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“You’re shy.”

Joe’s eyes flip open as he lowers his head just enough to focus on you. Blue locking with brown, but it’s the way his long, dark hair lays over his shoulders and across his chest that temporarily distracts you. Flashbacks of those beautiful tresses intertwined and locked between your fingers as you rode his face and once more as he fucked you up against the bathroom counter upon his arrival to the hotel exciting you for the next round.

Never mind the brief pang of soreness in between your legs. Inner thighs still damp, wet, and sticky from the latest round. 69. Hence the way you’re laid on your side, head propped up by your elbow towards the edge of the bed while he’s sat up against the headboard. The cream sheets covering his lap but not hiding the outline of his thick dick that you can already tell is slowly starting to harden once more. 

Good.

You wanna feel him come in your mouth at least one more time before you two call it a night.

“What?”

His deep voice breaks you from the silence of the room and swirling of NSFW thoughts. 

You roll your eyes. “I said you’re shy.” Your fingers tap against the sheets that you lazily pull to cover a portion of your exposed hip solely to shield your nude body from the chill of the room. The heat accumulated through frenzied fucking is starting to wane. “It’s cute.”

He chuckles and lifts his arm, one hand behind his head as he reclines deeper against the headboard you’re almost certain is one more round away from putting a hole in the wall. You make a mental note to tell him to put a pillow behind it before you two go at it again. “And you got this from what?”

“It’s an observation.” You shrug. “I mean, I noticed it a while ago, but I was watching you tonight interact with some of your fans—”

“Emphasis on some.”

A pause is taken solely to store the comment away for later revisiting. “And I could tell you were out of your element. Almost uncomfortable. You’re clearly introverted.”

Given that you’ve been to a handful of his shows already, it’s an observation you’d made relatively early on. But something about tonight, seeing the almost indecision he presented with in some of the interactions with fans like yourself that were granted a chance to meet him, it more or less confirmed it. 

“Don’t worry,” you added, bitting down on your bottom lip. “I think it’s cute.” 

“Cute?”

You adjust your body, fully aware of how his eyes temporarily shift to your dark nipples with a renewing hunger. “Yeah, I mean, it’s not often you meet a fine ass man with a big dick and every reason to be a cocky son of a bitch have your disposition. It’s nice.”

Joe makes a sound, eyes shutting once more. “I like to get a read on people before I open up, I guess.”

“That makes sense. I can’t relate, but—”

“Yeah, shy is a word I would never use to describe you. Not really me, either, but—”

“Oh, you’re definitely shy, Mr. Anoa’i,” you snort, pointing to yourself as if he can see it. “But me? Naw. For what? I’m fine as fuck. I have no reason to be.” 

And neither does he, but that’s just him, so you’ll leave it be.

You watch the way his eyes open and full lips—those same lips you can still feel sucking and slurping on your clit like he’d been waiting for it all day—stretch into a sly smile. “You always been this confident?”

“Hell yeah.” His grin widens, as you list it off with all the ease in the world. “I’m pretty as hell, ass fat, titties big, and my pussy is top tier?” It’s that last one that makes him chuckle, something flashing in those blue contacts that, right now, you’re not a fan of. “Baby, God didn’t make me this fine for me to be on some shy shit.”

Nor insecure, because if there’s one thing you’ve never been able to relate to is big girls struggling with body insecurity. You understand it, sure, but it’s never once been a struggle of yours. You’ve never once looked in the mirror, fully clothed or butt ass naked, and didn’t like what you saw. Maybe…maybe once or twice, but nine times out of ten, nothing has ever reflected back except a bad bitch.

And when people make comments about fat girls and bigger bodies, it always makes you laugh, snort, roll your eyes, or a combination of them all. Because at the end of the day, no man has ever put you out of the bedroom, and no one ever will cause the fuck you look like granting a lame ass nigga premier pussy when his dick ain’t even big enough to not fall out when you bouncing on it?

