ꨄ︎ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i’ve been missing romia down, so i figured i’d write a one-shot that’s a flashback of what their dynamic was like once she was starting to grow comfortable with him sexually. 🥺 honestly, spicy scenes have always been something i’ve struggled to write and i’m not exactly the happiest with how it turned out, but it is what it is. i tried ya’ll!🥲
Roman groaned into Mia’s mouth as the intensity of their kiss deepened, the grip he had on her ass growing firmer as her thick thighs straddled him. His eyes opened the moment she pulled back, the subtle pout on her face causing him to chuckle as he gently moved a few of her loose curls behind her ear, “Just an hour or two, baby…I’ll be back upstairs before you know it, I promise…”
Mia smiled, pecking his lips one last time before slowly climbing off, “Okay...”
From the moment they woke up, it didn’t take much for him to realize Mia was ovulating. He knew her too well by now. Which is why their morning session led to them having shower sex for the first time. Something that once felt too vulnerable of an act to her, now being a memory neither would forget. Seeing the pure bliss on her pretty face as she bounced on his dick, was a sight he’d do anything to relive.
Which is why he hated this as much as she did.
But with his match being a little over a month away, it was necessary to keep up with his training and strict workout regime. Even if it meant having to momentarily put sex on hold with the woman he absolutely hated saying no to.
It’s when Mia stood up wearing only panties and his “Acknowledge Me” tee, that had his dick stiffening all over again, heavily tempting him to cancel his plans and carry her fine ass back to bed.
A temptation he had no choice but to ignore given the fact that his trainers would be downstairs knocking at his door at any moment. Roman followed behind, reaching for Mia’s wrist before she could leave the room, “Why don’t you come with me?”
The gleam in her eyes evident as she turned to look at him,“Really?”
He smiled, pulling her in for a kiss while placing a light smack to her ass. “Meet me downstairs when you’re ready.”
For as long as Roman could remember, Amara had little to no interest being involved in the process it took that led him to his success. She’d usually only show up to his fights, mainly prioritizing his red carpet events. It’s something he initially never put too much thought into… that was, until he experienced Mia.
She was the complete opposite.
While she couldn’t be with him publicly, didn’t change that she supported him in every other way. She loved being by his side for any and everything that their situation allowed. Even if at times she’d struggle with the brutal nature of the sport…she was still there.
The truth was, having her with him in any aspect, was appreciated more than words could ever fucking explain.
And he wouldn’t change it for anything.
It was clear he hadn’t fully thought this through…
As if Mia’s pretty ass face wasn’t distracting enough, she had to wear an outfit that only accentuated those curves that drove him fucking crazy. Her big titties were practically spilling out the unzipped portion of her jacket as she sat directly across from him.
And as much as he tried, it felt fucking impossible to keep his eyes off her. Their constant eye contact as she quietly observed him workout seemed to have his full attention.
He could see it too.
The glint of lust in Mia’s eyes as she studied him. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit that he enjoyed teasing her once in a while. Seeing the flustered look on her face when he decided to implement hip thrusts to his routine, brought a small smile to his face. But it’s when he noticed her thighs subtly clenching together that he instantly dropped what he was doing.
Roman’s jaw tightened, his voice lowering as his gaze stayed on her, “Give us a minute.”
One glance around the room was all it took for his team to start making their way out his gym. The weights that were in his hands, now on the ground as he motioned her over, “Come here.”
She frowned, reluctantly walking towards him clearly confused as to why everyone was sent away, “What’s wrong?”
Roman pulled Mia’s body towards him, eyes instantly shutting as he inhaled her sweet vanilla scent. His big hands sliding down the span of her back to palm her ass, “I need you to do something for me, pretty girl…”
“Okay…”
Roman’s tongue swiped across his bottom lip as his gaze deviated towards her chest, “Remember that thing I bought for you to wear?”
Mia‘s cheeks reddened, her arms now draped over his neck as she stood on her tiptoes, “It’s not exactly much to wear, you know…”
Roman chuckled lifting her onto his waist as his mouth hovered over the crook of her neck, “Why don’t you go upstairs and put it on for me...I can be there in thirty minutes or so.”
Her brows furrowed as he placed a kiss on her neck, “But, I thought you still had a sparring match?”
“I’ll handle it.”
While, he hadn’t exactly planned how he would handle it, didn’t change that he would.
Because when it comes to Mia, he always will.
True to his word, Roman made his way upstairs a little over thirty minutes after speaking to Mia. His shower had set him back further than he anticipated, but he made it in time, nonetheless.
It’s when he stepped inside the master bedroom that his eyes widened, jaw clenching as he quietly shut the door behind him. “Shit…”
Mia had a hesitant look as she walked towards him. Curves on full display as her big titties sat pretty in the pink laced lingerie set he bought her. The sway of her hips and ass as she slowly approached, had him damn near salivating.
“God, you’re so beautiful…”
A bashful smile formed on her pretty face before kissing his jaw, “Thank you, baby.”
Refusing to waste another second, Roman smashed his mouth onto hers. His fingers instinctively burying inside her loose curls as Mia moaned into him. Those full soft lips he’s convinced he’ll never get used to causing the hardening in his pants to grow the moment her tongue slipped into his mouth.
Roman slowly guided her towards the bed, only breaking their kiss momentarily to quickly discard his shirt. His desperation to have his hands all over her growing as Mia positioned herself, laying back as he climbed over her. A small hiss escaped him the moment his fingers brushed over the fabric of her soaked panties. Mia’s mouth parted as she opened her legs further apart, granting him access to the very thing he desired more than anything.
“Already so fucking wet for me…” Roman’s mouth trailed wet kisses down Mia’s chest as his fingers made their way towards her wet folds. Her head now thrown back as he started making slow and deliberate circles against her clit.
“Baby…” Mia’s eyes shut, soft voice moaning his name as Roman’s middle and index finger gently worked their way into her wet, tight opening. His thumb still swirling against her clit as he watched her slowly come apart. “You look so fucking pretty when daddy takes care of you,” Roman slowly plunged his fingers inch by inch, studying the pure look of bliss in her expression as she took him.
“You’re doing so good for me, baby.” His fingers slowly pumped in and out of her, eventually finding the perfect rhythm that seemed to evoke the most pleasure. The sight of her slick juices coating his fingers as her hips slowly rolled against his hand, was heaven itself. His dick now harder than ever as her moans echoed across the room.
"Shit, R—Roman,” Mia held onto his wrist as her hips erratically bucked against him. The way she bit down on her bottom lip as her grip on his wrist grew firmer, told him she was close. Which is why his tongue slowly swirled over her sensitive nipples, alternating between both titties as he licked and sucked through the thin fabric of her laced bra,“Baby, I-I’m—”
“Go ahead…let it out.” Mia’s body jolted as her orgasm took course. He smiled, leaning down to kiss her while continuing to tend to her swollen clit as she squirmed underneath him. “So pretty when you come for me,” his eyes remained glued to hers as he brought his fingers to his mouth, skillful tongue cleaning and sucking every drop of her sweet essence as she watched.
