Karesse can't entirely place the blame on him. Naturally, as is the case with most lies, he eventually found out the truth.

She was forced to disclose her dishonesty.

That when they met, while he was only three days away from his 36th birthday, she was only eight days away from her own.

Her 21st birthday.

He didn't talk to her for a week after that, and Karesse truly believed her short-lived, whirlwind romance with her rich, older, sexy ass man was but a thing of the past. And she couldn't blame him. Granted, her age being the deal-breaker and not his marital status was definitely….something.

Turns out neither were large enough issues for him to block and delete her number, because when anger settled, he was back, and it was like….like nothing happened. Not enough to ruin what they'd started to build.

And they continued to build. Because pretty soon, visits to the club and him coming to see her transitioned into her going to see him. Paid flights with first class seating into whatever city he was in for the night. Domestic and abroad. It started as a sort of….companionship, perhaps. Friendship? Maybe both, as it didn't seem to take very long for openness beyond the surface level topics to be unlocked on both sides.

July 24th, 2021

"Is there a reason you got these so damn long?"

Karesse fingers paused mid unraveling. She'd just gotten through with detangling a stubborn section of her hair locked into the kanekalon with the rat tail end of her comb. A success she was proud of until someone just had to fucking ruin it.

Again.

She looked over her shoulder, arms at her side keeping the blanket close to her chest unlike his that was bare, like the rest of his surprisingly warm body she was nestled into. In between his thick legs as he worked to help her take out the braids she should have taken out at least a week ago but kept pushing off.

So his surprise, unannounced visit provided the perfect opportunity to cut down a usually two to three hour job in half. At least, that would be the case if not for his lack of co-operation.

"Ya know, if you worked half as much as you complained, we'd almost be done by now." She huffed, reaching for another braid, using that same metal end to start to undo from the bottom of the plait, hoping and praying it would unravel naturally and without any unnecessary effort.

He sucked his teeth, the feel of him wading through her remaining braids, as if searching for the shortest one, only made her roll her eyes. "We would have been done if you didn't have so many of them." Men. "And next time can you pick a color that isn't the exact fucking same as your hair? It all looks the same."

The speed in which Karesse angled her body to ensure he could feel the intensity of her glare defied physics. "Because your blind ass refuses to put your damn glasses on."

Glasses that sat on the nightstand beside her bed that she'd picked up for him during a late night Walmart trip several visits prior where he'd cursed lowly at forgetting his glasses. Something that took her by surprise at first given she'd never really seen him use them. But she remembered. Remembered and picked up a pair, having asked that same day of discovery what strength he used.

He cut his eyes, and Karesse had to take a moment to take pause. Despite it going on almost two months since they met, the nature, depth, and connection between them—the two least expected individuals—was something she still hadn't fully processed. She knew that she cared for him something serious though. In ways she'd never felt about anyone else. Ever. "Smartass. How are my glasses going to help me distinguish black from black?"

Even if his old ass was irritating the living shit out of her.

His disrespectful ass introduction and irritating ass, hypothetical question quickly snatched her back to focus on the task at hand.

"Shut up," she muttered and turned back around. Peripheral vision granted her a glimpse of him reaching for the scissors off the dresser making her turn her head once more. "And you better not cut my hair."

"Stop moving so damn much, and maybe I won't."

Another smile cracked on her face despite the way she elbowed him in his hard ass stomach only for him to grab her arm, his thumb caressing the skin above her elbow. A gentle, subtle touch that evoked a sigh and the way her eyes fluttered as reclined back into him.

His mouth against her temple as she bit down on her bottom lip and managed a low, murmured, "you're an asshole."

He made a sound while she placed her hands over his muscled forearm that settled across her stomach under the sheets. "So I've been told."

They fell into another round of natural, normal silence in a way that most would find partially uncomfortable, if just a tad bit. But that was never the case with them, maybe towards the beginning of their relationship, but at that point, too much had been shared and experienced for them to be anything but comfortable.

Beyond that.

"I wanna ask you something."

Karesse stilled and suddenly wished that some distance existed between them so she didn't have to feign the bulb of tension that bloomed at his unexpected statement. She eventually found it in her to turn her head and look up at him. "Well, you gonna ask or did you forget already?" He rolled his eyes as she upped the ante, grateful for the small bit of successful deflection. "It happens with old people."

"Keep talking, Res." This time, she was the one to roll her eyes as she looked forward and reached for a braid to unravel. His mouth dipped to her ear as she bit back a smile. "The day I finally show you what this old man can do…" Her stomach coiled and throat grew tight at his husky, deep ass voice and the subtle graze of his finger on the underside of her breast. "You won't be saying or doing shit after the fact."

Her lips parted ever so slightly, and her thighs clamped together. Roman chuckled, clearly aware of her not so subtle reaction to his….promise? Either way, it was followed up with a return to his opening statement. "Why do you talk to yourself whenever we're in the car?"

"What?" She turned to look at him, the scowl on her face making him chuckle as he reached to push a few renegade braids from near her eye. "I—I don't talk to myself."

Even as she refuted it aloud, Karesse couldn't ignore the pang in her chest at both his question and the reality before her. It was bound to happen sooner or later. Try as hard as she did to be subtle about it around people who didn't already know, with how much time they'd spent together over the past two months, it was only a matter of time.

A part of her was surprised it'd taken him this long to ask.

He eyed her skeptically as she resisted the urge to push that pesky strand of his loose curls out of his face. For a man, he had some beautiful ass hair, and the fact that his routine was all but three steps and done made her sick to her stomach. Men. "Well you certainly ain't talking to me, and I know you're not talking to the driver so—" His eyes narrowed, voice and expression the blend of playful and serious. "You hear voices or some shit?"

"You're so aggravating." She sucked her teeth and elbowed him once more. "No, I don't hear voices." Karesse wasn't entirely sure, but she could have sworn that was a thing with one of his colleagues. Randy something? She couldn't be too sure. Her attendance at his shows were predominately focused on him and the Bloodline. Everyone else was background noise. "Like I said, I'm not talking to myself. Not…not really."

"Not really?"

She glared and focused on the TV mounted above her dresser. A gift from him to replace her old one that was fine but for the crack in the bottom left corner that caused a triangle of black and kaleidoscope colors that continued to spread. Something that didn't really bother her, but it bothered him. Thus his replacement. Just one of many things throughout her room that were courtesy of the man she was pressed up against. "I'm—I'm singing. Or…saying lyrics or—" Karesse blew out a breath and bit the inside of her cheek. "I told you that my parents died when I was younger, but I guess…I guess it was more that they were killed."

She could feel the way he tensed behind her, nonverbal indication of immediate regret, almost. "Karesse—"

"Car accident. Drunk driver. Obviously, I survived, but they…"

"Karesse—"

Another attempt to stop what'd already been started, but despite the typical somatic symptoms that accompanied discussion of what was without a doubt the hardest thing she'd ever been through, there was little desire to stop. No part of her that vied for a way out. She didn't love the discussion, but it wasn't unbearable, either. And if she had to take a guess, it was largely due to the man she was speaking to.

