misunderstood blk grl 🍹

i never knew that i could be comfortable with silence until him. never knew that it was a thing one could learn to sit with, maybe even enjoy, until it became somewhat a natural part of our routine. not always. some days, he's more talkative than others. asks me questions about myself. shares certain things about himself. but, then there are days where no more than five to ten words are shared between us outside of whatever slips out of our mouths when we're intimate.

fucking. that's what my cousin, best friend, and roommate, roxy calls it. what i should call it. an accurate description but something that feels....wrong. no more wrong than this whole arrangement, but i digress.

a soft sigh escapes my mouth as i move my pencil over the pages, tracing the outline of the bare skeletons i'd sketched yesterday evening. i wasn't exactly sure what it was then, and i'm not sure i'm any closer to knowing now. but, that's always been a part of the beauty i find in art. i don't have to know where i'm going. it's not necessarily the knowledge of the destination that's important in as much as enjoying the process along the way that matters most.

a theme that seems to apply to more than just my art these days.

a louder sigh drags my attention from the sketchbook to the man i try not to think too much about if i don't have to. he's confusing. has been since the first time we met, which feels like forever ago, but has only been a couple weeks. roxy and my aunt egypt say it has something to do with him being older, but i'm not sure. possibly. regardless, i try not to think of that too much to. of what it means that i've more or less allowed myself to be used and objectified sexually by a man 16 years my senior. 24, and the summer sugar baby for a man freshly turned 40.

avoidance truly is my saving grace.

he doesn't look at me, doesn't lift his gaze from the laptop in front of him, screen partially reflecting off the the black rimmed glasses that sit perfectly on the bridge of his nose. his lips, full and soft, pulled into a sort of scowl. but, that's nothing new. in the little time i have known him, i've come to find that roman reigns is a man who lives only between the neighborhoods of irritated, borderline irritated, and post irritation. thought that last one is most preferred. he's easier, smiling, less tense and....big. his size is one thing, but it's less the stature and build of the man and more the energy he brings when he's upset.

i've witnessed and been privy to an angry roman reigns, something i'd prefer to avoid for the rest of this experience, if possible. he doesn't scare me, but he is scary, and it's an uncomfortable situation all around.

one i don't want to experience again.

ever.

"sola."

it's only when he says my name that i realize i'd stopped staring at some point and resumed drawing. his use of my nickname still something i haven't decided if i hate or like. similar to my feelings towards him.

biting down on my bottom lip, i look over my shoulder, mindful of my tone and volume. "yes?"

he doesn't waste any time. forever a prompt man. "come here."

such a simple directive shouldn't make my stomach coil or the moisture in the back of my throat dry. nor should it cause the grip on the pencil in my hand to tighten. visceral responses as such don't make a lot of sense, but he, this whole arrangement, and everything else, don't seem to make a lot of sense, either, so it tracks.

letting the pencil drop and rest against my sketchbook, i move from off my stomach, making sure to adjust my short gown as i stand from the bed. the fact that he doesn't even bother to look my way as i make my way over to him leaves me with mixed feelings.

especially when i'm standing directly in front of him, and he says nothing, just continues to type and focus on the screen like i'm not standing there, looking and feeling stupid.

a good minute stretches between us, filled with a silence i suddenly can't handle. "ye—"

"take off your panties."

it shouldn't. it shouldn't. it shouldn't make me still like it does, have my thighs clenching together the way they do. this whole thing has consisted of nothing but sex and most things sex related, so him initiating it at this point should be old news. and yet, every time, i feel that hint of anxiety build. a sort of panic. a nervousness.

except, it's for a bit of a different reason. mostly regarding why i can't follow through on his request.

"i....i....." he continues to type away, acting as if he can't feel or sense the trepidation that brews in the pit of my belly. "i'm not wearing any."

then, only then, do i earn his gaze. dark, sultry, hardened. my eyes never leave him, observe the way he immediately stops typing and sits back in the chair. broad, muscular shoulders squared, eyes narrowing, hand up and finger beckoning me closer.

i don't need to be told twice.

the minute i'm close enough, he tugs me between his thick spread legs. his hands moving under my short, skimpy gown, a purchase by him, eyes dropping to my exposed cunt. his big hand moves over the globe of my ass, squeezing. eyes closing, i can only make out the sound of his low hiss and something else.

a muttered statement in another language. he does that a lot. says what he knows i cannot understand. intentional. i'm sure.

my time for questions is a non-factor as he suddenly turns me around, so i'm facing the open layout of the villa, the wall of windows on the other side of the bedroom that provide a beautiful view of what i'll never in life again experience after this. after whatever this is concludes.

i'm half expecting him to rip my gown off entirely, but the sound of clothes shuffling, movement in the seat is all i'm met with followed by the tug of me onto his lap.

a quiet gasp slipping out at the feel of skin on skin, his hardened, warm member against the small of my back. the way my hands move to grip the edges of his desk as he lifts me up just enough to slide in, inch by inch, that length and girth stretching my walls, acclimating me to him, into my wet, welcomed, warmth.

more unmet expectations when instead of bending me over the desk, forcing the laptop to shut, i'm instead tugged back against his chest. naturally, my palms land against his forearm, secured around my stomach, keeping me close and near as he's settled inside me.

a heavy, shaky sigh. "rom—"

"sit," is the only command i receive. nothing else. no promise that it'll lead to more once he's completed his work or even the simple order to ride him. just a simple one word directive.

i want to protest, want to defy, want to gradually ease myself back and forth on him, to give us both what i know can only be enjoyable. but, i don't. i don't for reasons i don't entirely understand. the same way i don't understand him.

i'm not sure i ever will.

"how did you get into drawing?"

oh.

it's a talk day for him, clearly. another thing i feel unsure about. sometimes talking with him is nice. other days, it feels wrong. this is a business transaction. personal questions and anything of that nature should be off the table. when all is said and done, he will go on with his life, and i will go on with mine. what reason or need is there for anything beyond basic business formalities that weren't laid out in the iron-clad contract that i signed?

again....confusing.

"my mom. she's an art teacher." i could offer more, share stories of how some of my favorite memories are those warm, summer days spent in mexico, outside drawing or painting with my mother and abuela. a shared, love and passion amongst three generations. the funny recollections of all the times i tried to help my dad learn the basics of art. epic and complete disasters every time. hilarious moments that i'll always hold onto.

but, they're mine. and, while he might own my body for the duration of this contract, there are some things i won't allow. won't give him access to.

can't.

he says nothing, adjusting me as he moves one hand to the keyboard, continuing to type. a part of me wonders if he just assumes i'll look away and avoid contact with whatever he's working. i do, because i don't care, and because i have much more important things to worry about like the fact that he's so deep inside me, and i can't do anything about it.

damn.

"you didn't want to be one, too?"

another question i don't necessarily feel like answering but do anyway. "i don't think art is something that should be taught."

a quiet chuckle, my eyes shutting as he shifts ever so slightly. i wonder if it was on purpose. most likely. i learned quickly his preference to.....tease when it comes to the carnal nature of this agreement. "didn't your mom teach you?"

"well, yes, but....that's different."

another sound and another shift. "how?"

a low, elongated sigh, as i bite down on my bottom lip and continue to bite back the urge to say fuck it, and fuck him. "that was p—personal. a f—amily thing."

"you're close with your family." an observation versus a question.

hesitation. "yes." more hesitation followed by an absolute freudian slip of sorts. "are you?"

right away, i'd give anything to snatch it back. to tuck it back into wherever it came, because why would i ask him that? i don't need to know anything about this man outside of the few things he's shared, and they've been minimal, to say the least. so, why?

his reply is gruff, and the shift in his tone audible. " a few."

and, because i clearly left my senses back in the states. "the twins you were with that night....."

"they're probably the two i'm closest with out of anyone in my family." i don't know how i can tell he has that small smirk on his face, but i can. i just can. "them, and my cousin, dwayne, and brother, matteo." a quick add on, almost casually. "you'll meet them when we go to italy."

it's only in that moment i learn that italy is on the agenda of this almost tour of his. i don't ask questions about the itinerary. just follow his lead, as per the contract. that part is not entirely legally forbidden. i can ask questions. i just don't.

unless they're about his family, apparently.

"i....i didn't know you have a brother." nor is there a real reason i should know, but there's just something about him, about his demeanor that always presented with only child energy. whatever that means. i'm not sure. just never would have guessed it.

"half brother," an almost muttered explanation as his hand splays across my stomach, under the material of my silky, skimpy gown that probably cost more than my share of rent. "it's....complicated."

i believe it.

i'm not sure if he can tell and pick up on my dissatisfaction with this teasing, but the feel of him moving, lifting his hips just enough to thrust into me has my head lolled back against his shoulder, nails digging into his forearm.

that relieved, elongated moan and a sigh dancing out, as i feel his minty breath on my cheek.

his soft lips are against the apple of my cheek, voice haughty, "you always this needy for dick, princess?"

not until him.

no, before this man with the handsome smile, endless pockets, and dangerous dick, my sexual experience was....subpar, to say the least. two sexual partners, one being my first. 3/10. the second being my ex who gave me the good ole 'i just want to focus on myself for a little while' only for me to run into that girl he continuously told me, 'don't worry about her' at the cinema less than a month later.