“That’s one of the first things that attracted me to you, you know.” You look over at him as he starts to dance those talented fingers of his up your calf. “Your confidence.”

“Not my tits?”

“Those, too.”

You playfully kick him. He chuckles. “I’m serious. I love how you’re unapologetically yourself. Like you don’t give a fuck what anyone else thinks.”

“That’s cause I don’t.” Never have. Never will. As long as you’re good with you, your mama is proud of you, and you do right in the eyes of the Lord, everyone else is irrelevant. “And neither should you, you know.” 

Your interest in wrestling prior to ever even meeting Joe was nothing close to the fanatic level. You still enjoyed it as an adult, but not nearly as much as you did when you were a kid. But you knew enough to know about the basic facts and major storylines. Even more, you knew enough to know how massively pushed Joe, Roman, was being right now. Unfortunately, the push against him by the fans seems just as strong.

If not stronger.

It was one thing for him to briefly mention certain things, or for a clip to come across your Instagram feed. But it was entirely different to see these things in person. To hear them.

Some of the cruel, hurtful, awful things hurled at him. And if it’s not words, then it’s items. And the boo’s. God, it’s hard for you to tell which is worse and which pisses you off more. On more than one occasion you’ve had to stop yourself from catching a charge and causing a scene. You’ve always had the golden rule of never ever fighting over a man, but they were pushing it.

And it wasn’t even for the traditional reasons women throw hands behind their ain’t shit niggas. It was….it was just wrong. To treat Joe the way some of these “fans” do is borderline inhumane. It makes you sick to your stomach. 

But if you feel this way as someone who hasn’t even known the man for a whole year, who’s not even the one being crucified the way he is, you can’t imagine how it must be for him.

He doesn’t talk about it a whole lot—save that lil’ comment from a few minutes prior—but you don’t know any human being who wouldn’t be at least a little affected by such hate.

Especially when it’s unwarranted. 

“Only miserable ass people with dry pussies and micro penises come at someone so hard for just doing their damn job,” you continue, moving to sit up on the bed, reaching for his shirt to pull over your body. It’s more than certain to be ripped off before the end of the hour, but there’s something about his scent….hence why you may or may not have started to hoard a collection of his items back at your place. “It’s pathetic, and it says everything about them and nothing about you, Joe.” 

His gaze remains on you as you climb across the bed and straddle his lap. His hands are on your hips as yours go to play with the ends of his long hair. “I’m serious.”

He chuckles quietly. “So are they.”

You’re quick with the rebuttal, flicking his chest. “Well, they’re fucking idiots, and fuck you look like factoring in the opinions of the musty and unloved?” 

The smile you hadn’t realized briefly disappeared is returned. “The what?”

“I thought it was maybe just the show we met at, but these folks stank. Are they all allergic to Dial and deodorant or something?” It’s both a rhetorical and serious question. As someone who’s always prided yourself on smelling good, the constant assault by the funk of these unwashed people will always be the biggest “con” of attending his shows. It’s why you mostly prefer to stay backstage these days. “Just nasty. Literally and figuratively.”

Once more, he shakes his head and lifts his hands to your back, tugging you closer. Your arms wrap around his neck as his smile dims and eyes narrow softly. “You’re really good at this, you know?”

Your brow lifts as you once again start to twirl curly locs around your fingers. “You’re gonna have to be more specific, big boy. I’m good at a lot of things.”

“That’s true.” He offers zero disagreement before supplying the answer. The delivery surprisingly soft for his deep voice. “At making me feel better.”

It takes you by surprise only for a second. Talking to people is something that’s always come natural and easy to you. Offering encouragement, however, in an effective and actually helpful way has never been as simple as some might think. Far too often people think that they’re being helpful only to be making things minimally to significantly worse. You’ve always done your best to avoid causing unintended harm, some of which has been helped greatly by your job. Kids always require a higher level of delicacy than adults.