"After that, being in a car was….it was hard for me." Horrific. It was horrific. Screaming, crying, and vomiting at just the thought of it that few in her life, at the time, honored in a way she needed. "I was forced to do therapy for a while, and the therapist suggested a couple of things to help, and they did, I guess. But the thing that really helped, that stuck with me, for whatever reason, was when she told me to find my happy place and return to it whenever I was in a car."

The faintest smile grew on her face as memories of horror were flooded with recollections of ardent joy.

"We always had music playing in my house, and my mom—she loved Whitney. Played I Wanna Dance With Somebody so much that to this day, I hate that damn song. But—" For some reason, his quiet chuckle was calming. As was the way he rubbed small circles against her stomach. "I Believe in You and Me was her absolute favorite. My dad used to come up behind her as she played it while fixing dinner or folding clothes, and he'd hold her, and they just—they were so happy, and it made me happy. One of my favorite memories of them. With them."

She swallowed, gradually returning to a reality that was a lot less bleak than usual returns following her disclosing of a painful, traumatic past. "So anytime I'm in a car, I repeat the lyrics to myself and go to my happy place to keep myself from panicking." Karesse angled her head once more to gaze up at him, managing a small smirk. "Make sense? Or do you need a better explanation. I know old men can—"

He silenced her with a kiss that made her want to lean into him and never sit up, never do anything to rip her from that moment. Especially with the way he cupped her face, gentle and tender, her eyes fluttering just enough to make out the way his eyes focused on her and reflected something strong and unspoken.

But it was felt.

From that day forward, not a car ride with him has occurred without I Believe In You and Me already playing before either he or their driver can even open the door for her. And when it's the two or three of them, his right hand is either always on her thigh or holding hers.

Always.

Karesse often wonders who fell first. One some level, it felt like that award went to her. Looking back, she certainly started to fall before he did.

She must have.

One doesn't let a married man fifteen years their senior take their virginity in the presidential suite at the Ritz Carlton without some level of feelings existing.

Strong feelings.

Feelings that suddenly mean nothing and everything when he finally walks into the room. Showered once more, as he always does after the many different events that take place post Mania. Especially after a win.

But it's the casual appearance, the usual one that greeted her when he'd meet her in his suite after SmackDown and what said casual attire means that has her with her guard all the way up. Even more than before.

This bastard….

She marches over to him as he turns to ensure the door behind him is locked. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

He turns around, eyeing her up and down before chuckling and sauntering past like he didn't even hear her.

Karesse closes her eyes and reminds herself that she promised both herself and her baby girl that she'd never lay a hand on Roman like that again. It was wrong.

But he's fucking pushing it.

He's pushing her.

He always does.

She's right behind him, following his big frame as he plops down on the sofa. "Don't walk away when I'm talking to you."

Roman sits with his legs spread, phone in hand, focus on the screen that reflects in his eyes and highlights the faint bruise above his cheek.

She wishes Punk had hit his ass harder.

"So talk."

Her tongue hits the roof of her mouth like her anger meter ticks to the farthest right of the spectrum.

"What do you mean we'll see your ass all summer?" She jumps straight to it, knowing that time is not on her side for a variety of reasons. Too many possibilities grow exponentially with each minute she remains with the man before her. The longer she stays, the higher the chances she'll end up doing something she'll regret.

Always does.

"You're part time now."

He continues to tap away on his phone with one hand, the other resting on the top of the sofa with the way his arm is stretched out. Fuck, his big ass almost takes up on the whole damn sofa. "Not anymore."

"What do you mean not anymore?"

Roman finally decides to grace her with his attention, lifting his eyes from his phone only to look at her like she just asked him what color the sky is.

"I won the title."

Unfortunately. "I know."

Irritation mars his handsome face. For a second, she takes note of the bags under his eyes. He looks exhausted. Probably is.

Matches, especially longer ones like the master class he put on with Punk, always take more out of him that he likes to admit. If he's ever even admitted it to anyone. Because the way he disclosed it, disclosed his condition, almost quietly, during one of their many nights together as she sat on her knees behind him, hands working to smooth out the tight knots and kinks in his back and shoulders, it felt like an admission.

One meant for her ears and her ears only.

"So I have to defend it," he continues. "I have to kick off this title reign."

"You don't have to be full time to do that, Roman," she reminds. "Hell, you were part time for almost the entire last year of your last title reign. Have been part time for years now—"

"Yeah, well not anymore."

His interruption is sharp, to the point, and accompanied with that dip in his already deep ass voice. The subtle change in intonation that always prefaces him saying something to piss her the fuck off.

Too bad she beats him to it.

"Full time husband and father seemed to have gotten a lot shorter than I remember." She crosses her arms over her chest, fully aware of the anger that flashes in his eyes. She's also fully uncaring. "Or maybe just pretending to be all that is getting old."

His jaw ticks, and he looks away, running his hand through his beard she can tell he recently touched up, the gray hairs she used to lay in bed and count as he slept completely blended in. Black on black. He turns to look back at her. "Watch your mouth, Karesse."

She scoffs. "You really gon' sit there and tell me to watch my mouth?" Pointing to herself, she steps closer as his focus remains on her. "After the shit you said tonight? On live fucking TV for the whole world to hear?"

Several things were said this evening, but Karesse can still feel the way her entire body stilled, the sound of music playing, people laughing, completely drowned out. How Melo tensed next to her. Stark contrasts to the way Brie clung to her with one arm, the other extended as she pointed to the TV mounted in the corner of the private room.

"Hi, daddy!" She waved happily, as if Roman, who sat among the commentators wearing that smug expression, freshly obtained title sitting in front of him, could see his youngest child's happy greeting.

It briefly revived the bile in the back of her throat as she sat in the private box and watched him celebrate his win with them.

The gentle, heartfelt way he hugged and dapped his two sons. Kissed his other two daughters on the top of their head.

Kissed her.

Karesse was forced to blink away tears as she worked to distract her daughter from witnessing the sight that broke her mother's heart. That would one day break her own heart when childlike naivety could no longer shield her sweet baby girl from the devastating truth of her parental dynamics.

When she no long accepted why daddy could only spend the night sometimes and could only call her on the phone or FaceTime her on the tablet when bedtime rolled around and she just wanted to cuddle with him.

Truths Karesse, for her own mental sake, refuses to allow herself to think too much about. She will have to. Do more than just think. Will have to confront. But they're not there yet nor is she even close to working though all of the other present….shit that is is her life.

She would like to blame the crowd who kick-started it all. Carried over what's been heavily pushed online to something catapulted to the surface for the devil himself to address.

"Melo." Roman spoke in that smug ass tone that made her want to punch him in his face. Again. Eyes focused on the camera, it felt more like he was focused on her. Like he was speaking directly to her versus the man who stood beside her, his own retained title over his shoulder, other secured around her body, hand on her hip. "See, you seem still a little fresh in this business." A beat. "You did a big thing tonight, but I done that many times."

Everything after that was completely inaudible and stomped under the intensity of rage that she had to quell for the sake of the people around her, primarily the man beside her and the child in her arms.

Because to and for most, perhaps even Carmelo, it was nothing more than a reference to him retaining his US Championship title in his three way match against Sami and Trick. His first WrestleMania match.

But Karesse knew better.