Roman stood up, discarding his sweats and briefs as his big dick sprung free. Even after months of this, her tight pussy still had to accommodate to his size. He smirked, stroking his hardened length before sliding on a condom as Mia bit down on her bottom lip in anticipation.
“Lay back for me, pretty girl…”
She obliged as he climbed back over her, his fingers quickly working to unclasp her bra, freeing her big breasts as she slid down her panties. It’s when his thick mushroom tip teased her tight opening that Mia gasped into him, moaning as her head craned back.
Roman groaned, eyes on her as he slowly sunk himself inside, full focus on the way her mouth parted as she took him inch by inch, “Is this what you needed, baby?” Mia’s eyes to shut as her fingernails raked down the span of his back. “Needed daddy to make you feel better?”
“Y-Yes, baby,” The way her soaked pussy coated the condom only made the urge to rip the shit off that much fucking greater.
A temptation he found himself constantly having to fight through.
Her soft whimpers were music to his ears as he started to gently thrust into her, Mia's hands now pinned to the mattress as those beautiful, thick thighs wrapped tightly around his waist, “So fucking tight…”
Roman could never get tired of this.
Not when she was so addictive.
Sex with Mia was like a high that only she could satisfy, no one has or could ever come close. The connection he felt when he was inside her was fucking indescribable. His mouth teased the shell of her ear as his pace gradually increased, "Gon' always fucking take care of you, pretty girl."
Mia smiled, soft lips pressing into his as she moved her hands from his grasp to free his hair from his bun. A preference of hers, and a mutual sentiment considering how he loved when she wore her natural curls free.
"You're so d—deep," Mia’s drenched pussy squelched around his dick as his thrusts deepened. Her sweet juices coating the sheets underneath them as the volume of her moans increased.
"Fuck." The sight of her big titties bouncing as he fucked her, was enough to make him want to come then and there. Roman groaned, carefully placing Mia's thick thighs over his shoulders as his dick pounded into her. The new angle allowing him to further his reach while simultaneously pressing against the sensitive spot that had her clawing at his back as she screamed out his name.
"You gon' come for me, baby?" Roman's thick fingers traveled down to her puffy cunt, thumb gently swirling against her swollen clit as Mia's back arched off the bed. The sound of her new charmed anklet dangling by his ear as she moaned made his dick pulse as his fingers continued to work her. "Don't hold back, sweetheart."
Before he knew it, Mia's slick body was convulsing underneath him. Roman continued to praise her, mouth placing wet soft kisses against her shoulder as the grip on the meat of her hips tightened. His own release imminent as he continued to fuck her through her orgasm.
"Shit," his head instinctively buried in the crook of her neck as his pace became erratic. Roman's eyes shut the moment Mia started peppering soft kisses against his temple as her fingers nestled within his loose hair. He groaned into her, ropes of his warm seed emptying into the condom as his big body jerked over her.
After a few seconds, he eventually rolled over, chest heaving as he pulled Mia's body over his. The way her warmth felt on his chest was a feeling he'd never grow tired of. Mia smiled as her kissed her temple, fingers slowly tracing circles against her soft skin as she rested against him.
That was until she pulled him in for another kiss, soft hands cupping his beard as their tongues moved in unison. It seemed the longer her mouth was on his, the more shit intensified. It's when Mia's hand wrapped around his length that made him twitch under her touch. Eyes instantly shutting the moment she slowly began to stroke him.
"Shit," Roman's semi-erect dick now hardening under her touch as a small hiss escaped him. His attempt to switch their positions halted when Mia stopped him.
It didn't take much for Roman to realize why she stopped him.
He watched as she nervously bit down on her bottom lip before climbing over him. Without her even having to speak a word, he was already ripping open the wrapper to another condom, quickly sliding it on as she watched eagerly. The anticipation in her expression causing a small smirk to form as he smacked the side of her ass, "Go ahead, baby…come ride daddy's dick."
ꨄ︎ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: welp. it honestly felt wrong as hell to not give you guys a conclusion, so here we are. hope this isn’t disappointing (and if it is, please pretend it isn’t, lmao)
It was clear coming to this dumb ass party was a mistake.
The loud bass of the music thumped throughout the frat house as Roman roamed upstairs in an attempt to locate his cousins who had arrived earlier.
Cousins that he so stupidly let convince him to come in the first place.
While he wasn’t necessarily against going to parties every now and then, the idea seemed to be less enticing after football practice and a long work shift. Roman sighed, rolling his shoulders as he stood in a secluded spot by the balcony that gave him a good view of the sea of people downstairs.
It’s when his eyes scanned for the twins that he spotted her.
The new girl who had transferred mid-semester and recently joined the cheerleading team.
She was fucking stunning to say the least.
Roman had only seen her at the past few games and he’d be lying if he didn’t admit she intrigued him. Those pretty hazel eyes and even prettier smile had him captivated from the first day he saw her at practice.
When she performed, she radiated confidence. It didn’t take much for him to realize that she stood out amongst the other girls without even trying. But as Roman studied her now, he couldn’t help but notice how timid her demeanor seemed outside the field. The way she nervously stood as a dumbass frat boy clearly wasn’t getting the fucking hint.
Which is exactly what made him make his way over to her.
Her eyes instantly met his the moment he approached, the relief on her face palpable as her gaze glanced over him. Roman’s focus remained on her, purposefully ignoring the dumb fuck she was speaking to,“You good?”
It’s when she interlocked her arm around his with a nervous smile that took him by surprise.
Her soft voice barely audible over the music as her gaze redirected back to the guy in front of her, “It was nice to meet you, my friend I was telling you about is finally here…”
Roman’s brows furrowed as he towered over him, the fear in his eyes growing as he stammered, “S—Sorry man, I didn’t know she was with you. I don’t want any problems…”
Before Roman could even respond the fucker was already gone.
Not that it really was that big of a surprise, there had been a few instances where someone would try him that would end with the twins prying him off a dumbass or two.
She eventually pulled back, nervously fiddling with her sleeve as her pretty face slightly reddened. “Thank you...seriously.”
Roman chuckled, eyes subconsciously trailing over her as his thoughts ran wild, “It’s no problem.” He extended his arm for a handshake, “I’m Roman, by the way.”
Her eyes fluttered as she looked up at him, “I know who you are…”
Roman tongue swiped over his bottom lip as he smirked, “Is that a good or bad thing?”
“I guess it depends…”
Roman’s eyes narrowed as he stepped towards her, “I see…” Her thick, flushed lips tempting as ever as he inhaled her sweet floral scent, “Why don’t you start by telling me your name, pretty girl?”
The tinge of redness on her cheeks slowly returned as she smiled to herself, “It’s Kaia...”
So many fucking memories filled Roman’s mind as he faced the mirror, quietly adjusting his tie before buttoning his tuxedo.
It’s when he heard a knock at his door that his focus shifted. Deep voice cutting through the room as he sat down to put on his shoes, “Come in.”
“Daddy!”
