Page 127 of Rome: The Ballerina

Deeply.

Hungrily.

Relentlessly.

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“The gift. It’s the best gift I’ve ever received. I won’t ever forget it.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I can’t.”

He kissed me. His freehand lifted my backside from below. Saint touched me gently, analyzing my body and making sure that comfort coated me.

“Does it hurt?” He asked.

I shook my head. “No, but I can feel– I know you’ve been there.”

“Expected,” he said before plunging his tongue into my mouth again.

“Uh–” I gasped as he entered me.

“Fuck,” he groaned, freeing my lips. “Fuck you feel so good.”

With his hand around my neck, his mouth on mine, and the water washing away our sins, Saint took me in the shower.

And, then, in the bed just as I began to close my eyes.

And, then, in the morning, when I reopened them.

And, then, in my foyer as he dropped me off.

And, then, in his bed after his game.

And, then, in his kitchen before he took off for a 3-day away run because they’d advanced in the playoffs.

ELEVEN

“Urrrgh.”

A yawn sliced my face right open. I stretched my arms and rolled over in the hotel bed. Every time I experienced another brand of pillow, I wondered why I hadn’t been introduced to it sooner. Shortly after, my pillows at home changed. It never failed.

They were usually the key to uninterrupted and rejuvenating rest. But, this time, there was something else. Someone else. Responsible for the long hours I’d spent with my lids sealed and my thoughts silent.

There she is.

I slid the phone closer, removing it from the charger. On the FaceTime call that was surprisingly still connected, Rome slept peacefully. Her hands were tucked between her legs and her chest was curled toward her knees.

That baby is exhausted.

There was such a thing as angels on earth. I was staring at mine. Rehearsals had been tough on her the last two days. Their first show was coming up in twelve short days. The preparation was more intense and more tiring than ever. Perfection was her goal. Though it seemed impossible to others, it wasn’t to Rome.

I swiped the rectangular image upward, moving it out of the way. I busied my fingers with the details of Rome. Even if only for a moment, she could use the time away from her day-to-day, incredibly strict routine. Her discipline was commendable, but if she didn’t take it easy on herself, she’d crash and burn before it was all done.

Every few seconds, I peeped at the small image of her in the corner. I knew, undoubtedly, she wouldn’t be asleep for long. Though our conversation had carried on well into the night, the internal clock in her head wouldn’t allow her to sleep past six. I was partly surprised she’d made it past five.

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