She knows Roman, and she knows that his snide ass remark was nothing more than a cheap shot and dig to the fact that Carmelo, being the damn near perfect man that he is, of course utilized what should have been his moment to make it theirs. To jump out of the ring, greet her where she sat with close family and friends, on both their ends, and to reach for the small, red velvet box that his dad handed him with a huge smile on his face.

He proposed.

He proposed, and she said yes for over 50,000 attendees and God knows how many viewers watching through various streams to see.

Including Roman.

So no, while a clever cover, what with feeding into the massive push for a storyline and match between her now fiancé and ex/baby daddy/whatever the fuck he is, Karesse knew better.

She knows better.

Roman's hungry gaze rakes over her frame, the way she's bent over unintentionally allotting him an up close view of her cleavage, breast shoved and pushed together through her thin tank top.

"Did I lie?"

His simple, smartass comment, however, prevents her from focusing too much on the stare that creates a strange sense of discomfort and something she refuses to feed.

It reminds her why she's here.

"I am not a fucking toy, Roman!" Her volumes jumps at least two levels, but it seemingly has little to no effect on the man who's never looked more unbothered. "I'm not a punchline you can throw out there when you wanna prove who has the bigger fucking dick."

"Well, we both know the answer to that."

"I'm serious!" Karesse snaps. "This isn't a fucking game. This is my life. My life that you keep injecting yourself into when you have no business."

He sits forward, phone discarded to the side of him, matching both her energy and intensity. "You wanna drag my daughter across the country so you can be with your little boyfriend and expect me to be okay with it?"

"He's not my boyfriend." Karesse counters calmly. "He's my fiancé."

For whatever reason, there's an almost bitter aftertaste following that final word leaving her mouth. What should be some level of pride and excitement is nothing more than a bullet to lodge into Roman's hubris and to tackle his fragile ego.

It's….it's wrong. The sudden discomfort that stems from the ring on her finger. A placement that also feels….wrong.

But that's another issue for another day.

Regardless of confusing feelings, the objective is accomplished in the way he looks away, muttering darkly, "yeah, well, we'll see about that."

She scoffs. "You're unbelievable." A hypocrite. A fucking hypocrite is what he is, regardless of the fact that black band he's never seen without when the cameras are rolling is nowhere to be seen right now. It never is when he's with her. "I don't even understand what your goal is in this. You're on Raw now. Melo is on SmackDown. We won't even be in the same cities."

The closest they'll come to crossing paths is PLE's, and even then, the likelihood of Roman working any outside of the major ones that Melo most likely won't be on the card for is slim to none. So—

"Was." His interruption to her mental pondering draws her focus back to him. "He was on SmackDown."

Karesse grows silent, partially waiting for a follow-up that isn't even necessary. Not when she takes a step back to think about what he just said.

What it means.

Her shoulders drop. "What did you do?"

Roman, however, resumes his unbothered stance, leaning back against the sofa once more. "You heard the people. They want a feud between me and—"

"What did you do?" She interrupts, voice weighed down with grit and growing anger.

Head tilted, the small smile on his face has never made her feel so disgusted. "He's on Raw, effective as of next week."

"No. No." She shakes her head, unsure who she's attempting to convince at this point. Herself or the man who can never seem to just leave her alone. "He—he just retained tonight. The US Championship is a SmackDown title. He can't—"

"People drop titles all the time, Karesse." He shrugs. "Sometimes even at the first show after their big win."

She can only stare at him. Can only look with absolute disgust how fucking unbothered he is by some of the grimiest shit she's heard and seen in some time.

"What the fuck, Roman?" Karesse can barely contain her anger. Can feel her body trembling from the extent of rage she feels in this moment. Her palm burns with desire to connect with his stupid, smug ass face. "You're mad at and wanna punish me so you take it out on him? Fuck with his career?" It's disgusting. "What kind of weak ass shit is that?"

He keeps his vow low in tandem with his morality. "I told you to watch your mouth."

"Fuck you!" She snaps, completely uncaring of if her voice travels through what she would think are thick ass walls. Who gives a fuck. The whole floor could hear as far as she's concerned. "You're a pussy ass nigga for that!"

"I'm not gonna tell you again—"

"I don't care, Roman!" Her icy tone slices though his supposed indifference as he looks away and brushes the tip of his nose with his thumb. "That's what you don't seem to understand. I don't care about what pisses you off or upsets you." Karesse scoffs and shakes her head. "Why should I when you don't give a damn about me and my feelings?"

At that, he turns to look at her once more. To say she can't see the shift, the lessening caustic tone of his voice replaced with something familiar that she refuses to acknowledge. "You know that's not true."

"Oh?" Another scoff as she crosses her arms once more, fully prepared to throw at him every fact that, try as he might, he'll never be able to dispel. The truth can never be negated. "I tell you that I want to spend time on the road with my partner, my fiancé, and the first chance you get to fuck with that, to fuck with me—"

"No. You didn't say you wanted to go. You said he wanted you to go—"

"What difference—"

"The difference is that whenever you bring him up, it's what he wants. What he thinks. It's never what you want. And we both know why." Karesse refuses to rip her gaze away or break the eye contact between them even as he lifts his big body from the sofa. Stands directly in front of her, so close that craning her head up because of their height difference grants her a view close enough to see the specks of gold in his eyes. "It's because you don't want him. You can stand there and try do deny it all you want, but I know and you know it's truth."

The silence is damning. The sound of her heart beating wildly and erratically drowning out everything else.

But she can't let it win.

Can't let him win.

Can't let him keep winning.

"You know what I want, Roman?" Karesse steps forward, her voice a whisper that infiltrates the tension fueled silence. "I want you to stop interfering in my life. I want you to stop using our daughter as a pawn—"

"That's fucking bullshit and you know it—"

"No. It's not. It's the truth, and you know it." Karesse swallows, the exhaustion of this whole thing taking its toll when hurt bleeds into the frustration. "I do everything I can to keep our coparenting as peaceful as possible for the sake of Bri, but sometimes…."

"What?" He presses, tilting his head and pushing her in a way no one else can. Or ever will, most likely. The anger ebbed away by her own emotional pain easily picked up and utilized to maximize his vexation. "You want a formal custody agreement? Is that what you want?" She closes her eyes and drops her head. Here he goes. "Fine. Let's do it." Karesse lifts her head just in time to witness the sneer before the bomb. "You won't last five fucking minutes in that courtroom."

And just like that, all defenses are instantly dismantled. The drop of her shoulders, slight widening of her eyes and tightening of her chest preceding the intrusion of memories she'd give anything to rid herself of permanently.

"No!" Her shouts echoed throughout the courtroom as she worked to free herself from the hands persistent and hellbent at grabbing her. "I don't wanna go!" Tears filled her eyes as she refused to rip her eyes from Keith who wrestled against the court officers who restricted him. The judge's warnings drowned out under the sorrow of what'd just occurred. "Please, Mr. Judge! I wanna stay with Keith!" A beat. "I wanna stay with my brother!"

"Karesse."

It's the desperate, concerned call of her name that rips her from memories shoved so far to the back of her mind that despite years of trying her damn hardest, she's never been able to purge. Never been able to forget.