-100/10

it was hit or miss if either made me come. damn sure never made me squirt, and both loved to ask for some head but rarely ever wanted to reciprocate.

night and day from the man who's gradually starting to fuck me. i didn't think it was possible for me to come the way he's made me orgasm. damn sure never thought i would ever squirt. and, God bless men who eat pussy freely and happily.

it's roman. he's men.

a different, pleasurable experience that makes this whole prostitution arrangement that much easier to digest.

prostitution.

just thinking the word makes me frown, the feel of roman's lips on the side of my neck distracting but not distracting enough.

i try not to think of it from that perspective. even if it's true. even if this "sugar baby" label is nothing more than a euphemism for being a hooker. i'm being paid for my service. for sex. he's paying to fuck me. yes, there are times where it's not just sex. where he just wants to see me in lingerie. sometimes in nothing. sometimes he just wants to watch me. see me come undone on the bed as i finger myself, all the while he sits across the room, stroking that lethal dick of his. sometimes, he comes on me. sometimes, he comes in me.

another thing touched on in the contract. the importance of protection. "safeguards to avoid unintentional impregnation," to be more legally specific.

we're always safe though, so there's that, at least. for....for the most part. sometimes, we're reckless. get lost in the heat of the carnal moment, but that's what plan b's are for. i've had to pop a few, more than i'd like to admit, especially considering that is not what they're for. but, the last thing i need is that as a result of this.

and, sometimes, sometimes, the time for sex is limited, because he's gone, off working or doing...whatever it is he does when i'm not with him. that's when the more traditional aspect of this whole thing kicks into play. when he leaves me at some store with a name i can't pronounce and a card that has no limit.

his hand leaving mine, a quick palming of my ass, and a kiss to my forehead as he leaves the team of workers he makes tend to me with a simple order. "give her whatever she wants."

a general, shared command for wherever we go. money is just a thing to him. consistent and in endless supply. the first time he took me shopping, that was a concept i hadn't completely grasped. his wealth something i still don't fully understand. i just know that he's rich. filthy freaking rich, and he doesn't even bother checking totals before pulling out or handing me that sleek black card. sometimes, it's cash. wads and wads of stacks of money that some people don't even see in dreams, and he treats like it's replaceable. because, it is.

just like me.

and then, there are other times where it's less traditional. fancy dinners, sure, probably a typical thing with a sugar baby arrangement. but, it's the way he holds my hand, keeps me close, takes me out as if this is real. as if we're this rich couple living and enjoying life.

one part of that is true. the other is not. the aesthetic does not match the story. a story only a few know. like his close friend and personal guard he leaves me with when he doesn't attend the shopping sprees, spa days, and/or lunches/dinners.

dean. a quiet, partially strange man i've learned is unapologetically his weird self but also....kind. we've only spoken on a few occasions, and each time has peeled back the layer of a man who can easily go from cracking a small smile with me, to sending the most murderous glance to random local whose gaze lingers on me a bit too long. or, at all, if it's roman.

there's a....protectiveness over me i've noticed within roman. or, maybe it's possessiveness. i'm not sure. another thing i try not to look too into.

once this is over, once i've fulfilled my contractual obligation and collected my 500k, i plan to swipe and erase this whole thing from my recollection. i don't know how roxy does it, or perhaps it's the fact that my first sugar baby arrangement ended up being the accompanying of a mafia kingpin on his summer vacation across the globe.

go big, or go home, i suppose. i'd prefer to go home, if possible, but i signed an agreement. agreed to this, so it's a lot of coping and a hell of a lot reminding. reminding that this is a means to an end, that i can get whatever therapy i'll need after this whole ordeal is over with using the half a mil i'm set to receive because of it. i'll never have to work again, never have to worry about not having enough of anything. and for that, i have him to thank. i can't and won't deny him that much.

everything else though....debatable.

thankfully, the time for getting to know each other is over before it can truly start. his hand is on the small of my back, pushing me forward, cheek pressed into the top of the laptop that's now closed as he refocuses his attention on the new task at hand.

"my princess loves when i stretch this pretty little pussy like this, huh?" his big hand spreads my ass cheeks, slips in between as his thumb probes my asshole.

that's been off limits the entire trip. some things are just too much, and that's definitely one of them. doesn't mean he hasn't teased, or that i didn't enjoy it.

that i haven't enjoyed any of the times he's split me open, spread me out, or bent me over the nearest surface.

can't and won't deny that.

my moans bleed into the cool aluminum, fingers grasping the edge of the desk at he fucks into me. "please..."

he sighs like he knows something, like he understands what courses through my body as he digs into me like he's searching for something, trying to prove something, trying to leave every hint, trace, and sign of himself in the deepest parts of me.

i feel his hand caressing the back of my head. “just take it, princess. let your tribal chief fill his pussy up.”

much easier said than done, especially when he stands up, forcing me onto my feet, my upper body practically spread across the desk. when he lifts my left leg up, forcing the inner part of my knee onto said desk so he can deepen his reach.

"oh shit," i pant, whining and withering underneath the weight of him atop me. his pace moves from tantalizing and teasingly slow to something quicker, hastier, desperate.

"you feel that, princess?" his deep voice barely registers, my senses too far gone and deep into the pleasure that rocks throughout my whole body. "feel how deep i'm in this tight ass pussy?"

"yes, fuck, yes," another moaned, pathetic response as my body jerks against the same piece of furniture he had me plopped on top of not even eight hours ago while he ate me out until i had to physically push him away.

for a man in his forties, his stamina is otherworldly. i didn't know sex drives this high existed for men outside of porn.

or, maybe he's just the exception.

the tears brimming in my eyes, as i whine once more, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room the same way he fills me. "it's too big," i moan, reaching behind him. limited experience or not, i know enough to know this man was blessed more than the average man, and as amazing as it and he feels, it's sometimes too much.

in more than one area.

he continues to stroke my hair, "i know, but you're taking it so well, baby."

the best and worst thing to say, because it kickstarts that urge to please him. to make him feel good. to almost prove that the insane amount of money he's paying for this, for me, is worth it. that i'm worth it.

my voice is low but loud enough for him to hear. "bed...."

and, he does. a gradual decline in his pace before he frees himself from me, releasing my leg, so my feet are on the ground. turning around, my gaze lifts to his, refusing to focus on his rock hard dick that drips with my slick. i instead focus on reaching up and smashing my lips onto his, the passion filling my body, coursing up and bursting through our lips dancing against one another.

his hands cup under my ass as he lifts me up, his wet member teasing my throbbing heat that aches and yearns for him. the minute he's laid back on that mattress, the rest of our clothes discarded across the floor, i waste no time in mounting back on top of him.

hands planted on his abdomen, i rock against and on top of him, eyes shut, fully immersed and soaking in how good he feels inside of me.

i feel his hands planted on my hips, guiding and rocking me, "don't hold back. wanna feel you..."

his words yoke out that moan i was trying to repress, the scream i want to keep tucked and hidden away. i've always found the dramatics of porn unappealing, saw straight through the obvious theatrical performance of it all, hence my only intermittent viewings.

but, there's nothing performative about the sounds that leave my mouth when it's just the two of us. the pleasure he's able to bring me every single time.

he doesn't know what a miss is, it seems. at all.

leaning forward, his mouth latching onto my nipple, one hand leaving my hips to caress my other breast. this change in angle has me whimpering, my palm moving and hovering over my lower belly.

this doesn't bypass him, the cruelest, most knowing smile lifting to his lips. "what, princess? is that were i am?"

only one answer that falls out my mouth as i gyrate atop him. "yes, oh my....fuck."

eventually, because i am a simple mere mortal compared to the man underneath me, the burning in my thighs become too much, my body collapsing atop his.

an inconsequential thing. "you're okay, baby." a kiss to my temple, my hands clutching his shoulders. "you're doing so good."

and, then another scream that erupts as he starts fucking into me harder. animalistic. my fingers dig into his slick skin, body nothing more than a sex rag doll. "p—please...."

a waste of time, breath, and words, as he soon flips us over, pushes my legs back, knees by my ear, cunt stretched and dripping all over him and this bed we're bound to ruin before the end of the day.

similar to every bed we've encountered since the inception of the trip.

"eyes on me, baby girl. i like to see you come apart."

a difficult, arduous task, but one i manage as i force my eyes open, vision blurred from my tears. i can only make out the shape of him, the way his hair, freed from the typical that keeps it tucked back and out of the way, frames that same aged but handsome face. his sex faces, a perfect combination of determined and gone. he's just as gone as i am, just much better with holding it in.

he's so....controlled in ways that i envy sometimes.

envy him.

it's another one of those heat of the moment thing as he explodes inside of me, filling me to the point where it drips out and onto these expensive sheets that probably cost more than my wardrobe put together. well, old wardrobe, because lord knows i'll be traveling back home with a collection of new items.

except, instead of working to catch my breath so i can get up, shower, and make sure to pop that pill before i step out of the bathroom, he has other things on his mind for me. for my body.