Aniyah’s sweet voice immediately had his full attention as she ran towards him. Roman grinned, arms wide open to receive her embrace. “Hey, sweet girl.”
His mother, Cecilia, followed behind, smiling as she watched the pure happiness on her granddaughter’s face as she hugged him tightly, “She wanted to see you before you went to the altar, she wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“Thank you for bringing her…” Roman pressed a kiss against Aniyah’s temple as she instantly nuzzled against him. Whenever she was quiet like this, usually meant she was tired. Roman could feel the tension in his body lessening as he cradled the back of her head.
Cecilia sat on the sofa directly across from him, “Of course…” Her eyes now studying her son who she knew like the back of her hand, “Want to tell me what’s on your mind?”
Roman sighed, pausing as his gaze averted to the floor, “A lot of shit…”
Where could he even fucking start.
In just a matter of minutes he’d be marrying Cheyenne. A woman who came into his life at a time he didn’t even realize he needed. A woman who he cherished immensely.
Apparently not enough to tell her the fucking truth…
Because the truth was, his marriage to her would be starting with a lie.
A big fucking one at that.
Having sex with Kaia just days before his wedding only seemed to leave him with an even bigger mind-fuck of emotions. Emotions he thought he had buried deep after their divorce.
If only things were that fucking simple.
He remembers how confused he felt as he stayed awake, fingers running through Kaia’s loose hair as she peacefully slept on his chest. The way his eyes shut at just the feeling of her warmth on his skin after years of being without it.
How in that same night he saw the hurt that flashed in her hazel eyes when he told her he was still marrying Cheyenne. The tears that slid down her face as she told him she understood…that she just wanted him to be happy.
Those same words now feeling like the biggest weight over his fucking chest.
“It’s Kaia, isn’t it? She’s whose on you’re mind…”
Roman’s eyes shut the moment Aniyah raised her head from his shoulder at the mention of Kaia’s name. The pout on her face that was identical to her mothers evident as her little eyes scanned the room for her. “She’s not here, baby.”
Another loud knock echoed through the room. Only this time, it was the twins.
Jimmy’s head peeked through the door, huge smile on his face as he looked at him, “It’s go time, Uce…”
Everything felt like a blur as Roman stood at the altar.
Hundreds of friends and family filled the venue in support of their union and it seemed all he could focus on was the one person who wasn’t.
It’s when it was Cheyenne’s turn to walk down the aisle that everything became real.
Beautiful laced white gown that fit her curvy body like a glove. Her long veil trailing behind her as she smiled at him. The pink orchids and white wisterias serving as a beautiful background and only accentuating her beauty.
Words the officiant spoke as she stood before him, now a haze as so many thoughts flooded his mind.
But as beautiful as Cheyenne was, inside and out, didn’t take away from the brutal reality.
The reality being that despite all these years, he can’t fucking seem to let her go.
Because she wasn’t the woman who was at his side when he was a nobody.
That loved him unconditionally when he was just a broke college kid trying to make it.
The person who did everything in her power to keep his head above water at times when he’d feel like shit for struggling to provide for them.
The first woman he had ever told he loved, and wholeheartedly fucking meant it.
She was there for him at his absolute lowest, putting her successful modeling career on pause to be by his side when he was injured…to support him in every way she could. Who in the darkest of times, brought light to his life with the birth of their daughter. The one and only being he loved more than words could ever begin to describe.
Roman snapped out of his thoughts the moment he heard his name. He should’ve known this part would come sooner than he anticipated given the fact that they chose to keep their vows personal. Vows he now questioned if were truthful to begin with…
"Roman, do you take Cheyenne to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
He could see the gleam in her eyes faltering the second she sensed his hesitation. Roman’s eyes shut the moment his words left his mouth, “I’m so fucking sorry, Chey…”
Cheyenne’s eyes watered as she looked at him in disbelief, “It’s her isn’t it?”
The whispers and murmurs of the crowd evident as they witnessed his lack of response. And before he could even attempt to, Cheyenne shoved his chest. Her voice breaking as she looked at him in disgust, “I never want to fucking see you again.”
Roman’s head lowered as she stormed out the venue. The gasps in the room scattered as he stood in silence.
It’s when the twins approached him that he looked up, Jey rested his hand on his shoulder as Jimmy gave him a sympathetic look, “C’mon Uce, let’s get you out of here…”
As much as he fucking hated hurting Cheyenne, it almost felt like the weight on his chest lifted the moment he decided to surrender to what his heart was actually telling him.
There was no fucking denying it anymore.
Kaia was the love of his life.
Always had been, and always would be.
Present
Roman stirred awake to the sound of his alarm blaring. The sun barely rising as he wiped at his eyes before carefully sliding out of bed.
He should’ve known that even with subtle movements, Aniyah would immediately sense him no longer being in bed. Her eyes fluttered open as he sat at the edge of bed caressing her temple, “Shhh, go back to sleep, baby…”
It had become a habit for her to wander into his room in the morning to sleep. A habit he didn’t mind although it always made it ten times fucking harder to commit to his early morning workout.
Which is why Roman laid back in bed pulling her closer. A small smile forming as he watched her immediately fall back asleep the moment she snuggled against his chest.
With her third birthday right around the corner, it was hard to wrap his mind around how big she’d gotten. His entire world in the form of a tiny human being. She was easily the biggest blessing life had given him.
He’d live through every single trial and tribulation all over again if it meant having her in his life.
“She got you again, huh?”
Roman’s focus redirected to Kaia who he hadn’t even noticed enter the room. She smiled as she studied Aniyah, the way her big curls were free as her little body was sprawled over his.
He chuckled, “Something like that…”
Kaia walked towards him, leaning down for a kiss careful not to disturb Aniyah, “I need to shower, pilates kicked my ass today…”
Before she could fully pull back, Roman’s hand rested against her stomach, thumb slowly moving in circles as he looked at her, “You’re starting to show, baby.”
Kaia smiled as her hand rested over his, “I know…”
At thirteen weeks of pregnancy, Kaia’s bump was starting to make a noticeable appearance.
The family they dreamed about having since they were teens, had now become a reality for them. She created another life with the man she spent so long loving.
Now they were happier than ever, looking forward to the future they were building together.
ꨄ︎ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i’ve literally had this one-shot idea since september of last year, and after all this time i’ve finally decided to go for it. definitely a little nervous to post, but i’m going to push through my anxiety and hope for the best, idk lol.
Thought she could pretend everything was fine, when in reality her heart was shattering into a million fucking pieces with every day that passed. It was as if so many emotions made her feel everything yet nothing at the same time.
She remembers the exact moment everything went wrong.
The moment, Roman, the man she loved more than life itself since she was nineteen, had an injury so severe that almost jeopardized his entire career. How that same man lost himself, pushing her away when all she wanted to do was help.
To be there for him.
How he isolated, burying himself in alcohol instead of coping and focusing on his recovery. The way he was so blinded by anger that he completely destroyed their theatre room in a moment of rage the night they announced he had to vacate his title.