Never will.

"Fuck," Roman curses lowly, as she gradually returns to the reality before her versus the one behind. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I shouldn't—I shouldn't have said that."

Recognition continues to grow as she becomes aware of the fact that not only is he standing directly in front of her, but his hands are on her. Gently cupping her face, his lips pressed against her hairline. She closes her eyes, standing completely still, frozen in place and time as he continues to issue apology after apology.

Finally, however, the ice thaws enough for her to regain control.

To revoke the power from a past that's only ever debilitated.

She shoves at his chest, growling, "get the fuck off of me!"

He's unmoving, arms around her waist, keeping her boxed in. "Kar—"

"I said get off!"

But in true Roman fashion, he stands firm, feet planted and anchored into ground she feels trembling underneath her. Because that's what he always does. Causes the collapse while also standing ten toes down in and for the recovery effort. Always ready to catch what he made fall.

And she does just that.

The beating on his chest and shoving against his solid frame gradually settles and transitions into the way she clutches his shirt.

"How could—how could you s-say that to m-me?" She cries, hating the way his gentle touches, the way his coarse fingers stroke back her hair. and his hand on her hip tugs her just enough to where the desire to lean into him is all but unavoidable. He's like a vortex she can't seem to resist despite all the ways in which he absolutely can be resisted. "You know—"

"I know," he murmurs. Voice hoarse and almost pained, her eyes shut when he presses his lips to hair hairline and the material of his shirt becomes further intertwined in her fingers as her grip tightens. His as well. "I'm sorry." Resolve all but disappears as she finally stops her body's autonomous pull, falling into and against his chest. "You know I would never do that to you or Bri." Her lips press together, eyes clenching shut tighter when he cradles the back of her head. "I love you two too damn much to ever do that to ya'll."

And as sick as it might be, she believes him. Knows that he would, in fact, never do that. For reasons even beyond why such a cruel threat triggered her as much as it did. Because Karesse has been embedded too long in the game that is Roman Reigns to not know him better than most. To know that his inability to manage his temper when backed into a corner will almost always result in him resorting to the lowest of blows.

Followed by immediate regret.

It's become a pattern of theirs, and Karesse lost sight a while ago as to whether or not the recognition of said pattern allows her to forgive him as "easily" as she does. Because she knows he doesn't actually mean it.

Or if it's nothing more than reason #94825903 as to why this game of theirs is one she'll never be able to fully step away from.

Even if they didn't have Briella Mae.

"Stay with me tonight." She stills in his embrace, unsure exactly as to when she transitioned from clutching his shirt to wrapping her arms around him. "Bri, too," he adds, as if it wasn't a given. There has never been a just her since the birth of their daughter. What was once the two of them has been the three ever since. If she's in his suite, so is their baby girl. Naturally so. Because despite the dysfunction that is her parents dynamic, in Bri's eyes, nothing is more normal or right than staying in the same space as her mommy and daddy. "Please." The desperation in his voice tugs at that place in her heart that's never been able to resist him. The part that reciprocates his longing in every sense of the word. "I just want to be with you two."

Karesse can't tell which sickens her more. That in the span of less than five minutes he can go from saying the cruelest of shit to her to being the only person can who can soothe her as such—holding her, professing love, and issuing recompense in any way he can.

Or the fact that she agrees.

November 5th, 2021

The thrum of the base was resounding and relenting. Battling against the boisterous noise of a packed courtyard, bodies mushed together and arms raised with either phones in hand recording or drinks that were either seconds away from being downed or drowned in the sea of individuals, spilling onto the courtyard.

Karesse was in the latter of two groups.

Lips stretched into a broad smile that'd been on her face from the moment she and Amanda started pre-gaming. Music blasting as they helped each other get dressed, hair and makeup prioritized over outfits that left little to the imagination and snagged attention as soon as they sauntered in.

Her bare legs against the cool metal seating in the stadium was dulled out by adrenaline that beamed and soared watching the Panthers score a game winning touchdown in the last ten seconds of the game. The applause was thunderous. For her first two years of college, despite never having a strong interest in sports, she made it a mission to attend every football game. Mostly and primarily because batting her lashes at the right players always meant admission into the best parties.

Parties that, eventually, were a large part of the reason she fucked around and lost her scholarship.

But that was then, and Karesse had learned her lesson the hard way. It'd been forever and a day since she allowed herself to be dragged back to any frat house or off campus apartment. She knew better, but beyond that, she was doing better.

And tonight was not an exception to that. She'd more or less made Amanda swear a blood oath to not allow her to make any reckless ass decisions, and with her roommate and best friend also on the same 'we can't fuck around' grind, it made for the perfect accountability partner.

That didn't mean, however, that Karesse couldn't let loose. This was her senior year and thus her last chance to attend Homecoming. She wasn't about to miss out on a good time, especially when things were going so well in her life.

Better than well.

Way….way better than well.

"Oh shittttttt!" The DJ's voice boomed from his setup, transcending over the crowd and kick-starting various, similar sounds from fellow attendees. Including Amanda who stood beside Karesse and tugged on her arm.

Karesse smiled and lowered her arm to meet glazed over eyes that reflected a certain level of inebriation but not to the point that it deterred or concerned her. While they were both certainly a little tipsy, Karesse, like Amanda, knew their limits. Had partied hard enough their freshman and sophomore year to know now what was the end of the line. They were buzzed. That was about it.

"This our damn song." Amanda threw her hands up as Karesse stuck out her tongue playfully and threw her head back to down the rest of her drink before tossing the empty cup into the crowd.

"Damn sure is."

She easily ignored what sounded like someone protesting and began dancing with her friend, each lady singing out loudly and proudly to Doja Cat and Saweetie's collab that'd easily gone triple platinum in their household since its release.

But the ante was upped when the DJ transitioned to the next song that had Karesse ready to find the nearest table to jump on on so she could be allotted the room needed to shake ass like she really wanted to.

"Damn, I ain't seen your ass in a minute, Shaw."

The loud yet calm, smooth voice that managed to transcend the crowd gathered Karesse's attention. She immediately rolled her eyes. "You know I don't be outside like that no more."

Christian James smiled, emphasizing the dimples in his cheeks and the tooth gems on his canines. "Oh, trust me, I know."

Once upon a time, the 6'1 tight end with light eyes, a pretty smile, and a chiseled body with abs so defined and cut she could slice bread on and with them was someone Karesse cared about. As much as someone coming off an almost two year relationship and away at school for the first time could. They were in the same public speaking class and at the time, true to her nature, she'd been too shy to interact or introduce herself. Them sitting next to each other, however, resulted in him introducing himself, her doing the same, and the rest was history.

They'd vibed well enough, connected on a level she hadn't experienced with a guy outside of her ex, and they'd gone on a handful of dates. She'd rocked his Letterman at points. He made sure that she made it home safe from every party she attended and that no one ever took advantage of her during several nights of drinking to the point where she blacked out. Even leaving a note and Advil on the nightstand for her to take whenever she woke up. The whole nine yards. But at the end of the day, her lack of willingness to sleep with him ended up being the thing that made their flame fizzle out. And she understood it. She respected it, because she could see he tried his best to make it work, but like most guys her age, most men, he needed more.