"you done?" eyes fluttering open, my mouth parts as his thumb tugs on my bottom lip, as if trying to beckon a response he doesn't actually care to hear. "that's too bad." i can barely register what's happening when he suddenly has me on my stomach, his once more hardened dick, stretching me once more, slow inch by slow inch. "cause i'm not."

---------

three months goes by a lot quicker and slower than i expected. some days, i was ready to go home. others, i dreaded the end date. and then, somewhere in between, i wasn't sure where i stood on things. and, most of those days were spurned by his....confusing behavior. when he'd hold me close to him, stroke the small of my back, ask me questions about myself, my life.

share things about himself.

the dinners that lasted far beyond the consumption of our meals and desserts. the evenings where he didn't touch me. didn't even try. just sat on the sofa with me, my back into his side, his long fingers caressing my skin as he watched me draw.

lovers who weren't lovers. the....domestic moments that didn't make sense for the business arrangement this is. or, was. i'm not sure anymore, because somewhere along the way, i started to crave it. crave the way he held me, how his eyes never left mine when we spoke, and i shared personal things about myself. when he shared personal things with me. the way we shared showers, his gentle touch moving the cloth over my body to clean me. the way i took just as much care to clean him, shampooed his hair. the way he sat in between my legs as i did his hair for him. interactions that didn't make any sense but felt right.

he started to feel right.

this started to feel right.

and i....i started to feel things, things far too inappropriate and a stark contrast to the contract i signed to ensure none of this happened. if only dried ink was stronger than the emotions that filled me whenever he held me, smiled at me, made me feel things i always read about but never experienced.

until him.

and, it was the night before we were set to fly back home, the official conclusion of this....adventure of sorts. our bodies tangled, sweat still lingering from the way he took me. not from behind. not in the mirror. just traditional missionary, his eyes never leaving mine, praises on repeat from his mouth, dripping and pouring into me, as i clutched his ass, wanting to feel him as deep as i could. wanting to melt and mold him into me, because if this was the last time, i wanted to remember and never forget it.

never forget him.

i was pressed into him, body practically sprawled on top of his, fingers absently tracing the ink on his chest. silence graced the room, the open doors of the balcony welcoming in the distant sound of the city that closed our trip. a city whose beauty is unlike any i've ever seen, but came not even closet to the beaty of the man under me. the time spent with him.

my eyes began to close, the exhaustion of the day and evening taking its toll. i pressed a kiss against his chest, murmuring a quiet, "good night" into his skin. he didn't say anything, not at first. not until the weight of sleep carried me into a place where i couldn't follow up and ask what he meant, a low "ou te alofa ia te oe" unknowingly being the last thing i would hear from him.

ever.

------

i woke up alone. roman wasn't in bed beside me. nor, was he in the shower or any other area of the penthouse, and the thought that he'd left to handle last minute business was quickly dispelled by the absence of his luggage. any trace of him gone.

a reality that had my chest feeling like it was closing in on itself, especially when a knock on the door that i prayed was him, only brought me face to face with paul. roman's chief advisor.

he wore that same smile that never settled well with me. his chubby face ruddy and somewhat sweaty, as he reached over an envelope.

my trembling hands struggled to open what i already knew what to expect.

"the tribal chief extends his deepest gratitude for your companionship these past three months and has extended the rental until the end of the week to give you time—"

"where is he?" i hated it. hated how empty and devasted i sounded. hated the way i couldn't prevent the blurring of my eyes. not that it really made a difference to the man before me.

he proceeded to completely ignore my question. "your flight home will be on another of the tribal chief's private jet's, and we will assure...." i just remember tuning him out after that, my mind too all over the place to even notice in that moment how the check he'd asked his advisor to leave with me was not for $500,000.00.

it was for $750,000.00.

three quarters of a million dollars that felt like nothing. i felt like nothing. he left. just up and left without a single word, not a goodbye, not an awkward parting conversation.

nothing.

because that's what this was, what i was, nothing.

and, i was the stupid, naive girl to think otherwise.

to feel otherwise.

to feel anything at all.

--------

the return home was a struggle. i don't think i was depressed, but i certainly wasn't happy. i stayed in my room for almost a week, barely ate, rarely left the house. just laid in bed, cried, sobbed, all while unsure as to just what to feel.

i'd never had my heart broken before that, had heard stories of girls over the years, comforted roxy as she cried into my lap over her own experience when we were still in high school, but that was truly my first experience with such a thing, and God was it painful. all i could think about was him. us. every experience, every touch, every kiss, every time he slid inside me, releasing that big sigh of relief, the way he held me afterwards. the conversations, the smiles, the laughs, the way he looked at me. made me feel like nothing else mattered but me. like his universe was my smile, and my home, his embrace.

i remembered it all.

and, then i remembered the feel of waking up alone, naked, in a cold bed without the feel of his arms around me, the sound of his deep voice as he muttered a sleepy, "morning, princess" in my ear and pecked my temple. our morning routine we'd fallen into that usually ended up with him inside me or his face buried between my legs.

i was alone. he left me alone.

he left me.

and, then after the hurt and pain came the anger.

but, it felt wrong being angry and upset with him, because he never promised me anything. he was transparent, in a sense, from the very beginning. laid out exactly what things were in a binding agreement that i signed freely. the were no lies, no subterfuge, no usury. none of that.

but, it's exactly what i felt. i felt used, lied to, manipulated, taken advantage of. like i was sold one thing, received another, promised something else, and then robbed all at once.

roxy tried to remind me to look at the "bright side" of things. i had my money. more money than i'd probably ever be able to spend in this lifetime.

bank account $750k richer, and, it meant nothing. it didn't make me feel anything. i didn't want to feel anything. didn't know how. except, suddenly, a few weeks after being home, i did start to feel things.

not emotions.

physical things.

food i couldn't keep down. nausea that wouldn't go away. breast that were suddenly sore outside of my pms and period window.

a period that i hadn't received.

i didn't need to take a test, didn't need a doctor to confirm what i already knew to be true. i just knew.

knew what it was. knew that while he had abandoned me, he hadn't left me with nothing to show for it.

and, it had nothing to do with the financial compensation.

i booked the appointment a few days after having it confirmed. no other option or choice came to mind. it was the right thing to do. what i wanted to do.

at least, that's what i thought in the days leading up. even as i sat in the exam room, robe on, simply waiting for the doctor to come in and rid me of this sudden problem. except, it was only then that i realized i didn't see it as a problem. didn't feel like it was a problem. in some strange sort of way, i felt like it as a gift.

i didn't have him anymore. i'd never had him in the first place, only foolishly and naively convinced myself that i did. but, i didn't, and i never would again. but, what i did have was a part of him. something that would always keep me connected to him, because as much as i was hurt by and angered with him, the opposite of it was just as true.

i missed him. loved him. had fallen in love with him, and getting rid of the only thing that could forever keep me tied to him felt wrong. it wasn't what i wanted.

so, i didn't do it. i walked out of that clinic, unborn child still in my stomach, roxy confused but supportive of this sudden change, with a new determination. i didn't need to tell him. didn't want to. he didn't deserve to know, nor would he probably want to know that one of the stipulations in the contract was broken. he most certainly put that section in there about avoiding pregnancies for a reason. because it wasn't what he wanted.

he would never want or acknowledge this baby.

the same way he never really wanted or acknowledged me.

and suddenly, that was okay. i was okay with that. i didn't need him.

never did.

i had my baby, not ours, but mine, and that was all that mattered.

---------

the belief that God has a sense of humor is something i've always agreed with. some things just being too unreal for it to not be true.

like when i found out the probable reason that roman left without a word, abandoned me and acted like the three months we spent together meant nothing to him.

because, they didn't.

they didn't, because it was nothing more than a final act of freedom.

a final fun thing for him to do before he bound himself to a woman for the rest of his life.

he was engaged. set to be married to a long-time fling turned fiancé now wife. now mother of his child.

because, not only was she his fiancé, she was his pregnant fiancé.

the whole time he was with me, a woman waited for him back home for him to give her his last name as she carried his first child.

i'm not sure how that didn't break me. didn't cause me to crumble, lock myself away and never return to the light. it crushed me, for certain, but also reaffirmed what i'd already realized. i was 100% used, but at the same time, i allowed myself to be used. as much anger i had for him, i had for myself.

but, they were feelings i had to shove and push away, as i focused on myself, my life, and the lives i was preparing to bring into the world.

because, of course, getting pregnant by my former sugar daddy with a single child wasn't enough. two also wasn't enough. no, three, triplets, was the only right thing.

he'd left me one, two, three reminders of the time we spent together. one baby for every month, according to roxy.

yeah....God has a big sense of humor.

so, even if for some reason i wanted to tell him about the babies, there was no way i could. no way he'd believe that he impregnated me with three children. granted, it wouldn't make much sense for him to try to deny what math and logic support. i was with him and only him, sexually and every other way, that entire time, as per the contract. but, it didn't matter, as i would learn he and his new wife welcomed a son.

she'd given him an heir.

i would only give him bastards.

she was his future.

i was the past he'd probably already forgotten.

nothing good could come out of it, and i....i accepted that, accepted that some things are better left untouched. that that chapter of my life was over, and my focus was better served on my future. a future that revolved around my children.

savannah, santana, and natano. my beautiful baby girls and handsome baby boy. they became my focus and the three individuals my whole world was suddenly focused around. motherhood unlocked a part of my heart i hadn't realized was unexplored. deepened the love i didn't know a human could have for another. my babies have become my entire world. they healed a part of me i didn't think could ever be healed.

they are my healing.

