Page 72 of Rome: The Ballerina

The first stroke ended briefly. The second was even quicker. Short pumps followed. Silence accompanied them. Until my tool slipped out of Aliza.

She rested her head against the shower wall. I watched as a stream of air caved her chest. Clueless as to what was happening, she waited for an explanation.

I closed my eyes, deeply and truly regretful for the moment. Somehow, I felt the need to apologize, but didn’t understand what I would be apologizing for. My body was making it clear that I was participating in activities my heart wasn’t interested in.

Silently, I scrubbed my dick and balls, needing to rid them of Aliza’s remnants. Because, suddenly, my loyalty didn’t lie with her or between us. I felt as though I’d wronged someone and that someone wasn’t sharing a shower with me. She was resting miles away in her mansion behind frosted glass windows, a security gate, and a pair of guards ready to die for her.

Damn you, Rome.

Rome Childers.

I exited the shower alone, leaving Aliza behind. After drying my body, I slipped into a pair of briefs and a white tee. I finished with a new pair of socks and a pair of pajama pants my mother had gifted me.

I popped the tag as I realized I hadn’t worn them since she’d given them to me two years ago. In fact, I didn’t remember a time I’d worn pants to bed since moving into my home alone.

Shit.

Things were changing. Things were changing rapidly. Things were changing against my will. Things were changing whether I was with it or not. Internally. Externally. Eternally, it seemed.

I peered at my bed as I passed by, realizing Aliza had made it out of the shower. As she searched through the drawer dedicated to her belongings, I exited the bedroom. I traveled the lengthof the hallway until I reached the final bedroom on the second floor.

Upon entering the room, I pressed my back against the door. My head followed. I exhaled, finally able to breathe. My hands ran the length of my face as I tried to make sense of what was happening inside of me. I couldn’t.

“What the fuck, man,” I whispered, exhaling again.

I collected myself as best I could before making my way to the bed. I pulled the sheets back and climbed in. With my hands behind my head and my elbows sharp, I stared up at the ceiling.

If that was my sign–I thought, pausing to take another breath.

I got it.

The guest bedroom welcomed me with its cool sheets and promises of isolation. I needed time alone. Time to myself. Time to allow my thoughts to marinate. Time to focus on what was next for me.

Who was next for me…

Her pretty face flashed before me. There was no denying her presence. It was loud. It was strong. It was demanding. It was damning.

And like the cover near my thighs, I folded. My rock hard dick was in my hand. My eyes were closed. Like magic, she appeared in the darkness, again.

FOUR

“And that’s a wrap, everyone. Good job. Go home. Get some rest and I’ll see you tomorrow. Same time. Expect to be here for three to six hours. If you get it right the first few times, I won’t hold you as long. Rome– phenomenal.”

My chest heaved as my feet lowered to the ground. They’d grown numb from continuous movement. I could hardly feel my toes. Soaking them when I got home wasn’t an option. It was the priority.

I nodded, recognizing the acknowledgment. Cecilia had worked us to the bone. I wasn’t complaining. It felt incredible to be back on stage. The hours we were pulling were makeup for all the days I’d been laying on the beach deepening the melanin inmy skin, sipping from organic coconuts, eating diced pineapples, and enjoying quiet time by the water in St. Catana. The work felt good. Necessary. Challenging.

“Everyone else, tighten up. You’re doing good, but I need you to be great. This young lady has only been with us for two weeks and has nailed every goddamn piece of this choreography. She’s working like she is still trying to convince us she deserves this spot and that was never the case. See Rome. Learn from Rome. And, we’ll all be good on opening night. Goodnight everyone.”

I stepped down from the stage, swiftly walking toward my dressing room. Upon entry, I wasted very little time locating my water bottle. My brows furrowed upon realizing it wasn’t in its dedicated spot. I twisted my body, searching for the big brown chunk of metal with HUFFINGTON running along the side. I relaxed as it crossed my line of vision.

“There.”

Near the door, it sat on the shelf. I recalled taking a final sip during break. I rushed back toward the door and grabbed the bottle. The second it was uncapped, I poured water down my throat. Immediately, I began to feel better. The faintness vanished.

Knock.

Knock.

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