And she wasn't able or willing to do that.

So they "broke up" in whatever way two people who never actually dated could.

Karesse never referred to him as her boyfriend and vice versa. It was an amicable parting, and they'd run into each other from time to time, but this was the first time they'd interacted beyond the small smile and nod of acknowledgment.

He raked his eyes over her. "You look good."

Karesse started to bite on her bottom lip but remembered her lipstick and instead returned the compliment. "So do you."

And he did.

He'd put on some weight since freshman year, and it looked good on him. His white polo clung to his muscles and highlighted the ink on his right bicep that she didn't recall.

It was that dark ink, however, that reminded Karesse of something.

Roman.

The unanswered texts and missed call she'd forgotten to return as his outreach attempts occurred in the midst of she and Amanda getting ready. She'd meant to call him back while Amanda drove them to campus, but it'd slipped her mind.

Fuck.

But the music transitioning to Juvenile, Amanda gleefully tugging on her arm, and Christian smirking at her all served as other forms of distraction. His eyes twinkled with mischief she understood fully.

"For old time's sake?"

It only took Karesse a minute to contemplate and decide. She could call Roman back later.

He'd understand.

She tilted her head and adjusted her dress, hiking it up mid thigh as she turned around and bent over. Looking back over her shoulder when he moved behind her and started to glide his hand down her back.

"You know it."

It took exactly three slamming on her finger against the snooze button for Karesse to finally find it in her to wake up. And even then, she'd laid in bed and groaned quietly at the sun that peaked through closed blinds for her to muster the strength just to sit up. An action that immediately made her wince as she scratched at her scalp through her bonnet. Stretching her arms made a sort of soreness shoot through her body that she hadn't experienced in a while.

Not since she went through two weeks of intense pole dancing lessons before being "approved" to hit the stage.

Sitting up in bed, leaning against her headboard, the prior night's events gradually returned to her recollection. She wasn't hungover. Didn't have that raging headache that made her bury her head under the covers and hide away in her dorm for hours on end until she could drag herself out of bed. But damn was she exhausted.

What time did we even get back in?

A question that made her grab her phone and drag her hand over her face as she typed in her passcode to unlock it. But the several red numbers next to the green icons at the bottom of the screen as well as the time reflected in the top right corner immediately made her stomach drop.

Fuck.

She never responded to Roman.

She frowned and cursed lowly, briefly contemplating waiting until later but given that it was already almost noon, later seemed like a not great idea.

Her fingers quickly navigated to his contact, thumb hovering over his number when she considered something. She was almost certain she'd never called him on a Sunday. Text, sure, but call?

It made her take pause.

What if….

Karesse took a deep breath and reminded herself that if he was….busy, he simply wouldn't answer the phone.

It was that simple.

She hit call.

Kicking the blankets back, she started to make a quick detour to make sure Amanda was alright but quickly remembered that she wouldn't have made it home if Amanda didn't. They were a package deal, and knowing her roommate, Manda was either also just waking up or still wrapped up in her blanket.

The ringing on the other end ceased as a second of noise followed a quiet, "hello."

"Hey," she smiled, hating the way she almost forgot that he couldn't see her. See the way her eyes lit up at hearing his voice that somehow sounded even deeper over the phone. It was something even more divine when he first woke up. "I'm sorry, I was—"

"Where the fuck were you, Karesse?"

Her smile instantly dropped. It was only then she realized that the harsh tone evoked with his question matched the almost clipped, tense way that he answered the phone. "I'm—I'm sorry?"

"I asked you a question." The frown on her face deepened with each confusing, acrid word that left his mouth. "Where the fuck were you?"

"I—" Stammering wasn't really a character trait of hers outside the first few minutes of meeting someone, and even then, it was more the quiet, short responses vs a clear indication of evident, palpable anxiety. But if there was a moment that called for such conduct, this was it. "I—I was out. It—it was Homecoming, and—"

"You were supposed to be there."

Somehow, the frown on her face deepened. "What?"

It wasn't like this irritated side of him was something she hadn't seen or experienced before. Months of them….whatever one would call it had allowed her to see that he could be….moody. Even more than that. He had a temper, for sure. She saw it firsthand every show she attended, but it was difficult to reconcile the man she saw on TV to the man she spent a good chunk of her time with. Even more, learning as much as she did and had about him, who he was as the Tribal Chief made all the sense.

Out there, he was who he had to be. With her, was who he wanted to be. They had their moments though, for sure. He could be a dick, and she wasn't for the temper tantrum.

Rarely, however, was this extent of that side of him directed towards her. Perhaps until now.

And especially this level of vitriol.

He sounded furious.

His level of anger, however, didn't make any sense to her.

Especially that last statement.

What was he—

And as if someone turned the light on in the room of realization, Karesse's stomach fucking dropped.

"Oh my God."

She ripped that phone away from her ear so quickly that it almost snatched her bonnet off in the process. Fingers hurriedly tapping at the screen to open up her calendar and click yesterday's date confirmed the worst.

Fuck.

She lifted the phone back to her ear, closed her eyes, and slammed her palm against her forehead. "Shit, Roman, I—I completely forgot."

Forgot felt like an understatement. Like the sort of thing one does when they miss an assignment or fail to pencil in an exam or added assignment to their planner. That was one thing.

Forgetting that he'd booked a flight and planned for her to attend his latest PLE was something entirely different.

And clearly, he felt the same.

"You forgot?" His tone, albeit understandable, made her wince. "How the fuck did you forget that?" Suddenly, the hangover wasn't looking so bad. Being on the receiving end of an upset Roman Reigns was the last thing on her itinerary for the day. "I told you about this weeks ago."

"I know. I know." She sighed and shook her head, suddenly wishing she'd have FaceTime'd him so he could see how truly apologetic she was and how bad she felt. "I guess, I just—I'm sorry. I'll be at the next one," she offered, hope revived. "I promise."

Even if she had to set reminders for every damn day leading up to said event, she would make sure this would never happen again.

"What makes you think you're invited?"

At that, her shoulders dropped.

Him making and organizing her flights to his shows or PLE's was a bit of a regular thing. Sometimes, it felt like she spent more time at the airport than her own apartment these days. Not that she ever complained. Never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined being flew all over the country—and beyond—by a man like Roman.

And it wasn't even the underlying implication of his question that their arrangement was about to change that was shifting the tides away from regret. He had a right to be upset with her, sure. Time and money wasted would irritate anyone.

It was the level of his vitriol, however, that was starting to irritate her.

"Roman, I made a mistake, okay?" She scoffed. "I—"

"And who the fuck was that boy that you were all over?"

Another question that took her back for several and obvious reasons.

"What are you—"

But once more, another door opened as she once again pulled back her phone to navigate. This time to the app with the yellow icon that revealed several Snapchat stories she didn't even really remember uploading. Naturally, the sound was muted as it was being used for the phone call, but audio wasn't needed to understand what she was watching.

The motion of her ass bent over and twerking against a lap. Her being hoisted over a set of shoulders. The way she was laughing and giggling while posing with and against Christian and Amanda as well as a few other familiar faces. Several, as some of the clips surveyed the multitude of crowds she was immersed in. Truly playful, innocent moments that she could fully understand and see how he could see as otherwise.