"mommy!" the chorus of giggling breaks me from my deep reflections of a time that feels so long ago instead of the almost three years prior. the smile on my face deepening, seeing the way three sets of little legs move across my backyard, chasing roxy. the sight of my mom shaking her head with that warm grin, as she stands near my dad who works to grill the burgers we'll eat later on.

they come to visit as much as they can, my mom and abuela more or less living with me when the kids were still babies.

a part of me feels bad, and probably always will, when i think of all the lies i had to tell from the beginning, regarding what happened all the way up until now. the lies that i'll always have to tell. this tale of a one night stand with a stranger leaving me knocked up. the way they believe i spent those three months with my aunt egypt, a traveler by nature. the fact that she, and roxanne, will always have to live by that lie. something both have expressed understanding and agreement with, but something i'm still not okay with. i love my family more than anything. they've always been so good to me and my rock as i entered motherhood.

i just hope one day, somehow, i can be honest with them.

hopefully.

i quickly set aside the sketchbook in my lap to prepare for the way natano, tano, slams into me. making a fake groaning sound, his big brown eyes lift up to mine, that smile, his smile, melting away any lingering emotions that time brings up. my hands go to his face, holding his cheeks gingerly, studying him. the way his long black hair, curls looser than that of his sisters', frame his face. his face.

some days, all i see in them, especially tano, is roman. even more when they're upset. their scowl is his scowl. other days, i only see myself. mostly in their smile, which is still a bit of him as well.

all days though, all i feel is their love.

i hold him close to me, soaking in all of the ardent joy he grants and gives me. "my baby boy...." his hugs are unlike anything else. the girls', too, but there's always something so comforting in the way he hugs and loves on me. at only two, i can already see the natural way he's falling into the "mama's boy" category. i am his entire world, and vice versa. the same for all the kids, but there's almost this seed of protectiveness that i can see only growing over the years. over myself and his sisters as well.

more footsteps, as savy and tana surround me, tugging on my arm, savy bouncing happily. "let's play, mommy!"

of the three of them, she's the most extroverted and outspoken. tano and tana have their moments, but it's more consistent with her.

the most playful tone i can muster as i reach over to lightly tickle her stomach. "you want me to play?"

"duh," roxanne speaks from the middle of the yard, a teasing smile on her face. she more or less lives with me in the beautiful six bedroom, four bathroom home i purchased while still pregnant with the triplets. a nice, family friendly neighborhood tucked in the suburbs right outside the city, it's in a great school district and only 15 minutes away from the art studio i opened shortly before the kids turned one.

it's been a busy past few years, and i can never deny the fact that the money i earned from that summer has changed my life for the better. not to mention, i still have plenty left over, even after investing a chunk, as per the suggestion and guidance of the giver himself.

it was one of our pillow talk conversations. his financial advice and even recommendation that i consult with his own financial advisor, seth rollins. something i eventually decided to, after realizing my conversations and interactions with seth are far and few in between. he only needs to know certain information about my personal life, most of it being my finances and business. nothing about the kids. at some point, i will have to switch to someone else. to not use someone so close to him, but that's a task for another day.

"food will be ready in about fifteen, so get it in while you can," my dad announces, my babies continuing to tug on me, eager for my participation. it's only because my parents are busy preparing dinner that they're not all over them versus myself and roxanne. they adore my parents and abuela.

my older cousin, trick, as well, who will be making a surprise appearance later on. tano especially loves him, and i love that for him. with tano's dad not being in his life, it's important to me he still has strong male role models to look up to and guide him. and, i know no better men than my father and cousin who's always been more like a big brother than anything.

and while, unlike my parents and abuela, i can tell he knows there's more to the story regarding the kids' dad, he's always been respectful and not pushed.

for now, at least.

"okay," i fake a long sigh, and they cheer happily at my acquiescence. standing up and pausing for a single second before i make a quick dash away from them, laughing and calling out, "catch me if you can!"

"no, mommy!" is all i hear followed by them scrambling to chase me down, grabbing roxanne by the arm as i quickly push for her to go the other way, throwing them off. but, my babies are smart, and there being three of them means they can split up and still win.

tana is the one to tackle me first, savy and tano landing on top of a laughing roxy.

tana clutches onto me, burying herself into my chest. my laughter loud and filling the spacious yard, my smile wide, and my heart full of so much love.

this all started out so strange, wrong even. i got my heart broke without even realizing it was on the line in the first place, experiencing some of the worst, heaviest, and deepest pain that i've ever experienced.

but i'd do it all over again if i had to.

i would. my babies are worth it. the life i've been able to provide them, the beautiful home i was able to purchase and will raise them in, the support of my family and friends, makes it all worth it.

and maybe...maybe more.

i've been on a couple dating apps the past few weeks at the strong urging of my aunt and roxy who believe it's time i try to start dating again. i'm not entirely opposed. i'm just so busy most days with the kids as well as my studio. my priorities have been my family and my business. that doesn't mean, i can admit, i can't make time for other things.

granted, thus far, it hasn't been the smoothest experience. i've matched with a couple guys, spoken to some, but only gone out on a date with few. a conversation with a seemingly sweet man named joe hendry went nowhere as he disappeared the minute i shared i'm a mother of three. he unmatched and blocked me.

another guy, atlas, sweet, handsome, with a personality similar to my own, was promising. we even went on a date that was pretty nice. he was a sweetheart, but even with him having a minimal reaction to my mentioning being a mother, i could see it. see that he was maybe a little naive to what it means to be dating a woman with children. especially such young children. thus, i was the one who gently broke it off. it was for the better, i know that.

atlas, however, was a contrast to the date i went on with carmelo, who left me at the table, citing an "emergency" when i mentioned the triplets, as i was trying something different. not disclosing my kids until we actually went on a date. obviously, that was not the route to go, and it wasn't even that i was trying to hide them, per se.

i'm just so protective of my children and don't plan to bring any man around them until at least a few months into dating. so, telling said men about them right out the gate feels a little uncomfortable. though, i also recognize men have the right to decide if they want to entertain a woman not even 28 who has three kids under three.

it just leaves me stuck between a rock and a hard place.

however, about two weeks ago, i made the wonderful decision to try to bring the kids with me while grocery shopping.

terrible mistake.

but, also....not.

because, it was savy dashing down the aisle, determined to grab a box of fruit loops off the shelf that allowed me, or rather my daughter, to run into him.

"whoa there, lil' lady," he spoke in a kind voice. one that matched a kind smile, my eyes bouncing back and forth between the child to the right of me and the one standing in the cart that i moved down the aisle, trying to close the gap. he looked over to the shelf, pointing at the red box. "this what you want?"

naturally, savy nodded happily and reaching greedily. i watched the way he chuckled and took the box down, handing it to her. "here ya' go, kiddo."

savy accepted said box, holding it to her chest. she then looked up with the biggest smile. "thank you!"

his grin widened watching her run back over by me as i finally closed the distance between myself and the kind stranger. savy deposited the box into the basket, while i issued an apology. "i'm so sorry."

he waved me off, shrugging his shoulders, my eyes briefly focusing on the tattoos that made up almost the entirety of both arms. "don't worry about it." he then gestured to the kids. "seems like you got your hands full."

a quiet chuckle and eye roll, as i pushed back some of my hair, tano hugging my leg. "something like that. i usually don't bring them with me, and i'm quickly remembering why."

his smile somehow widened, and i took note of the gray sprinkled in his beard. it was obvious he was older than me, but it didn't take away from how handsome he was. my eyes briefly focusing on his biceps flexing slightly as he crossed his arms. "yeah, i usually come later in the evening, but i guess it's a good thing i didn't."

my brows furrowed a bit in confusion as i pulled tana out of the cart, bending over to place her on the ground as she huddled with her siblings. standing back up and adjusting my top, his gaze was still on me. "oh? why?"

the easiest, smoothest answer. "wouldn't have ran into such a pretty lady."

it'd been so long since i'd been flirted with like that, since i'd been on the receiving end of flirting that hadn't left me feeling awkward or uncomfortable. that had my stomach filling with butterflies.

kids deep in conversation amongst themselves, stepping out of my comfort zone and moving a bit closer, i offered my hand. and, a chance. "solana."

"phil," he returned, and it didn't miss me the way his hand lingered over mine. "but, my friends call me punk."

retracting my hand, it was impossible to not giggle. "punk? feels like there's a story there."