Never forgetting the amount of times where he was brought home in the early hours of the day by his cousins who’d find him in bars. Nights where he’d make love to her or when he’d hold her tightly in his arms as she slept, transitioning to Kaia being home alone, crying herself to sleep.
It seemed everything she said or did, somehow ended in them arguing.
She fought so hard to save what they had.
Because despite everything, she knew Roman was a good man. He was just in pain, hurting more mentally and emotionally than he was physically.
There were moments where she knew he was trying.
Moments where his vulnerability would peak through the cracks as he’d hold her, cradling the back of her head as he told her he loved her. Countless nights where she’d cry in his arms as he’d kiss her temple promising to do better.
And he did…at least for a while.
Because the day he was told by medical that he wouldn’t be cleared for an additional six months or possibly longer, Kaia saw his heart break all over again.
It was the night after that everything changed.
She remembers the way Roman came home, shoulders slumped with the devastated look on his face. It’s when she questioned him that he finally told her…told her that he slept with another woman.
That was the exact moment Kaia’s world shattered.
In that same instant, she knew it was time to walk away. Which is why not even a week later, she filed for divorce. The look of hurt that flashed in his eyes imprinting a sting in her heart that she’ll never forget for as long as she lives.
During the process of their divorce Roman desperately pleaded for her to give him another chance. Tried to convince her that he could fix things, that fucking up once after all the years they’d been together, couldn’t be the end of them.
And as much as Kaia wanted to believe him…she couldn’t. Even if the thought of a future with him no longer by her side, gutted her. Because there was no denying that she loved him…
But sometimes love just isn’t enough.
The day their divorce finalized, Kaia was completely devastated. Her emotions came crashing down on her when she realized that this was actually her reality now.
There was no going back anymore.
She didn’t only lose the love of her life… she lost her best friend. The man who she thought she’d spend her entire life with, who she believed she’d grow old beside.
It was clear the realization hit Roman just as hard. Which is probably why she found him outside her doorstep that same night. The torn look in his eyes as her own watered. The pure silence that surrounded them as their mouths hovered over one another, eyes shutting as their lips connected.
How she allowed him to carry her to the bedroom that they once shared. Where they made love to each other for the last time. She remembers how he was so gentle, the way tears slid down her face as he somehow managed to deepen his reach.
That same night being the night their daughter was conceived.
Aniyah Rose.
Their sweet baby girl whose existence alone managed to change Roman’s life around.
Despite them no longer being together, he was there for her through every single step. No matter how busy his work schedule was once he was finally able to return, he managed to prioritize their baby, never missing a single appointment.
It was appreciated, more than words could ever express.
But it seemed the more he was involved, the more shit felt confusing between them. The unspoken words that felt too heavy to speak lingering when he’d come over to help her put together the nursery.
Roman refused to give up on them. He spent her entire pregnancy trying to convince her to give him a chance…their family a chance.
Once upon a time, that was a dream of hers.
But the truth was, the wounds of what he did still felt so fucking fresh…and if Kaia was being honest, she wasn’t sure she’d ever fully trust him again.
Her priority and focus was on the life she had growing inside her. It’s when Aniyah was born, that she made that very fact clear to Roman…that eventually caused him to stop trying.
He instead redirected his focus to their baby girl, who was completely attached to him from the moment they did skin to skin. A daddy’s girl through and through. There was a bond between them that at times brought tears to her eyes. That made her question everything as they navigated co-parenting amicably.
While Kaia initially wanted him to stop trying to mend what they had, the most confusing part was how she secretly hated that he actually did.
Because over a year later, Cheyenne came in.
She was a new physical therapist that the company hired to help Roman stay on the right track. A woman that he slowly grew closer to as time passed, eventually flourishing into a relationship.
A relationship that made her heart sink to her stomach the day Roman told her. Kaia remembers the smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes as she pretended it didn’t affect her.
Even if it killed her.
Cheyenne was physically beautiful to say the least. She was only a few years younger than herself, and even if it pained her to admit, she was decent from the few interactions they were forced to have.
Forced to have because one thing Roman made very clear from the beginning was that Aniyah came first. Any and everything that could have an affect on her, would be ran through her first.
And truthfully, Roman kept his word. He’d respected every boundary she’d set, and has had the patience to talk shit out during moments when they’ve disagreed.
And now, here they were.
Co-parents, nothing more.
Kaia sobbed as the laid in bed. Her memories of him only being a painful reminder that maybe she should’ve given him a chance...
Because the truth was, the man she was still in love with, would be married to another woman in a matter of days.
The invitation still sitting on her nightstand next to her empty glass of wine. It’s when Kaia heard Roman’s knock at the door that she quickly got up, throwing a robe over her silk gown, and hurriedly wiping her eyes before unlocking the door.
Roman stood in silence, a solemn expression on his handsome face as he studied her. Kaia’s eyes shifted to Aniya who was in a deep sleep, adorable face resting against her daddy’s shoulder as he carried her.
She grabbed Aniyah’s travel bag off of Roman’s shoulder and reached for her, “I can take her from here.”
“No, it’s okay, I’ve got it…”
She nodded, following behind as he carried Aniyah upstairs to her bedroom. Keeping a distance, she silently rested against the door frame as Roman gently tucked Aniyah in. He sat at the edge of her bed, fingers slowly tracing the outline of her curls before kissing her temple.
Kaia walked back downstairs as Roman quietly shut Aniyah’s door behind him. She didn’t even have to look back to know his gaze was burning into her. Which is why she needed to deflect, “How was she?”
When Kaia heard no response, she looked up only to see him standing directly in front of her, eyes instinctively shutting as his thumb brushed against her cheek, “You’ve been crying…”
Kaia sighed, her gaze now focused on the ground, “I’m okay…it’s just been a long day.”
“You were never a good liar, Kaia…”
She hated how her eyes immediately watered at his statement. How after years of them no longer being together, he still knew her so well. That alone adding to the pang she currently felt in her chest.
Kaia’s voice unintentionally broke as she responded, “I’m fine. I just prefer not to talk about it if that’s okay.”
Roman took a step back, “If that’s what you really want…” His eyes still observing her as if he was still hoping she’d speak, “Goodnight, Kaia.”
It’s when he started to walk away, slowly approaching the door that Kaia’s resolve broke, “I’m still in love with you, Roman…”
Roman immediately stopped in his tracks, “Kaia…” His jaw ticking as he turned to face her, “Don’t do this shit to me…”
Kaia sniffled, wiping her eyes as her voice unintentionally broke, “I…I know you’ve moved on…and that you’re marrying someone else, but I just needed to say it…”
She could see so many different emotions coursing through him, the way his frustration built as the seconds passed. The frown on his face forming as he studied her in disbelief.
“Why now, huh? You say this shit to me days before my fucking wedding?”
“I’m sorry—
Roman’s voice tense as his eyes shut, “I spent so long trying to make things work between us…”
She lowered her head as the sobs she was trying so hard to contain, escaped her. The truth in his words made her regret ever opening her mouth, because he was right. She lost her chance, and now it was time to live with the consequences.