But you’d also be lying to yourself if you tried to deny that there’s always been something so….natural about speaking with Joe. Easy. The conversation never grows stale and the flow never feels stagnant. Conversations with men in general have always been hit or miss for you. Far too often, whatever appeal existed is squashed the moment they open their mouth and say some stupid shit.

Not Joe.

He’s as well spoken as he is thoughtful. That subtle pause before he answers indication of actual pondering vs automatic verbal release. You’ve always appreciated that about him. That he actually thinks before he speaks. A rare characteristic to find with men. Especially fine ass men. 

I wonder if that’s one of the things his wi—

Almost instantly, you shove it away. That thought that often tries to force its way to the surface, having found success a few times. But the more time you spend with Joe, the closer you two become, the easier it is to silence said thoughts.

And maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to silence the voice entirely. 

“Well….” You trail off in conjunction with your fingers trailing down his chest with one hand, the other reaching behind you. “There are several ways I know how to make you feel better.”

His gaze shifts and jaw clenches when you find him. Warm and pulsing in your palm, your thumb glides over the slit on his dickhead. Your saliva production quadruples at the anticipation of having him in your mouth and pussy once more. “You wanna clarify?”

You start to gently stroke him up and down, aiding in the revival of his erection that’s almost entirely returned. 

Except, once again, you’re reminded that this man matches your energy in a way no one else has before. He eases his hand under the shirt, reaching and playing with your titties before returning down south to dance his fingers down your pelvis, stopping just when he’s about to spread your pussy lips apart. 

“The thing that makes you feel just as good.” 

His smug statement, however, draws your playful glare as you continue to work your hand around his thick length. “Don’t get cock—”

A sharp gasp escapes your mouth when his other hand moves to the back of your head, his fingers intertwined in your kinky coils you pulled up and out of the way the minute he told you to get on your knees before you two even made it to the shower. You bite down on your lip, feeling your pussy flutter and pulse when he roughly yanks you towards him. “Exactly.” Your eyes flutter shut as you start to writhe on top of him when his other hands continues to toy with your slick opening. “Stop talking and start sucking.”

The joy at his command is matched only by the glee you feel at having your desire fulfilled. He doesn’t need to tell you twice. 

You pull away and tug his shirt off, tossing it on the floor before you twist your body to the position that preceded the brief respite. You scoot and slide your body back as much as you can, feeling the way he also begins to ease down on the bed so he’s on his back. Your eyes gleam with hunger and need as you lick your lips at the sight of his pretty ass dick. Fully erect, tip flushed, and pre-cum seeping out the slit. 

A muffled groan is released as you lean over and travel the length of his cock with your nose, inhaling the scent of him. Of both of you. Your mixed, mingled juices. The tip of your tongue traces around his dickhead and up the base as you collect as much of the remnants from the previous round before getting right to it

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans, and it’s music to your ears. Something about being able to bring a man to such a vulnerable place while simultaneous getting off from the pleasure you receive from giving head is always gon’ be just the thing that does it for you. “Keep going, baby.”

You moan, mouth full of his dick, releasing him to kiss and suck on his balls. “Hmm. Does that feel good, big boy? You like the way I suck this big dick?”

You’re rewarded with a slap and jiggle to your ass that makes you smile before you return his length back into your mouth, eyes shutting and watering when he hits the back of your throat as you bob your head up and down, deep throating him.

“I fucking love it.” You wiggle your ass back against him when he spreads your cheeks and his tongue swipes a single line up your ass crack, tip of said tongue circling your hole. It entices another moan following the feel of his fingers spreading your pussy lips as he returns the favor, burying his face in your cunt, inhaling and groaning. “God, you taste so fucking good.”

You smile, drool seeping out the corner of your mouth as you continue to work him with your mouth. Once more a respite is evoked only as he moves his big arms around your hips and ass, clearly getting and putting you in place. “Show me how good, daddy,” you moan, palms flat and gripping at his thighs as he pulls you back so that you’re smothering his face. Good. “Eat my pussy, and tell me how good it tastes. How much you love it.”