"oh, there certainly is, and i sure wouldn't mind telling you." his eyes sparked with something. "i'd just prefer to do so over dinner."

i've gone on exactly two dates with phil since then, and both have been nice. really nice. i like him. he's kind, funny, down to earth and doesn't seem to care about the fact that i have children. seems okay with it.

he feels....promising.

despite the fact that roxy is convinced that i have some kind of deep rooted daddy issues given the "old guys" i keep going for. doubtful considering my daddy is my world, and it's not like i haven't tried for men closer to my age.

it just doesn't work out. didn't before i had kids and especially doesn't now that i do have kids. not that older means better.

look at roman.

though despite everything that happened, sometimes i still think about him. still miss him. wonder what his life is like with her. if he's happy. what he would think or do if he knew about the kids. but, then i remember why he doesn't know. that i'm sparing them the hurt he caused me, being the protective mama they need me to be. remember that they're better off without him.

and, so am i.

---------

translation: ou te alofa ia te oe = "i love you."

----------

Late 2020

“Ya’ll know that random, striking cramp you get up your asshole when you’re on your period? The one that lasts like less than ten seconds but makes you feel like you’re about to meet Aaliyah, Pac, and Jesus?” Mari plops another Doritos blue ranch chip in her mouth, chewing while talking. “Hate that shit.”

A glance over at the TV that plays an old rerun episode of The Bernie Mac Show. She narrows her eyes, focusing in on the characters and nature of the scene, quickly determining that it’s from season 2. One of her favorites.

Digging in the bag for another chip, preferably a larger one, she asks, “or, is that just me?”

The thought never really occurred until this moment that perhaps her symptom is one of uniqueness versus a shared experience across the XX group of gals.

Except, reading the comments after locating the most perfectly shaped and sized chip reveals a different set of responses.

Mari, sweetie, I think you need a nap.

LMAOOO WHY IS SHE LIKE THIS YA’LL?

I literally just got on your live, friend, and that’s the first thing I hear. Omg.

since no one is saying it, i will. YES, AND IT’S THE MOST PAINFUL THING EVER OMG. 😫

Finally landing on a comment that expresses the agreement she was looking for, Mariella makes a sound and finishes swallowing before sharing that appreciation. “Thank you! And, no, cause it really is. Literally feels a like steel, burning rod is going up my booty hole.”

She reaches for the bottle on the coffee table, downing down a couple ounces of water when she notices someone asking where she got her bottle. “TJ Maxx!” Mari answers, pointing at the colorful bottle that has lines to mark ounces along with words of encouragement. “I love me some TJ Maxx. They always have the cutest stuff for affordable prices.” A small smile on her face as she uses a napkin to wipe some of the crumbs from the corner of her mouth. “Big Daddy hates going there with me, cause I love to go down every aisle to see what they got, meanwhile he maybe checks the athletic section and is ready to go soon after.”

Why is that not surprising?

am I the only one who cringes every time she calls him that? like, that’s your husband, sis.

@/user Am I the only one who cringes every time someone gets mad about what another woman is calling HER husband? Like, that’s HER husband, sis.

I feel like most men hate shopping altogether, unless it’s for like home improvement stuff...

Mari rolls her eyes and nods in agreement at the latest comment. “No, we can be in Home Depot damn near two hours, and he’ll still not be ready to go. Standing there with his hands on his hips, looking at shit I don’t understand or care about, asking me some—” Mari lowers her voice, doing her best to mimic Joe’s deep baritone. “Baby, what you think?” She switches back to her own voice, sucking her teeth and pouting. “Nigga, I don’t care. I’m just ready to go. A bitch is hungry. Shit.”

LMAO MARI PLEASE!

I swear, you are like the big sister everyone needs. 😂😂

it’s the fact that i can see this so plainly lmaoooo

They are the cutest fucking couple ever UGH

I wonder if they want kids, because their babies would be so adorable.

@/user they do. she's said it in interviews before. i believe she said they're just waiting for a good point for them to pause their careers.

So random, but Umbrella came on my playlist the other day, and I kept thinking about that one interview she gave and talked about how she wrote it for them. 🥺

It’s the last comment she catches that causes Mari’s mood to shift a bit. Less playful. Not serious. More poignant.

“You know what’s funny?” She sits back against the bottom of the sofa, crossing her legs over one another. “What a lot of people don’t realize is while that record is upbeat and a song you could easily dance to, it’s also extremely emotional for me, which is why I don’t talk about it a lot in interviews anymore, cause I’ll just start crying, because as you all know, I’m a crybaby.” She pauses, feeling the emotions stir within. “Gosh, I’m gonna start crying now.” Mari blots at her suddenly watery eyes, clearing her throat. “That song will always be so special for me, and it has nothing to do with it being my first major single and everything to do with the man it’s about.”

Nothing at all, because the truth of the matter is that Umbrella truly represents her relationship with Joe in ways that no one could ever understand. The depth of their dedication and trust and love for one another. Every word holds meaning, every verse carries depth, and every line a vow she meant and will always hold. Because just as much as she knows she’s been there for him, wrote a whole song dedicated to her devotion to him—several—it’s always been 100% reciprocated.

No one has ever supported her as much as her husband. Even when her own parents started to gently suggest that she maybe “think about other options” while she hustled and worked hard to pursue her dreams, he never swayed.

Always encouraged. Always supported. Lights cut off, barely any food in the fridge or pantry, robbing Peter to pay Paul, the sacrifices made on both ends, whatever it took, he did, was right by her side.

She’ll never forget the time she called him, doing her best to hide the fact that that was the first time in her life she ever really started to entertain the idea that maybe her dream was always just that—a dream. Waning belief spurred by a hopeful meeting with a music producer, who turned out to be nothing but a sleaze ball and predator, and resulted in her running out of that place, clothes disheveled and hope dashed. She just wanted, maybe even needed, to hear his voice, to be reminded that even though he wasn’t physically with her, he was still there. Still available to comfort her, and that was all she needed. Just to talk to him. She didn’t need him to necessarily come home and see about her, but that’s exactly what he did.

An 8 hour drive there and back, because they certainly didn’t have any money for a plane ticket, to see about her, because he already knew that she was far from okay. No matter how hard she tried to hide her distress. Distress that was partially amped by how exhausted he looked upon his arrival as well as his departure. He was drained, exhausted, and working his ass off to try to provide for them, yet none of that stopped him from coming to see about her. In one way or another, Joe has always been there for her.

Even before they realized that they had romantic feelings for one another, there’s always been that connection and magnetic pull of sorts. A rapport that can’t be manufactured. Only developed from a natural inclination. The man she’s shared so many moments with throughout her life. From him to coming to meet her on the side of the road, because she should have taken her fuel gauge seriously when it was screaming at her to fill up her tank. To rescuing her from disastrous dates that left her wondering if singleness was her forever future. To countless unintentionally comical moments like their wedding night where she more or less almost had a panic attack after seeing his dick of the first time, resulting in an almost fifteen minute rant about how they would have to have a sexless marriage, because there was no way he was fitting that inside of her.

Good, bad, somewhere in between, he’s always been there. Because that’s who he’s always been to and for her. A reliable, firm pillar of strength.

And that type of loyalty is a rarity to find this day and age, hence why there’s no path or direction in life for her that doesn’t include him.

There is no Mariella without Joe.

Plain and simple.

Clearing her throat once more, she reads more of the comments, smiling at the one that stands out the most.

Wait, where is Big Daddy, motha?

Her grin deepens, as she wipes at her eyes. “Ya’ll wanna see him?” A bit of a silly question, she can admit, when she’s met with a plethora of “yes” and “hell yeah” from her impromptu Live that, according to the number in the corner of her screen, has bypassed 250k viewers.

Damn.

Clearing her throat, Mari angles her body towards the left, in the direction of the spiral staircase. “Big Daddy!”

A brief yet noticeable pause followed by a loud enough yet calm. “Ri.”

She covers her mouth, trying but mostly failing to conceal her laughter, calling out, “can you come here?”

In preparing for the arrival of her husband, Mari works quick to clean off the crumbs from her lips and uses the pack of sanitizer wipes to rid her fingertips of the stains from one of her favorite snacks. The timing is perfect, when heavy footsteps soon follow as Joe walks into the living room.

Her smile returns as she looks up at him and bites down on her bottom lip. Sweats, a plain white shirt, his favorite slippers she got him a few years back for Christmas. His hair is lazily pulled back, a few strands of loose curls dangling, and wearing his black rimmed glasses.

Even so dressed down and casual, the man looks good.

His deep voice rings, dragging her attention from his attractiveness to his presence. “Yeah?”

Her smile deepens as she lifts her hand, reaching for him. “Hi.”

Joe sighs, a loud, irritated thing, while still walking over and briefly holding her hand before plopping down on the sofa, close enough to where she can hold onto his leg from where she sits on the floor. It’s only then his gaze lifts to the table where she has her phone propped up against a stack of decorative books. “You on Live?”

She nods, holding onto his leg, gesturing to the phone. “Say hi to my friends.”

“Ri.”

Mariella presses her face into the cotton of his sweats, giggling, “you love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Nigga.”

I love the way he always looks so done yet so in love with her at the same damn time. 😭

And, I oop—why he do you like that, friend?

Joe said you interrupted my sleep for THIS?