“You love me?” Kaia gasped as Roman’s forehead pressed against hers, eyes closed with an almost pained expression, “Do you really think I fucking don’t?”
Before she could even process anything, Roman’s lips smashed into her as her back pressed into the wall. His familiar cologne scent invading her senses as he kissed her with a fervor that weakened her knees.
Roman lifted her onto the nearest counter, quickly prying her thighs apart as her silk gown was now bunched at her waist. She could feel her wetness coating his fingers as he moved her panties to the side.
The moment he let his sweats and briefs drop to the floor, her eyes traveled to his erect dick in his hand, moaning as he slid it against her essence before slowly guiding himself inside her tight opening. Kaia gasped as he groaned into her, his pace starting slow, slow and deliberate strokes as she adjusted to his familiar stretch.
Roman’s face rested in the crook of her neck as his mouth hovered over her ear, “I’ve never stopped fucking loving you, Kaia.”
Tears slid down her eyes, only this time for a completely different reason.
Because she missed this…
She missed him.
And while whatever the future held for them was still full of uncertainties, it didn’t diminish the love and passion that was coursing through them now.
And even if it was only for tonight…that was enough.
so quick update on this for anyone who cares, it is finished and everything, however, i got some potentially bad news from my doctor (i love my life aha), and it’s sort of, kind of taken a toll on me and has been stressing me tf out, so bad that i jus haven’t had any energy to log on, or to post this
with that being said !! i will have some more clarification on whatever is potentially going on with my health on wednesday. praying that it’s all good news, i will finally post this. i promise, promise, promise ♥️ thank u for your patience 🥺🫶🏽
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒𑁤 alamea is determined to maintain the firm boundaries she's erected while navigating coparenting with her ex....whatever roman is. she's done well enough so far. that is until they have to stay under the same roof for the first time since she walked away from him for good. or, so she thought.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𑁤 18+ ONLY || MDNI || ONESHOT — smut. vaginal penetration. oral (female receiving). unprotected sex. multiple positions. age gap. unhealthy, toxic dynamics. angst.
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒𑁤 six thousand and change (6.8k+)
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𑁤 roman reigns x black!oc
𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𑁤 dividers and story graphic by me.
𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎𑁤 ❝the scientist❞ by coldplay
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𑁤 this is a oneshot that exists within the 'love lies' world. you must read that in order to understand this. it's also a part 2 to 'nobody said it was easy.' so you have to read that as well. this proofreading job is also shit, so i'll have to go through and do it again tomorrow, por favor.
Ally knew this the moment the words left her mouth as she stood in the entryway of her home that’d never felt so small with the presence of one man. Roman. He hovered in a way that both irritated and confused her.
Gabriel had fallen asleep in his father’s arms, Roman eventually and reluctantly depositing his son in the nursery Ally spent a good two weeks preparing and designing specifically for said son. Walls painted a forest green with an accent wall decorated with a variety of paintings she’d ordered off Etsy and had framed. Portraits of some of her favorite characters from her own childhood along with some of the more popular, recent ones that have the same hold on the children of her generation that Barney had on hers. Gabriel’s name spelled out in tan letters she’d picked up from Hobby Lobby directly above his crib, an intentional match with the tiger maple wood of his furniture set that her parents gifted her at her baby shower.
The large, round rug that boasts a variety of greens, a landscape of a forest filled with animals with furry tails and smiles found in the innocence of Disney and similar programming atop the cream rug that covers the second level of her home. Cozy. The main theme she aimed for when creating and decorating the room she would carry her firstborn into following discharge from the hospital. It needed to be cozy. Comfortable. The type of space where one immediately walks in and takes pause not only from the decor but from the atmosphere. An instant gift of peace granted to anyone who allows their feet to press into the carpet and trades in her hallway lined with a variety of photos of herself and her family to the safe space that houses the extension of that family. The next generation.
Her offspring.
Alamea would like to think that her ambitions and aspirations were not without success, but that victory is quickly questioned and under investigation the minute he steps into the room. Roman’s presence is always something that’s felt. He is a man that demands without even uttering a word. Nonverbal, powerful, palpable. Some men need not do much. If anything. They just are.
And that is Roman.
Always has been.
There’s always been this intriguing, irresistible pull she felt towards him. A string of unrestrained electricity that could find no path, no load, and no charge. At some point, she thought she could be all three. The source and relief all in one. Or perhaps she hoped. Perhaps she believed what she wanted and needed to believe at the time to avoid accepting a truth that smacked her in the face every time distance and indifference followed affection and vulnerability.
Every time what she wanted was canceled out by what was.
It’s a reality she cannot afford to allow herself to deny anymore.
The stentorian boom of thunder and intricate branches of flashing, gleaming streaks of lightning that painted the sky, conjoined with the the oppressive and forceful slam of water that flooded the streets, as confirmed by the flash flood warning that appeared on her Lock Screen, told another story.
Carved out a side quest in a journey she still hasn’t figured out how to navigate. Or even how she got on.
It created inner conflict that twisted her insides as she followed him towards her front door. As he said something about grabbing what he’d brought with him for their son.
Her son.
Theirs.
Confusing, indeed.
But the turmoil embedded within her overpowered the logic that was attempting to work overtime despite everything else seemingly being against it.
“Wait.” A single word that granted her his partially confused, mostly sullen gaze. The corners of his lips downward in a frown that hasn’t left his face since he carefully lowered a peacefully sleeping Gabriel into his crib. “It’s….it’s storming out there.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Another twist. She hadn’t said anything about being concerned for him. Didn’t mean to approach from that angle, but regardless of her intent, it doesn’t negate the way something flashes in his eyes with his quiet reply.
Tension that arrived along with his first heavy footstep into her home extends and travels up her spine, settling with a sickening comfort on her shoulders. “That’s….” Eyes closing, words confusing but somehow finding the right spot right on time. “Just….just stay here for the night.”
An offer met with another flash of something akin to disbelief and another nameless entity that’s felt in how she watches his jaw shift, those full lips parting and pressing together once more as he’s always done when he shoves away the initial, unfiltered thought in exchange for something more refined and polished.
A courtesy she’d only ever noticed extended to herself.
No one else.
“You don’t have to do that, Ally.” The depth of his voice is marred with a level of consideration, the corner of those lips no longer on a downward path to disappointment but an upward trajectory towards a small smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. Eyes outlined by small lines that have been there since the day she met him so long ago but have seemed to deepen, increased, traveled across the span of his face, settling in with comfort over the past few years. “I didn’t always travel by private jet.”
And just like that, a sickening stretch of that affability that lands onto her, her own mouth curved into a small smile. She knows. Recalls the times they’d sit on his jet or even the luxurious bus that she’d noticed few other Superstars had at their disposal. Remembers how she’d be reclined into his big body, his forearm over her chest as she traced the ink on his arm as if doing so would allow her to navigate the enigma that was Roman Reigns. How he’d share with her stories of early on in his career where he’d be boo’d out of arenas, traveled from venue to venue in his own vehicle, at his own expense, slumbering on a sleeping bag—that he’s kept with him to this day—when sleeping arrangements didn’t pan out as predicted.