She suddenly regretted showing him how Snapchat worked and making him an account. Remembered the way he grumbled about "never" using "that shit." But he'd made himself out to be a liar, because swiping up certainly revealed his username in the list of viewers.

Karesse closed her eyes once more.

This was a fucking mess.

Licking her lips, she blew out a breath and opted to switch to speaker, allowing the phone to settle into the sheets. "He—he's just a friend. Barely even that."

"I couldn't fucking tell."

 Again, his tone lapped at her waning contrition.

"We didn't do anything." And he, of all people, should know that. "And I was just—I was just having fun." A good ass time that suddenly felt like the worst night of her life given the verbal reprimand she was receiving from the least expected person ever.

"You had an obligation, Karesse." Something about his tone, disciplinary almost, struck something within her. "I don't understand—"

"Oh my God, it was one show. What's the big fucking deal?" She snapped, partially aware of where the sudden defensiveness was coming from but fully unwilling to acknowledge said source.

But if he was angry before, he was pissed following her matching his energy. His voice a borderline growl on the other end with an uncharacteristic undertone of desperation and anxiety. "The big fucking deal is that I needed you there!"

"I've gone to almost all of your shows since we met, Roman! Why did I need to be at this one?" If not actually all of them, and even though she didn't have the results of his match, she already knew it wasn't like he lost so what was his fucking malfunction?

Karesse threw her hands up, fully frustrated and flustered, hating the way her eyes were starting to water and her chest was tightening. "For fucks sake, I'm 21, and it was my last Homecoming. Sue me for being a stupid college kid who just wanted to let loose for one fucking night! What do you expect?"

The silence on the other end was both unexpected and unsettling, the latter magnified exponentially when his voice took a 180.

"You're right," he said. The almost calm intonation making her stomach churn and cuddle. He hadn't sounded like that since....since he found out she'd lied to him about her age. "What was I expecting?"

She closed her eyes. Fuck. "Roman—"

Her station eclipsed by the call dropping occurred in tandem with the collapse of something deep within her chest.

“I feel like your hands would look so good around my throat.” You casually said.

Anthony doesn’t reply, he looks over at you. You feel his eyes on you, but instead you decide to play clueless, keeping your head down your phone becoming so interesting.

“You wanna repeat that for me?” He asks.

As you lifted your head to meet his eyes, you shrug. “I think you heard me just fine.” Turning your attention back to your phone.

He nods once, sort of like he’s making a mental note.

The night wound down just like the rest of the day, easily. You and him both had time in y’all schedules to do nothing; spend a little time together. Then come back home and be lazy. Anthony was finishing his nightly routine while you were barely paying attention to the TV. He came out of your shared bathroom shirtless in a pair of sweats hanging low on his hips; he makes his way over to you, climbing in the bed laying on his stomach between your thighs.

He rests his head on your thighs, kissing the exposed skin since you’re wearing an old T-shirt of his. His clothes are your favorite thing to sleep in and he highkey loves seeing you in them. “You ‘gon keep playing coy?” He asks lowly, letting hands rub up your thighs, always having to touch you in some way.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about AJ.” You breathe.

He hums, not in approval but in feigned surprise. “You don’t?”

Your eyes are low as you nod slowly, watching your man rest between your legs like it’s his favorite place to be. “Guess we gotta change that, right?” He says, shifting himself onto his elbows, allowing him the space to move around. He drops a kiss on the inner part of your thigh, working his way up to under the old shirt. As he gets closer to your pussy, he switches to your other thigh doing the same thing.

“Stop teasing me.” You whine.

He of course ignores you. In his mind he’s already made up that he’s setting the pace for tonight. His eyes look up and you truly take in how beautiful he is. His eyes were your favorite feature of his; they just held this light to them. You could always get lost in them. Tonight though, the usual light in his eyes is replaced with a smoldering heat.

As he finally ends his teasing, he pulls you close to him, letting your legs rest on his shoulders. In moving you closer to him, the shirt rode up and leaves your lower half uncovered; to get it out the way completely you pull the shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere behind you. He breathes in deep, taking in the scent of your arousal mixed with whatever body wash you used during your shower and some vanilla scented body butter, your skin soft and supple against his. You watch as he unfurls his tongue, then flattens it while dragging it up your slit. You moan softly, the eye contact from him turning you on more than the act of him eating you out. His tongue continues to lap against your pussy; your hands caress the back of his head, trying to pull him closer to you while your hips grind against his face chasing your release. You try to close your legs over his face, the pleasure too much but, he quickly readjusts his arms under your thighs, keeping them open allowing him to feast.

His tongue moves to your clit, lapping at it softly; like he’s eating ice cream on a hot day. Alternating between that and the sloppy figure eights against the sensitive bud. You feel that coil in your stomach tightening, your moans get higher and airier, like you’re begging him with out actually saying a word. He releases your thighs, only to push them back, folding you in half while keeping his mouth attached to your pussy.

This new position allows him to slip two fingers inside of you, slowly pumping in and out of you. Your walls clench around them involuntarily, a low groan leaving his mouth as he mutters against your center, “Uh uh, open that pussy back up for me baby.” Fingers still dragging against your walls, a breathy mewl slips out of your mouth. You can feel him smile against you, he knows your body better than you do. He knows you’re close.

“Give it to me.” He mumbles, wrapping his lips around your clit pulling it gently between his lips.

“Anthony— “you gasp squeezing your eyes shut.

As if on command, the orgasm crashed into you. Body tensing up while your back arched; and he licked you through it all.

He pulls back, lower half of his face drenched in you. He doesn’t give you a second to catch your breath, instead he’s hovered over you, gold chain that he always keeps tucked under his shirt, dangling in your face as he drops down to start kissing you, allowing you to taste yourself off his tongue. You moan into the kiss, it all being an aphrodisiac. Slowing down, he breaks the kiss and pulling back enough to let a line of saliva drip from his mouth into yours. You catch it, pulling him back down to you, immediately turned on again, getting loss in the lip lock.

He moves to your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin there. “You got another one for me?” He rasps between the sloppy kisses he’s leaving. Continuing his assault down your body, he wrapped his lips around one of your nipples, sucking softly, his other hand pinching the other one between his thumb and index finger. Your answer wrapped in a moan while nodding at the same time. He moves to stand at the edge of the bed then it dawns on you that he just ate you out like his life depended on it, completely forgetting he also has dick to offer too.

Your eyes rake over him while he takes his sweats off, that being the only article of clothing between you and him at this point in the night. As your eyes work lower, they focus on the deep V cut that leads to his dick. He’s palming it through his sweats before he takes them off fully. His dick bounces out, resting pretty between strong thighs. It’s about a shade darker than the rest of his skin, with the tip being slightly lighter and a thick vein running down the underside of it.

He’s stroking himself, looking at you laid out in front of him. Naked, hair wild, pupils blown with lust and both sets of lips swollen from his doing. To him, you’re a sight for sore eyes. Absentmindedly, your hand slipped between your thighs, rubbing small circles on your clit. He watches you, tongue running against his bottom lip. Not the one to want to miss the fun, he pulls you to him by your ankle, your legs falling open.