Random, but that man fine as sin, geez. 🥵

A glance at the screen allows Mariella to see some of the comments, prompting her to scoff, “he wasn’t doing nothing but playing that damn video game. Or, solitaire on his phone.”

“The second,” Joe supplies as she moves from off the floor and climbs onto his lap, sitting sideways, his big hand naturally cupping and squeezing the meat of her ass. Mariella kisses his temple and casually strokes the hair at the nape of his neck.

He proves his point by pulling his phone out the pocket of his sweats, showing her the screen. Mariella rolls her eyes and lays her head against his shoulder. “You’re such an old man.” He pecks her temple, as she redirects her next statement more towards the viewers. “Ya’ll, I swear, if they still delivered papers, and he was home more, he would be that neighbor you see coming out in a long robe, mug of coffee in hand, going to retrieve it. A lil ‘hey there, neighbor’ sprinkled in there for some razzle dazzle.”

Joe feigns irritation. “And, what’s wrong with that?”

She lifts her head and presses her lips together. “Exactly my point.” Mariella adjusts in his lap once more, murmuring, “Mr. Rogers headass.”

Not Mr. Rogers CTFU 😂😂😂😂

Whyyyyy are you roasting this man like this omggggg?

I am so in love with how in love they are. It’s not even funny.

Mari doesn’t even feel like a celebrity, and I think that’s one of the reasons we all love her so much. She’s just Mari. 🥺

“We need music,” Mariella announces with a gasp, sitting up on Joe’s lap.

But, while she looks excited, he simply scowls, “Ri, no. I’m not for that shit tonight, cause I already know what you about to do.”

“What you say?” She says with an almost genuine confused expression, starting to climb off. “I can’t hear you.”

“Ri—”

“Huh? Baby, you gotta speak louder,” she continues to ignore him, taking his phone an navigating to Spotify.

“Mariella—” He’s stopped when the opening notes of a most familiar song fills the living room, his wife having connected to the speakers built throughout their mansion.

His eyes close, his head back against the sofa, as he mutters, “every fucking time.”

I still hear your voice when you sleep next to me

But, it’s too late, Mariella has his phone tossed back on the sofa beside him as she stands up and bends over to push back the coffee table, accidentally knocking her phone over in the process.

“Ooops,” she laughs, fixing and adjusting it so it’s focused on her excitement and her husband’s misery as she transitions into a full on random dance routine meets cheer choreography.

MOTHA WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

WHAT IS EVEN HAPPENING????

why is she dancing omg 😭😭😭😭

it’s the way roman looks so done with her 😂😂😂😂😂

THIS HAS TO BE THE BEST LIVE I’VE EVER BEEN ON.

Mariella moves to sit on Joe’s lap, bending over, palms planted on the carpet as she twerks on his lap, on beat to the music, at that.

She gasps, feeling his hand move over the curve of her plump ass, a squeeze and slap, followed by, “you better stop before you start something you can’t finish, baby girl.”

At that, her eyes widen a bit, the laughter minimizing as she forces herself to move back, sitting on his lip once more, squealing when he yanks her against his chest. “Joe!”

She giggles, eyes shut, hands holding onto his forearm, as he presses kisses and sucks on her neck. “Stoopppp. We can’t do it on my Instagram Live.”

YES YOU CAN!

we won’t tell if you don’t, sis.

God, it’s me again. When is it my turn?

Ya’ll can have Russ and Ci. Give me Joe and Ri.

wait, don’t stop. we trying to see something. 👀

Leaning over to read more of the comments, Mariella ignores her husband’s fingers messing with the waistband of her shorts. Really, an old pair of his basketball shorts.

She’s always stayed in his clothing. A preference and thing that really started when he made the career shift to wrestling and was gone a lot. Sleeping in his clothes always helped her to feel close to him, and years letter, both deeply immersed in successful careers, it’s something that hasn’t changed.

She makes a sound, tapping on his muscular forearm and wiggling until she’s standing up, his gaze lifted to her. “I gotta pee.” She bends over, slapping his hand away as he once again move it to her ass. “Ya’ll, watch Big Daddy for me.”

“Ri.”

Mari quickly scurries away as he slaps her booty, lifting his foot, pretending to kick her away.

Naturally, instead of paying attention to the comments, Joe, the undeniable and will never deny it more quiet one of the two of them, grabs his phone, turning down the music as well as grabbing the remote for the TV.

“Why the hell she got both on anyway?” He mutters to himself, paying her phone and Live no mind.

LMAO he’s such an old man, complaining about the TV being on.

Good God, how can a man be so attractive while doing absolutely nothing? 😫

Does this mean we’re not getting the live sex show? 😅

@/user Lita and Edge did it first.

^^^^Who?

…..Lawd, it’s time to die, ya’ll. The kids don’t even know they history no more.

Joe casts a brief, lazy glance to his wife’s phone before easily refocusing on his own. He was in the middle of a good game, too.

“Baby!”

He sighs, already knowing it’s about to be something. Anytime Ri calls him with that tone and voice, it’s something.

“Yes?”

And, he was 100% correct. “Can you bring me a roll of toilet paper? We’re out!”

At that, he sucks his teeth, sitting forward on the sofa. “Ri, it’s right there in the bathroom!”

Her answer comes quick and panicked. “But, there’s a spider near the rack! I need you to kill it, too! I can’t do it cause there’s urine dripping from my vagina!”

“God,” he groans, running his hand over his face. “No filter whatsoever.”

I AM SCREAMING RIGHT NOW OMG

this has to be the funniest shit i’ve ever seen. 😂😂😂

It’s the way he looks so done with her right nowwwww.

This has to be the third time I’ve heard her ask for someone to kill a bug for her. Is she scared or something? 😅

“Yes.” It just so happens that Joe is lazily and casually reading some of the comments, curiosity getting the best of him. “When she was 10, she killed a spider, and a week later, she ended up in the ER cause a brown recluse bit her. At 12, she was stung by a wasp and had a bad allergic reaction, ending up in the ER again. Ever since then, she’s refused to kill any bugs, cause she’s terrified and convinced one might try to kill her afterwards.”

……I mean, she may not be wrong.

What in the Final Destination hell?

Damn, Mari. 😭

You better get to it then, sir.

“Baby, are you coming?” Mariella shouts, Joe rolling his eyes as she sing-talks, “it’s getting closer!”

“I’m coming!” He groans, standing up. “Always something with your ass…”

The disappearance is nothing that exceeds 10 minutes, viewers continuing to sit and wait patiently for free entertainment.

Mariella soon bounces back in front of the screen, offering a small wave. “Back!”

Joe is right behind her. She reaches for his hand, his arm settling around her, as she looks over her shoulder when he says her name. “Hmm?”

“Weren’t you supposed to be working on dinner?”

And, it’s in that very moment, she knew she fucked up. Mari’s eyes are wide as saucers. “Oh, Lord!”

Dashing away from him, Joe plops back down on the sofa, legs spread, head tilted back.

And, he counts, knowing and prepared, “three…two….on—”

“Oh no!”

Another loud sigh.

“Ri?”

A noticeable pause. “H—huh?”

“You burned the food again, didn’t you?”

Double pause this time. “No.”

Joe rubs his temples, allowing himself to view the latest set of comments.

Mari, sis, didn’t you burn the damn food the LAST time you was on live??? 🥲

Not only is this man tired, he hungry as hell. A shame.

Sis, not you eating on them Doritos like dinner wasn’t going up in flames! 😫🫠

Someone get this girl some cooking skills.

“That’s not the problem. She’s a decent cook,” Joe defends, explaining as he runs his hand over his face. “She just gets so damn distracted that the food ends up burning half the damn time, because she’s doing everything but watching it.”

He removes his focus from her phone and turns his head to see her standing with her hands behind her back, that ‘please don’t be upset with me’ look on her face. “Ya know, I was thinking. Lasagna is so overrated. We should totally just go get some takeout from that Chinese restaurant you—”

“Ri.”

“Hmm?”

“Just be honest. You burned it, didn’t you?”

Her eyes widen, her jaw dropping with faux repulsion. “How dare you suggest such a thing—”

He gestures behind her. “Ri, I can see the smoke coming from the kitchen.”

She snaps around, sure enough seeing smoke emanating from their kitchen, traveling and making its way through the house. A squeal followed by her disappearing, Joe practically visualizing the sight of her with one of the kitchen towels, trying to fan it away, as if it’ll make a difference.

And, because it wouldn’t be a typical night with his wife without some type of system going off, the irritating beep of the smoke detectors is the icing on the cake.

This has been the single most chaotic night of my life, and literally none of it happened to me.

MARI PLEASE NOT YOU ABOUT TO START A WHOLE ASS FIRE COOKING DINNER.

starting a petition asap for these two to get a reality show. 😭

I think motha took her man’s opp theme song a lil’ too serious.

As Joe briefly contemplates removing the stove from the kitchen altogether, another alarming and obvious alert from his sweet but sometimes clueless ass wife. “Baby! The smoke detectors are going off for some reason!”

SOME REASON? MARI, MY SISTER IN CHRIST, YOU ALMOST BURNED DOWN THE HOUSE, SIS!