And she listened. Hung onto every word that left his mouth as though failure to do so would result in loss. Loss of connection. Loss of closeness. Loss of him.
But how can one lose what they never really had in the first place?
“Yeah, well, I really don’t feel like WWE coming after me because I let their top guy get struck by lightning, so…”
Roman chuckles, briefly looking down at the bright red of his Nike sneakers. Sneakers, she’s almost certain, he has a matching pair for in a much smaller size. One for his son. It seems that everything The Tribal Chief purchases for himself, an additional one is made for the tiny little human that’s turned his and Alamea’s already confusing, messy life around in another equally confusing 180.
“You know I wouldn’t let that happen.”
He’s said similar things before, most of which ended up being nothing more than void words with emptiness to follow, but something about this feels different. Feels real.
Feelings, however, are nothing but ploys and schemes meant to toy, tease, and taunt. Setting up the greatest sort of happiness in order to bring about the deepest sort of pain. It’s a game she knows all too well and has no interest in playing.
Not anymore.
“You can take the guest room.” She clears her throat, smile dismissed and returned with that same blank expression she’s employed exclusively for the man before her. “I—I uhh still have some of your old clothes you can change into.”
Silence.
Why she’s held onto the items she gradually accumulated over their time together—shirts and hoodies that drape, sweats that have nothing but air to hold onto, falling off her frame despite the thickness of her hips—she hasn’t a clue. She’s just grateful that he doesn’t ask. Doesn’t press.
He just nods. “Thank you, Alamea.”
She doesn’t respond.
It’s all somewhat of a blur as she guides him up the steps, hurriedly grabbing a collection of items that still carry his scent despite being buried deep in the back of the last drawer in her dresser. It was a fruitless attempt to have a metaphorical funeral of sorts. Do away with the things that carry the aroma of love lost and feelings trampled.
It didn’t work.
The minute their fingers brush against once another as she hands him the items, her gaze shifts from his to the floor. A quiet, murmured question about needing anything else that she doesn’t bother to stick around for in order to hear the answer. The heaviest breath released as she stood on the other side of the closed door that contained her in her room but did nothing to separate her from the tension that seems hellbent on remaining a constant companion.
She does her best to indulge in distractions and tasks that actually do need to be checked off a to-do list that refreshes by the day. Approval of designs. Ordering of materials. Scheduling of meetings. Scribbling additional ideas that come to mind and need to be recorded in some sort of capacity to avoid being lost to void.
None of it helps.
Even the visit to her son’s nursery to see him sleeping with a peace she’s not sure she’ll ever find for herself. That does something, but not enough.
It’s exponentially worse, however, when she steps under the running, hot water of her shower. Eyes shut, arms wrapped around her body, droplets rolling over the slope of her chest and backside, collecting near the drain and disappearing like it’d never accumulated. A repeated process that feels far too close to home. Thoughts and flashes of a past Alamea can’t seem to allow to remain just that.
In the past.
The way her chest tightened the first time he’d joined her in the shower. The heat that rose to the tips of her ears and painted her cheeks, her eyes struggling to remain on his despite the temptation of the thick, rigid member intimidating even in its flaccid state. His quiet chuckle, the feel of his palm on her ass and, “you act like I haven’t seen it all already” that followed his reaching for the soap and motioning with his finger for her to turn around.
For him to wash her.
And then her washing him.
Two acts that eventually resulted in her legs wrapped around his waist as he pounded into her, her screams of pleasure muffled into his damp shoulder and cloaked under the guise of the running water.
Ally shuts her eyes, hating the way her thighs clamp together at the prurient memory.
It has her rushing what she normally enjoys taking her time doing. Allowing the water to penetrate her body until the tips of her fingers and toes are wrinkled, sweat bubbling across her forehead from the humidity, and steam that covers the mirror.
None of that is the case though, Alamea stepping out onto the bath mat that starts the absorption process along with the towel she wraps around her body, securing and knotting it in front of her chest. Her mind is a confusing web of things that don’t connect, don’t make sense, and can’t seem to find a beginning or end. Upstairs and downstairs at odds and culminating into a climax she could have never seen coming period.
All because of the man two rooms down.
This was a bad idea. She should have never allowed him to stay, never opened that door literally and figuratively. Never let him in.
And not just tonight.
Guilt that continues to gnaw and eat at her as she manages to check on her sweet baby boy once more before hiding herself away in her room, grateful to overhear the shower and see the bathroom door still closed where he remains.
Being in the same house with him is unbearable, but being in the same room with him…it’s not something she’s sure she knows how to navigate.
It’s a torturous dichotomy that wrecks her brain as she twists and turn in bed, haunted with memories that once lightened and now destroy. Can’t seem to shake the feel of his arms around her, waking up to the sight of him sleeping peacefully. Sometimes sleeping on top of her. All the domestic things that fed the delusions she allowed herself to believe. That she meant something different to him than the rest. That she was somehow this exception to a long list of the many who came before her.
And perhaps, in some strange sort of way, she is. Solely because of the tiny human who sleeps in the room between the two people who created him but couldn’t be any father apart.
Some part of Alamea will always be connected to Roman through their son. It’s an in indestructible string that cannot be cut, cannot be destroyed, and cannot be done away with. Roman will always be Gabriel’s father. There is no changing that. Even if she’d give anything for that to not be the case.
Perhaps she wouldn’t be tormented as deeply as she is.
Tormented with visions that become the only thing she can see every time she attempts to close her eyes. The phantom feeling of hands on her. Hands she wants to shove away at the same time she wants to guide to them between that aching spot in between her legs. It’s a fucking confusing ass sensation. How one part of her could tremble from the amount of fury and anger towards the man who hasn’t a clue what he’d done to her and another can’t stop imagining the feel of him between her legs.
Him inside her.
It’s a….feeling she can’t shake.
A bond she can’t undo.
And she fucking hates it.
Not as much as she hates the way her legs kick off the sheets and swing over the side of the bed. How her feet shuffle across the plush carpet, hand twisting the knob of one door, eventually turning and opening another. The room is dark, illuminated only by the light that creeps and sneaks through the partially ajar blinds. Rain and thunder continuing to smash and stomp upon the earth with unforgiving fury.
Quietly closing the door behind her, the minute she turns back around, their gazes lock. He’s sitting up, looking just as awake and miserable as she feels. For some reason, his misery does nothing to aid, add, or increase any sort of comfort on her end.
It just makes her feel even more fucking confused. Intense beating in her chest as she wordlessly makes her way over to the bed, mattress creaking from her weight as she climbs onto it. Roman’s gaze roaming over her when she straddles his lap, his hands remaining planted on the bed, though she sees the way he initially goes to reach for her but decides against it.
Even in the dark, she can make out the outline of his lips. The freckles spread across his T-Zone, the small, skin mole atop his eyebrow, another on the shell of his ear. Vision or not, there’s not a part of him she hasn’t committed to memory, visuals stamped and permanent in a way no amount of trying, scrubbing, or scaling can undo.