Your fingers are still moving over your clit as he grips his dick at the base, pushing himself in bottoming out in one full stroke. Anthony takes a moment before moving again as he feels your walls fluttering around him. A moan slips out from how warm you feel around him. Your legs rest on his hips as he begins a lazy stroke, moving his hips slowly, the curve dragging over that sensitive spot deep inside.

You move your hands from between your thighs, bringing them to his mouth, letting him taste you off your fingers. You grip his chin slightly to get him to focus on you—you wanted him to be in the moment for this.

“You feel what you do to me baby?” You coo.

He had a thing for talking you through it, but you wanted to let him know how he made you feel tonight. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled him down closer to you, tugging his ear lobe between your teeth, nibbling on it softly. He exhaled, like he was trying to hold back.

“Don’t hold back, I can take it.”

And that was the line that broke his resolve; his hips sped up, thrusts becoming messier. He wraps his hand around your throat, and you gasp from the amount of pressure he ‘s applying. It’s just enough for you to feel a little lightheaded from the lack of oxygen but also pleasurable— intensifying the relentless strokes he’s giving. The quick moment of silence between the two of you allows you to hear how wet you are.

Your moans are rolling from your lips freely and he loves how vocal you are.

“Make a fuckin’ mess for me,” he mutters. His strokes slow down as you both look at where you're connected. A steady in and out motion, the sounds almost obscene. “Can you do that for me baby?” nodding your head rapidly, you feel that telltale sign that you’re close and he does too. You squeeze your eyes shut, “I’mcomingI’mcomingI’mcoming!” Pleasurable waves crashed over you, body tensing for a second before it relaxes into the mattress. Anthony’s not far behind you, heavy breaths against the side of your face and those once again messy strokes.

“Let go for me, daddy.” You whisper into the room.

Like a command, his body tenses, white-hot pleasure consuming him, with zero urge to even try to pull out. He fully drops his weight on you, trying to catch his breath. After a few moments, he pushes himself up over you and pulls out slowly. The sudden loss of him causes a shaky exhale from you, and he’s watching the mixture of you and him spill out of you—eyes fixated between your legs. He shakes his head, turning to walk to the bathroom. Coming back a few seconds later, he gently wipes between your folds, cleaning the mess that was made. Once he’s finished, he tosses the towel with the rest of your clothes scattered about the room and gets back in bed with you. You snuggle up against him, body fitting perfectly against his. You press a kiss to his chest as he pulls the sheets over the both of you, falling into an easy slumber.

“There it is,” he whispers, grinning. “That pretty little sound.”

“Colston—” your voice breaks. “You’re so, big it’s too-”

He kisses you. Soft and slow.

“You can take it. You’re doin’ so good for me.”

His hand slips under your thigh, pulling your leg up around his waist, changing the angle and you scream.

Not scared. Not in pain.

Just too full. Too stretched. Too wrecked.

“Fuck-“ you gasp. “You’re all the way in-”

He moans, hips stuttering.

“Yeah, you feel that, baby? Feel how deep I am?”

You nod, eyes glossy, mouth open. You can’t stop whimpering. It’s embarrassing, the way your breath catches, the way you moan at every inch, but he’s obsessed.

He leans in, kisses your cheek, your temple, your lips.

“I love how noisy you are,” he pants, rocking into you slow, deep. “Tells me I’m hittin’ the right spots. Tells me this pussy’s mine.”

You’re nodding again, hands clutching at his arms, crying out with every thrust.

He’s sweating. Groaning now, his rhythm picking up, your slick soaking both of you, the sheets ruined, the whole damn room echoing with your moans and his praise.

“You sound so sweet when I stretch you,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “Like you were made to be filled like this.”

And when you come clenching tight around him with a wail you couldn’t hold back if you tried, he loses it. Groaning into your neck, burying himself deep, filling you with everything he’s got while whispering:

“Loudest, prettiest girl I’ve ever been inside. Gonna hear that sound for the rest of my fuckin’ life.”

You’re still sore.

Not in a bad way but in a can feel him in every step kind of way. In a he fucked me so good I forgot my name kind of way. You’re limping a little as you pull on one of his hoodies, your thighs sticky, your voice raw.

But Colston’s walking around like he didn’t ruin you at all. Shirtless, sweatpants slung low, smug and unbothered while he makes you coffee.

And that’s when he says it.

Over his shoulder, casual. Like he’s commenting on the weather.

“You know I didn’t even give you all of it last night, right?”

You freeze.

“…what?”

He turns slowly, mug in hand, grinning.

“I was halfway in. Maybe a little more.”

Your stomach flips.

“You were only, that was only half?”

He sips his coffee, eyes trailing over your body, the hoodie barely covering the curve of your ass. “Baby. You were sobbing. You came twice. Screamed my name. I didn’t wanna break you.”

You blink, breath catching.

“Break me.”

His brow lifts.

You step closer, bare feet padding across the kitchen floor, voice low.

“I want the rest.”

He stares at you. Slowly sets the mug down. “Say it again.”

“I want all of it. Every inch. I wanna feel what it’s like when you stop holding back.”

He’s on you in two seconds.

Lifting you onto the counter, his hands hot on your thighs, mouth crashing into yours like he’s starving.

“You sure, baby?” he murmurs, breath shaky as he drags your panties to the side. “You were already crying from half.”

“I’ll cry louder,” you breathe. “Just give it to me.”

He groans, pulling his sweats down just enough to free himself and when you glance down he wasn’t lying.

You hadn’t even seen it all last night. It’s thick, long, veiny, flushed and heavy in his hand and when he lines up and presses in, it already feels like too much.

You moan. Loud. Head thrown back.

But you don’t stop him.

“Deeper,” you beg, nails digging into his back. “Colston please I need it.”

He kisses your jaw, your throat, whispering:

“I’m gonna give it to you, baby. Gonna fuck you so full you’ll feel me for days.”

He pushes in deeper.

Your moans get higher. Louder. Wrecked.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Take it. Let me all the way in. Show me you can handle my cock like a big girl.”

You sob, legs shaking, and when he finally bottoms out with the full stretch, the pressure, the weight of it you cry out, overwhelmed.

“Holy fuck-“

He grins against your skin.

“There she is.”

And then he starts to move.

Slow. Deep. Complete.

Every inch of him hitting every inch of you. Every sound spilling out of your mouth like music to his ears.

“I told you,” he moans. “I hadn’t even started last night.”

He’s just inside you, holding you there like he’s savoring it.

Like he’s afraid if he starts, he’ll never stop.

“You feel that?” he pants, grinding his hips forward just a little. “That’s all of me, baby. Every fucking inch.”

You gasp, your body already twitching around him, your voice high and wrecked. “I-Colston, I didn’t know it could feel like this-”

He groans, bends over your back, kisses your spine.

“You’re gripping me so tight,” he murmurs, dragging one of his hands around to your stomach. “You’re made for this. Made to take all of me.”

He pulls out slow and you whine, breath catching. When he thrusts back in? It knocks the air from your lungs.