No wonder that man be on the road so much. She is a LOT. 😶

ya know how people talk about folks who need adult supervision at all times? it’s mari. she is the folks.

I am DEADASS in tears. Oh my gosh, this is hilarioussssss. 😂😂😂

“I’m coming,” he calls, unable to wipe the smile from his face. Ri is a mess. Always has been. Even when they were kids. Differing and varying levels of her chaos always marking their friendship and now marriage. But, as…..stressful as things can be at time, as crazy as she can drive him some days, she’s also the first and last thing on his mind each and every morning and night.

The one person he knows he can always go to and count on for anything. When he was at his absolute lowest, the space that exists below rock bottom, spiraling deeper and deeper into a depression that no one recognized, she was there. She saw it, extended her hand and never let go. Pulled him out of a place he doesn’t know he would have escaped if not for her.

So, yes, there are definitely times where her….quirkiness is a lot, that she stresses him out with the random ass situations she lands himself in, but at the end of the day, she is everything and all that he needs in life. It could all go away tomorrow, and as long as he still had her, he’d be okay.

There is no Joe without Mariella.

And, that’ll never change.

Roman had been grumbling all damn day.

From the second Shiloh pulled the salmon out to defrost to the moment she lit one of her candles, her man had been on one. Muttering under his breath about the last time they hosted dinner—Solo leaving crumbs everywhere, Naomi blaming Kairo for a spill, and Jimmy starting fights over card games like it wasn’t the same group he damn near lived with on the road.

“They’re loud,” he muttered again, flopping onto the couch in his gray Nike shorts—no boxers on. Just dick, cotton, and attitude. “I didn’t sign up to babysit a bunch of grown ass adults tonight, Shy.”

Shiloh barely looked up from her cutting board, knife gliding through herbs with slow precision. “You act like you’re not related to half of them.”

“I didn’t say that,” he muttered, one thick thigh bouncing while he scrolled through his phone. “I said they don’t listen. I told Solo not to bring tequila. Man pulled up with a whole duffel bag like we're hosting a frat party.”

“Mhm.” She wiped her hands on a towel, crossing the room to sink into her man’s lap.

His phone disappeared into the cushions. All he could feel was her—warm, plush, and perfectly molded to his lap like she belonged there. His pulse kicked. His shorts didn’t hide a damn thing.

Shiloh didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

The way she shifted against him, slow and certain, said enough. His body was already begging.

“What are you doing, mama?” he rasped, voice going low. His grip flexed. “You know I hate how easy you make me forget shit.”

“Helping you relax, daddy,” she whispered, rolling her hips over the thick print throbbing under his shorts. “‘Cause if I let you hit it before dinner… you better act right.”

Roman clenched his jaw. His big hands slid down to grab her ass, squeezing hard. “You trying to bribe me with pussy, mama?” 

Shiloh didn’t flinch. She kissed the corner of his mouth, fingers brushing the damp patch spreading where he already leaked for her.

“No,” she murmured. “I’m giving my man a reason to behave.”

One more roll of her hips was all it took. Whatever control Roman had left, he handed it over without hesitation. 

He didn’t even try to fight it.

Not when Shiloh slid off his lap, tugged her shorts down her thick thighs, and climbed onto the couch—on all fours, right in front of him. Back arched. Hips high. Ass swaying just enough to make it real clear—he would be an idiot to ignore that kind of invitation.

“C’mon, Roman,” she said over her shoulder, her voice dipped low and taunting. “You got four minutes before Rhea kicks the door in asking where her wine at.”

His pulse hammered. He didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. 

Because there she was. On all fours, soft and dripping, back arched like a sin, ass bouncing just enough to break his last thread of restraint. Her pussy glistened in the low light—bare, needy, waiting—for him. For this.

“This how you wanna do me right now?” Roman muttered, already pushing his shorts down. His cock sprang free—thick, flushed, already leaking. Shiloh looked back at him, eyes half-lidded, and rolled her hips slow. Enough to make her ass bounce… just enough to make him lose whatever grip of control he had left.

Roman groaned, low and guttural. “Ain’t shit about you fair, mama.”

He spit in his palm, wrapped a tight grip around his shaft, and stroked once—just enough to feel the weight of how badly he needed this. He leaned in, dragging his thick head through her folds, rubbing across her clit, watching her body jolt from the tease.

“Goddamn. Look at you,” he growled, voice turning rougher, deeper. “Leaking all over this couch like you need me to ruin you.”

Still, she said nothing.

Her silence dripped confidence. Dared him.

And he took the dare.

He bottomed out in one hard thrust—buried deep before he even thought to hold back. She gasped, body jolting forward, fingers clutching the armrest like it could keep her from falling apart. He held there. Buried to the base. Cock throbbing, her pussy wrapped tight around him, clenching like it never wanted to let go.

“Fuuuuck,” he hissed, forehead pressed to her spine as his hands slid up her sides, locking in. “You always take me so fuckin’ good, mama.”

He moved. Long, deep strokes. Hips rolling with purpose—mean, relentless, every thrust thick and deliberate. The couch rocked beneath them, frame creaking with each drive of his body into hers.

Shiloh gasped with every push. Her moans broke into helpless, breathless little sounds that made his jaw flex tighter.

“There you go,” he rasped, reaching down. He reached between her thighs, started working her clit—slow, tight circles, matching every thrust like he knew exactly what she needed. “Take it, mama. That’s my good girl.”

Her body trembled beneath him. Roman leaned in, mouth brushing her ear, breath hot as he muttered, “You knew exactly what you were doin’. Walking around all soft and quiet, actin’ like I wasn’t thinking about bending you over the second I got home.”

Shiloh whimpered, pushing back into him, her body already starting to fall apart.

“You gonna cum for me?” he muttered, thrusts picking up speed, filth curling his tone. “Gonna soak this dick before they even knock on the damn door?”

“Roman—fuck—”

“Say it,” he growled, hips snapping into her harder. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

“It’s yours,” she gasped, voice shattering. “It’s yours—Roman, please, don’t stop—”

His grip tightened on her waist like a vice. “That’s my fuckin’ girl.”

Their rhythm turned frantic—flesh slapping, fingers working her clit fast and tight until her thighs started to tremble. The air thickened. Her moans pitched higher.

Her body snapped. She locked up beneath him as she came hard—soaking his dick, pussy fluttering around him in tight pulses. She gripped the couch like it could hold her together.

“There she go,” Roman grunted, fucking her through it with rough, greedy thrusts. “That’s it, babygirl. Break for me.”

He felt it—every spasm, every flutter of her cunt around him, every breath that made her whole body shake.

“Fuck, you feel what you do to me?” His voice cracked, pace unraveling. “You always fuckin’ do this to me…”

Roman pulled out, chest heaving, jaw clenched tight. His hand moved fast, strokes slick and desperate, chasing the high that had been building since the second she climbed in his lap.

“Turn your head,” he panted. “Look at me.”

Shiloh gave him a look over her shoulder—flushed, dazed, wrecked. Her thighs shook where she stayed on her knees, skin dewy with sweat and everything he fucked out of her.

Roman snapped.

“Take this fuckin’ nut,” he growled, his hips twitching, abs locking down hard as his hand worked him through it. His spine arched, thighs locking tight as heat ripped through him—fast, sharp, no air left to breathe with.

His release hit like a punch to the gut—fast, hot, violent. Thick, hot ropes of cum painting her with everything he been holding in. It dripped down her curves in messy streams. Roman's gaze stayed locked. Voice low, repeating her name like it was the only word he knew. His hand slowed, falling to his thigh as his body finally stilled—heart pounding, legs weak, chest rising in uneven waves.

There she was.

Wrecked. Twitching. Glowing. His. Every inch of her.

And he wouldn't change a thing about it.

No one spoke. Just breath between them. The living room still thick with heat, coconut oil, and that raw, used-up scent of sex that clung to everything.

Roman leaned in close, mouth at her ear—voice rough, breath still catching, and smug like he knew exactly what he did. “Now… remind me what the fuck I agreed to tonight.”

Shiloh let out a hoarse little laugh, her body too spent to move yet. “You gotta be nice.”

“Mmhmm.”

“No kicking anybody out.”

“I hear you.”

“And absolutely no locking Rhea and Jaida out on the balcony again.”

“That was one time,” he muttered.

She tilted her head just enough to shoot him a look.

Roman just smirked, pressing a slow kiss to her shoulder. “You keep letting me fuck you like this before company shows up, mama… I might actually behave.” He meant it. Not just about tonight—about the way she grounded him. Lit him up. Gave him something worth behaving for.

Shiloh blinked. Her legs buckled slightly as she reached for the towel he handed her. “Shit—they’re gonna be here any second.”

He wiped her down slow—way too careful for someone who just folded her in half. She pulled her shorts back on, legs still shaky, muttering under her breath as she limped toward the mirror.

“Let ‘em knock,” Roman said, totally unbothered. “You think I care?”

“You should care,” she snapped, grabbing a throw blanket and flinging it across the couch. “The whole damn room smells like sex and coconut oil.”

He raised a brow. “Because you started it.”