He’s inevitable in every fucking way.
“Ally....” Whispered, pained, hoarse, it’s hardening felt in between her legs and through his sweats that power through whatever sane part of her was trying desperately to break free from the shackles of desire.
“It’s just one night.” She lifts her hands to his face, his finally shifting to her waist, material of her shirt scrunched up and through his fingers. “And it doesn’t mean anything.”
It can’t.
There’s visible indecision on his part that she ignores fully by smashing her lips onto his. Continued hesitation is felt in the way he doesn’t move, doesn’t attempt to kiss back, doesn’t move a fucking muscle. It’s only when she glides her tongue across his lips and moves atop him, unintentionally grinding on top of his growing erection that she senses the slightest dissolve of his rigidity. The simple breathing of two words against him, as desperate and needy as the want that has her pussy fluttering and throbbing.
“Fuck me.”
Something about the verbalization unlocks something within. There could have been additional resistance. His logic managing to step up in a way hers won’t, but that’s not what happens. Ally gasps when he tugs her closer, lips back on hers with an intensity that has her slightly leaning back but completely frozen and stuck in his lap.
Her fingers shuffle down in between their bodies, trembling fingers shoving on the band of his pants, but she’s interrupted when he tugs her shirt up. Arms raised, seconds later, the chill of the room brushes against her partially nude body. Even in the dark, she watches the way his gaze darkens and his mouth immediately latches onto her erect, hardened nipples.
“Roman….” Moaned and breathless, her fingers tangled in his hair, undoing and releasing his curls as she’s done so many times before. Increased sensitivity as his tongue circles her areola, the other kneading her swollen, sensitive breast.
Top and bottom heavy for as long as she can remember, Alamea has learned firsthand what her mom meant when she said pregnancy changes the body in a variety of ways. Mostly in volume. And weight. She’s shed some of the baby weight. But not much, especially not in her chest area, titties even bigger from the fact that she’s breastfeeding. But it’s an inconsequential thing for the man sucking and groping on said titties with fiery need that’s matched by the heat blooming throughout her entire body.
Her fingers dig into his shoulders, hand tangled in his hair eventually tugging backward, the release of his mouth around her nipple resulting in an audible pop. A slight string of drool outside the corner of his lips that she absorbs after kissing him again, once more resuming her attempt to rid him of his pants.
But that’s an inconsequential barrier to him when he flips her over so she’s on her back, her head landing on the pillow as she looks down to see him on his knees at the edge of the bed.
“Lift up for me, baby.” An unnecessary directive as it’s followed by his hands sliding underneath her back and down to her ass as he starts to tug off her underwear. Her lace panties clenched in his hand. He brings them to his face, the light from the widows adjacent to him highlighting the damp spot in the middle that’s nothing compared to the wetness she feels growing by the fucking second.
As he roves his hungry gaze over her, the briefest intrusion of doubt creeps in. Roman has always preferred women on the thicker side, but her pregnancy weight gain—that feels more permanent now than anything—has come with a variety of other things like additional rolls and explosion of stretch marks across the span of her stomach and thighs.
It's not lost upon Roman.
His irksome ability to invade every vulnerable part of her also includes the ability to read even what is not verbalized.
“You already know I love every fucking inch of you.” The assurance is accompanied by him rubbing down on her body, squeezing her titties as he starts to nudge her legs apart with his knee. “Especially this pussy…”
Another flutter when he lowers his head, palms spreading her thighs apart, creating a physical exposure to match the vulnerable one she can’t seem to find a way around. “Just as pretty as I remembered...” Ally grabs at the sheets at the feel of his thick tongue parting her wet folds, bypassing the soft curls, the circular motion of the tip of that exceptional tongue on her clitoris enough to have her over the finish line before the race even fucking starts. “Just as sweet, too.”
Her right hand drops to the top of his head as he works his tongue across her cunt, licking and sucking with a precision and expertise that has her inching and writing across the bed.
“Stop moving so much, sweetheart,” he warns. “Acting like it’s gon’ stop me from eating this pretty ass pussy.”
And he doesn’t. Eventually relegated to his hands behind her thighs, pushing her legs up, broadening his reach and access. Alamea has received head before, and it’s been decent, but nothing that occurs with the man between her legs that’s of a sexual nature is ever just decent. One of the reasons she’s been so hesitant about being with anyone physically is for the mere fact that Roman has more or less ruined any other man for her. Sex is just another one of the many things the Tribal Chief can boast his prowess regarding all day long, because at the end of the day, the hubris and arrogance can always be backed up.
It’s reflected in how she bites down on her bottom lip, guiding his head up and down as he eats her out within an inch of her life. Tears in her eyes, the addition of his thick finger probing her wet, tight hole has her swallowing a scream that’s begging to be released.
Her whimpers and pants battle with the sound of him sucking and slurping. Long, thick tongue exploring every part of her from the sensitive bundle of nerves that he knows how to work like the back of his hand, down the length of her pussy, stopping dangerously close to that forbidden hole. The only sexual area they haven’t and won’t explore.
“I’m close,” she moans, eyes clenched shut, squeezing her breast, stomach caved and lower half worming around from the building intensity.
“I know,” is all he offers, voice smug as three fingers pump into her, stretching and preparing her for what she already knows is coming next and coming soon. “In my mouth, Ally. Now.”
Yet another demand that doesn’t need to be issued when her body is its own autonomous being. She doesn’t come directly after his words but a few minutes later, all the while his mouth remains latched and his fingers dedicated, both overstimulating and regulating her as she dumps her cries into the pillow she’d used to smother her face, refusing to allow anything that occurs in this bedroom to leave said bedroom.
That includes noise disturbing her baby boy.
For a fleeting moment, thoughts of her son disturb the lustful haze that allowed her to get to this point, but a bright flash of lighting that lights up the room instantly redirects her attention. Roman, at the end of the bed, sweats tugged down, his big hand moving over the thick, turgid muscle in his palms. Strokes accompanied by how his free hand pushes back his hair, head briefly tilted back, moist beard soaked, essence dripping down same as the cum glistening and leaking from his thick mushroom head.
Her stomach coils with anticipation that’s interrupted the moment she sees something flash in his eyes.
Sitting up on her elbows, a thick swallow followed by a simple question. “Wh—what?”
The less talking the better.
She watches the way he slows down stroking the impressive length of his dick. “I don’t have any condoms.”
Words that would typically make most women close up shop, dry up the cooch, and have both parties relegated to whatever their respective hands can accomplish for the evening.
But Ally isn’t most women. At least, not when it comes to Roman.
For a second, she considers the box her sister gifted her for her birthday last year. The one shoved at the back of cabinet under the sink. But it’s an irrelevant memory. They won’t fit. Alamea knows what size condom Roman needs, and it’s not what’s sitting untouched and collecting dust in her bathroom.
If it’s not XL, in the slim chance he somehow gets it to fit over what God Himself truly blessed The Tribal Chief with, not withstanding the cutoff circulation and discomfort, it’s bound to break or tear less than a minute into the act.