“Fuck,” you cry out. “You’re so deep Colston—”

“Yeah?” His voice is raspier now. Hungrier. “You wanted the full thing, didn’t you, baby? Wanted to know what I’ve been holding back?”

You nod frantically, face pressed to the counter, your hips arching back into him like instinct.

“Tell me you can take it,” he grits, driving into you harder now, hands spreading you open like he’s making sure you feel it everywhere.

“I can,” you sob, moaning when his hips meet yours. “Please don’t stop, please—”

He curses under his breath, picking up the pace. Every thrust now is pure sin m the slap of skin on skin, the counter creaking beneath you, the filthy wet sounds of how ruined you are already.

“You hear that?” he growls. “That’s what your pussy sounds like when it’s being fucked right.”

You moan loud and high and he grins, rutting into you deeper.

“Louder, baby. Let the neighbors know you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, fuck—”

He reaches around, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles as your thighs start to give out beneath you.

“Oh my God—” you cry.

“Don’t run,” he whispers into your neck. “Don’t fucking run from it.”

Your legs are shaking. Your body’s pulsing. It builds too fast. Too much. He knows it, wants it and he chases it with every thrust, every word, every groan of your name.

“You gonna come on this cock?” he pants. “Gonna come with me still deep inside you?”

You sob his name again, falling apart completely, legs buckling, body collapsing into the counter as you come so hard your vision goes white.

He groans, gripping your hips, fucking into your orgasm until he follows loud and broken spilling deep inside you with a desperate, “that’s it, baby, fuck, take it-”

He stays pressed to your back, breathing heavy, lips on your shoulder, both of you trembling.

“I’m never holding back again,” he whispers. “You hear me?”

You nod.

The argument started over something small. Too small, really.

You were at a team dinner—fancy spot downtown, long table, everyone in attendance. Aaron had been quiet most of the night, which wasn’t unusual. He’s never been the loudest in the room. But you’d noticed the way his jaw kept ticking every time one of the newer guys on the team (a rookie guard with too much charm and not enough filter) leaned over to talk to you. The kid was harmless—asking about your job, complimenting your dress, laughing a little too hard at your jokes—but Aaron’s grip on his fork tightened with every word.

By dessert he was silent. Stone-faced. Eyes fixed on his plate like it had personally offended him.

You tried to brush it off in the car on the way home. Reached over to squeeze his thigh.

“You okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared out the windshield, knuckles white on the steering wheel.

“Fine.”

You sighed. “You’re not fine. You’ve been glaring at the table since the appetizers.”

He flexed his jaw. “That rookie was all over you.”

You almost laughed. “He was being friendly. He’s twenty-one. He talks to everyone like that.”

Aaron’s eyes flicked to you—dark, stormy. “Not everyone. Just you.”

The car went quiet except for the low hum of the engine and the rain starting to patter against the windshield.

You turned in your seat. “Are you serious right now?”

He didn’t respond. Just kept driving.

By the time you pulled into the garage you were both simmering.

The second the door closed behind you in the house, it boiled over.

“You really think I’m out here flirting with some kid in front of the whole team?” you snapped, kicking off your heels. “In front of you?”

Aaron tossed his keys on the counter—harder than necessary. “I think he was all up in your space, touching your arm, calling you beautiful every five seconds, and you were smiling like it was nothing.”

“I was being polite!” Your voice rose. “That’s what you do at team dinners. You talk to people. You laugh. You don’t sit there looking like you want to murder someone.”

“Maybe I did want to murder someone,” he shot back. “Maybe I wanted to drag him outside and remind him who you go home to every night.”

You stared at him. “You’re jealous.”

He didn’t deny it. Just crossed his arms. “Yeah. I’m jealous. Sue me.”

The room went quiet except for the rain hitting the windows.

You stepped closer. Voice lower now, but sharp. “You think I want anyone else? After everything we’ve built? After I’ve watched you fight through injuries, watched you come home exhausted and still kiss me like I’m the only thing that matters? You think some rookie with a baby face and too much cologne is gonna change that?”

Aaron’s eyes flickered—hurt mixing with the anger.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “Sometimes I look at you and I still can’t believe you picked me. And then I see some kid half my size smiling at you like he’s got a shot and it… it fucks with me.”

Your chest ached.

You stepped right into his space. Close enough to feel the heat coming off him.

“I picked you,” you said softly. “I pick you every single day. I’ve got your last name on the back of my jersey in my closet. I’m yours, Aaron. Completely.”

His throat worked. Eyes dropped to your lips, then back up.

“Then why does it feel like I’m still competing?”

You reached up. Cupped his face. Made him look at you.

“Because you’re human. And because I love you enough to fight with you when you’re being stupid.”

He exhaled—shaky. Leaned into your touch.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know you’re mine. I just… I get scared sometimes. That someone’s gonna see what I see and try to take it.”

You kissed him then—slow, deep, pouring everything into it. Forgiveness. Love. Reassurance.

He kissed you back like he was starving—hands sliding to your waist, pulling you flush against him. The kiss turned hungry fast. Teeth. Tongue. His fingers digging into your hips like he needed to feel you were real.

You tugged at his shirt. He yanked it over his head. Your dress came next—pooling at your feet, leaving you in black lace and heels. His pants hit the floor.

He lifted you onto the kitchen island—cold granite against your skin making you gasp. Spread your thighs with his hips. Kissed down your neck, your collarbone, your chest—sucking hard enough to leave marks.

“Mine,” he growled against your skin. “Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasped. “Only yours.”

He shoved your panties aside. Fingers sliding through your wetness—groaning when he felt how ready you were.

“Fuck… already soaked for me.”

“Always,” you breathed.

He didn’t tease. Just lined up and pushed in—deep, hard, one stroke that made you both moan.

He didn’t go slow.

Snapped his hips forward—brutal, possessive. Fucking you like he needed to erase every doubt, every second he’d felt threatened. One hand braced beside your head. The other gripping your thigh, holding you open.

“Look at me,” he rasped. “Look at who’s fucking you. Who you belong to.”

You locked eyes—tears pricking from the intensity, the love, the rawness.

“You,” you moaned. “Always you, baby.”

He angled deeper—hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.

“Say it louder.”

“You—fuck—only you, Aaron!”

He reached between you—thumb finding your clit—rubbing fast, rough circles.

“Come for me,” he ordered. “Come on this dick. Show me you’re mine.”

You shattered—back arching, crying his name, walls pulsing around him, thighs shaking against his hips.

He fucked you through it—harder—until his rhythm broke.

“Gonna come—”

“Inside,” you begged. “Please—inside of me—”

He slammed in deep—groaning your name—hips grinding, spilling hot inside you while he held you like he’d never let go.

He stayed buried—forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again. “For doubting. For getting jealous. For making you feel like you’re not enough.”

You cupped his face. Kissed him soft.

“You’re enough,” you said. “More than enough. I’m yours. No one else’s.”

He kissed you back—gentle now, reverent.

“I love you,” he murmured. “So fucking much.”

You smiled against his lips.

“I love you too.”

He pulled out slowly. Carried you to the bedroom. Laid you down. Climbed in beside you. Pulled you into his chest.

Held you close.

No more words needed.

Just the two of you—tangled together, hearts slowing in sync, the fight behind you.

----