Shiloh grabbed the closest pillow and started beating the shape back into it, muttering, “Where’s the damn Febreze?”

“Top shelf, blue one,” he replied, adjusting himself like he hadn’t just blown his load sixty seconds ago.

She lunged for the can and sprayed like her life depended on it—long, aggressive bursts until the air clouded over in “Ocean Mist” and panic.

Roman coughed, waving his hand in front of his face. “Babygirl, you tryna kill us? Shit smells like we just fucked in a car wash.”

Shiloh turned around, glaring. “Maybe if you didn’t cum on my back like a damn menace—”

Ding-dong.

They both froze.

Roman grabbed a shirt and pulled it on as if nothing happened—cool, unbothered, like he hadn’t just fucked the life out of her on the couch. Shiloh rushed in front of the mirror, trying to fix her hair, fingers shaking as she tried to smooth it down.

“You good, mama?” he asked, already smirking.

“No, Roman, I am not good. My legs are jelly, the couch is crooked, and it still smells like us in here.”

He stepped past her, cool as ever, and pulled the door open like nothing happened.

Jimmy blinked. “Damn, bro. Why you look like you just got a massage?”

Roman shrugged, lips twitching. “Shiloh practiced a new technique on me. Something for her certification or whatever.”

Shiloh’s head snapped up. “What—”

“She's always working hard,” he added, throwing an arm around her shoulders like he hadn’t just come on her five minutes ago. “Gotta support my girl’s career.”

Naomi stepped in next, immediately sniffing. “That why it smells like coconut and Febreze in here?”

Roman didn’t flinch. “Kairo took a shit.”

Shiloh nearly choked on air.

Rhea appeared behind them with a bottle of wine and a suspicious squint. “I knew y’all was doing something nasty. I felt it in my spirit.”

Shiloh gave Roman a death glare. He just grinned wider, grabbed a coaster, and plopped it dramatically on the coffee table like a man already committed to pretending the couch wasn’t still warm.

The door hadn’t even closed before the rest of the chaos rolled in behind Naomi. Jaida came in first—loud, sunglasses on, arms moving like she was mid-stand-up set.

“I told the lady at Target, ‘Ma’am, if you see me in here again this week, no you didn’t.’ Like, please—respect my healing journey.”

Shiloh pulled her shirt into place, silently praying her knees wouldn’t give out in front of everyone. Her thighs were still on fire. Her hips ached. She should’ve known better than to give Roman that kind of access before company came over. But here she was, walking like she just ran a marathon while trying to host dinner and keep her dignity intact.

Jey strolled in behind Jaida, eyes scanning the living room with exaggerated suspicion. “Y’all cleaned this place… or y’all just finished fuckin’?”

Roman, seated and already nursing a drink, smirked. “Why not both?”

“Disgusting,” Jaida muttered. “Romantic, but disgusting.”

Solo drifted in last, silent and unbothered. He made a beeline for the pantry and grabbed a bag of kettle chips like he had done a hundred times before when coming over.

Shiloh turned back to the stove, flipping the salmon while trying not to wince. Her legs were shot. Her core still throbbed. And she could feel Roman’s eyes on her like heat from an open flame.

Naomi leaned against the island, grinning with too much teeth. “You walkin’ funny or am I projecting?”

“Don’t start.”

“I ain’t startin’—I’m just noticing. He been real quiet. Too quiet.”

Shiloh ignored her. Barely. Roman came up behind her with a salad bowl, dropped one lonely crouton into it like that counted as effort, then leaned down to kiss her shoulder.

“Behave,” she warned, voice low.

“I’m just supporting your career,” he murmured, lips brushing her neck.

“You gonna support this foot in your ass.”

Roman lifted his hands in mock surrender, but the grin tugging at his mouth said he wasn’t sorry.

Please let her man behave tonight.

Dinner came together fast—salmon perfectly crisp, garlic rice fluffy, salad barely acceptable. The table was set. Candles lit. Vibes restored. Kairo hopped into a dining chair like he had voting rights. He made three slow turns, curled his tail, and sat upright like a guest waiting for his dinner.

Roman spotted him immediately and didn’t even hesitate. “Kairo. Get your fat ass out that chair.”

The cat blinked at him, unbothered. Tail twitching. Staying exactly where he was.

Roman narrowed his eyes. “Don’t look at me like you pay the mortgage. You don’t.”

Shiloh glanced over from the kitchen. “Babe, leave him alone.”

“He sittin’ like he finna say grace.”

“Kairo has anxiety.”

“His little ass got attitude and audacity.”

Naomi laughed, already pulling out her phone. “I gotta get this. Roman beefing with the cat again.”

The group gathered, for the most part—Rhea and Jaida were probably doing a TikTok on the balcony. Plates passed. Drinks poured. For exactly four minutes, peace reigned.

Only four minutes.

“What the fuck is this?” Rhea’s voice rang from the hallway. She appeared holding Jordan’s scooter—perfectly intact, slightly scratched, still rolling just fine. She held it like it had insulted her.

“That’s my nephew’s,” Shiloh sighed. “He left it last weekend.”

“Well, he left it haunted,” Rhea muttered. “It rattled like it was whispering threats.”

“It’s just noisy,” Shiloh replied. “It’s not broken.”

“It wheezes for fun.”

“It’s got personality,” Jaida said, snatching it up. “Y’all are dramatic.”

Before Shiloh could stop her, Jaida kicked off and zipped across the living room like a menace. The scooter clattered violently with every wobble.

“SEE? SHE’S NOT BROKEN. SHE JUST BEEN THROUGH SOME TRAUMA, GUYS!”

“I swear to God, Jaida…” Shiloh reached for her wine like it was a lifeline. “You break my lamp, I will—”

“It’s already leaning, babe!”

“That’s not the point!”

Rhea cracked her neck. “I want a turn.”

“You can’t even fit!” Jaida called, circling the coffee table.

“Say that again and I’ll suplex you off the balcony.”

Roman watched silently. One thick arm rested over the back of his chair, jaw tight, drink nearly gone. His eye twitched.

“You said I couldn’t lock them out,” he muttered to Shiloh. “Didn’t say shit about letting natural selection do its thing.”

Shiloh exhaled. “Okay. Okay—you were right.”

“Say it louder.”

“Don’t start.”

“This was your idea.”

“You promised to behave.”

“You promised they would behave.”

“I’m trying—”

A crash echoed from the hallway.

Roman closed his eyes. “Trying.”

“THE HANDLE JUST CAME OFF!” Rhea screamed.

“DON’T BLAME ME, IT’S VINTAGE!” Jaida screamed back.

Jey didn’t even look up. “Shiloh, where’s your broom?”

“Probably next to my last shred of patience.”

Roman stood abruptly. “I got it.”

Shiloh blinked. “You’re helping?”

He kissed her temple. “Told you I’d try.”

That’s when the rest of the group took notice.

“Wait—Roman’s getting up?” Naomi asked, eyes narrowing.

Jey raised an eyebrow. “He ain’t cursed in fifteen minutes. That’s a new record.”

Solo popped a chip in his mouth. “This some Twilight Zone shit.”

Roman turned toward them slowly. “Can’t I just enjoy dinner in my own house?”

“You’ve been suspiciously calm,” Naomi said. “That’s not your default setting.”

“Shiloh let you get some, didn't she?” Jey teased with zero shame.

Shiloh cut in fast before Roman could respond. “Mind your business.” 

Naomi leaned in with a grin. “So he was bribed.”

Roman’s jaw flexed. His grip settled on the back of the chair, steady and firm. He stared at the scooter, the wine glass on the floor, the cat in his chair again, and Jaida making another lap like this was Mario Kart.

“I’m just here for a peaceful night,” he said slowly.

Another crash.

“A mostly peaceful night.”

Kairo jumped on the table. Roman stared him down. “Kairo. Get your fuzzy ass off my table before I launch you into the yard.”

The cat blinked once, unmoved.

That was it.

Roman stepped forward, voice low and firm. “I was nice. Now I’m done.”

The entire room fell silent.

Even Jaida’s scooter came to a creaking stop.

Roman scanned the table. “One more crash. One more ride down that hallway. One more damn thing on this floor that doesn’t belong—and someone’s getting kicked out. I don’t care who. Cousin, friend, cat—doesn’t matter. You’re going.”

Solo raised his glass. “There he is.”

Naomi laughed. “It’s about time.”

Jey held up a finger. “I had the over-under bet at ninety minutes.”

Roman just grumbled, grabbing his drink again as Jaida silently rolled the scooter toward the coat closet like it had never happened.

Shiloh leaned over with a smirk. “You did your best.”

“I want ice cream,” he muttered, leaning back like he hadn’t just threatened half the room.

“If we’re out, what happens?”

“Then I guess I'm getting seconds tonight.”

Authors Note:

if you made it this far—thank you for reading 🖤 this one was chaotic, messy, a little coconut-scented, and a lot nasty… just the way roman and shiloh like it.

if you want more of these two (and trust me, there’s plenty more where this came from), check out the masterlist. and if you never want to miss an update, feel free to join the main taglist—i got you.