Thus, not even worth the bother.
Especially when she remembers something else.
“I have a plan B.” Another gift. This one from her mother only a few months ago. Included in the gift basket given at her baby shower, ironically. “I’l—I’ll just take it in the mo—after.” She has to correct herself, because while she isn’t exactly sure what this is, she knows what it’s not. It’s not wild, frenzied fucking that’s followed by pillow talk, cuddling, and awaking to the feel of his lips trailing kisses up her arm.
It’s just a night of sex. That’s it.
The minute they’re done, she’s back in her room and back to erecting those tall walls put up for the benefit of all.
But, especially herself.
He looks conflicted, and for a second, she wants to crawl to the end of the bed and stroke her thumbs across the lines in his forehead. See the way his eyes shut immediately at her touch.
Like they used to do.
Like they used to be.
But that was then, and this is now.
No sense in reflecting on what was never real anyway.
“It’s fine,” she assures once more. Ally clears her throat, Roman’s gaze remaining on her as she sits up on the bed. The sheets crumble under her fists and knees as she carries out some portion of old time protocols, but for reasons solely selfish and carnal. She’s attempting to turn around, to assume the poison. Face down, ass up.
His preference, and right now, hers as well. Less intimate. Just as satisfying.
Except they’re not on the same wavelength.
Roman’s big hands on her waist, adjusting her once more so she’s again on her back, the soft sheets scrunched up around her shoulders. Her mouth parts slightly when he leans over her, in between her spread, sticky thighs.
“Not tonight,” he murmurs. Her eyes flutter when he lifts his hand to cup her face. “Wanna see you….”
Ally’s eyes shoot open at the same time his mouth is back on her, and that’s the problem with Roman Reigns. One good touch and she’s putty in his hands once more. Her arms wrap around his neck to pull him closer. Chest to chest, kissing sloppily, his hand gently groping her breast, she gasps quietly when she feels the brush of his thick mushroom head against her slick slit.
Shock must translate into some sort of discomfort when he brushes his mouth across her jawline. “You good?”
No.
But her desire overpowers the logic. “Yeah.”
Again, as per typical when it comes to him.
Some level of sense finds space, however, when the slight, subtle feel of him entering her reminds Ally that while sex with Roman has never ever not been a good time, there will always be that initial…adjustment.
His eyes flick to hers once more as she assures, “I’m fine.” She licks her lips, swelling and whispering. “Just…it’s been a while.”
Too long.
Once more, her thoughts betray her, but Roman’s lips back on her, soft kisses that have her hands locking behind his neck, serve as the perfect distraction. His left hand moving to stroke her forehead as his right holds his hot, heavy length in hand, gentle and slow in the way he enters her. Alamea whimpers softly, nails scraping against the hair at the nape of his neck. Her sticky essence serves as the perfect lubrication, allowing him to glide every thick inch of him inside until he’s bottomed out.
It makes her shift her hands to his shoulders, nails pressing into his skin. Roman hisses, once again focused on her and only her. “Are you—”
Ally lifts up off the bed just enough to kiss him again. It's brief. She pulls back, her eyes fluttering as she bites down on her bottom lip. “I said….fuck me.”
Something flashes in his eyes, burning and piercing. One minute he’s peppering her with unnecessary check-ins and the miserable feeling of him inside but unmoving, and the next, his hand is wrapped around her throat, her calves hanging over his broad shoulders. Knees adjacent to her ears as he pounds into her deep strokes that have her biting down on her lip to the point where she’s almost certain that she’s drawn blood.
“Fuck, Ally.” The low growl in his deep voice draws her attention to him once more. Eyes shut, head back, Adam’s apple pronounced, the bliss on his face is undeniable. The tension in his shoulders, muscles taut and tight as he slams his hips against her with enough force that the headboard repeatedly knocks into the wall has her pussy contracting around his big ass dick. “Forgot how fucking good you feel, baby girl.”
Similar sentiments, as she’d forgotten how good this feels. The feel of him inside of her the perfect combination of pain, pressure, and pleasure. Sex with Roman is never a truly painful experience, but the way his thick cock stretches her walls, the feel of him bottoming out, so deep in her that she swears he’s in her fucking stomach….it’s overwhelming in all the right ways.
“Right….right there, mmm,” she moans, eyes closing once more, his thumb making swiping motions against the middle of her throat. His grip is firm enough for her to feel the pressure but light enough to where it doesn’t restrict her breathing.
He’s always been so good with that. Testing her sexual boundaries just enough while always remaining in the green zone.
"You feel that, princess?" His rough voice fills the room that's filled with nothing but the rumbles of the storm outside that mimics that of the one in the bedroom. The squelching sound of his turgid dick stretching her pussy. Angled, deep and making her fingers grab at the hand that's fixated around her throat, mouth open and low pants intermingled with whimpers from the delicious sensations. "Feel how this pussy gripping me? Like she know who owns her."
The growled, arrogant assertion should perhaps discourage her, should probably help her remember why this was and always will be a bad idea. Give Roman an inch, and he takes several miles. This is a one time thing. She doesn't belong to him. She never did.
That was always the problem.
On the edge of a loud moan that's timed almost perfectly with a flash of lightning that illuminates the room, she manages a weak but audible, "s—s—shut u—up."
Lighting that disappeared as quickly as it appeared isn't required to know her squeaked attempt at assertion earned nothing but a smug smirk. Maybe a smile. He always did that more around her than anyone else, she'd always noticed. Not that it really meant anything.
Obviously.
But there's no denying the way he leans his big body over hers, deepening his reach inside of her as his silky hair waterfalls around her face, loose ringlets brushing against the pillow under her head, makes her stomach coil and pussy flutter around him.
It's nothing, however, compared to what stirs deep within her soul, carnal activities aside, when the next statement to leave his mouth isn't the typical, cocky, pretentious taunting of a man who knows he can 100% back up the shit he talks majority of the time. It's the side and sound of a man who once held her after they'd have sex. Make love. Whatever one wanted to call it. Who'd stroke her arm as she traced the lines and curves of his tattoos, each of which she knew the origin and story behind. Who spoke with and to her with a quiet, vulnerable calm, the caustic exterior discarded and left at the door.
Who made her feel special.
Made her feel wanted.
Made her feel lo—
“I miss this, Ally. Miss you.”
Her eyes open and their gazes remain locked, him lowering her legs that wrap around his waist as they’re once again body to body, chest to chest, hands locked and clasped above the pillow, making out once more as he fucks her slow, deep, and thorough, Alamea isn’t quite sure what disgusts her more.
The fact that he has the audacity to say such a thing after everything he did to her, has done, or the fact that she’s not upset at him saying such a thing.
Because she feels the same way, too.
———————
Gabriel waking up in the middle of the night isn't abnormal. Whether it be for a nightly feeding or changing, it's bound to happen at least once or twice. At minimum. And despite the frequent disruptions of her own sleep cycle, the way she lives off of two shots of espresso to make through the day some days, it's just become her norm.
She's used to it.
But this has to be the firs time she's thoroughly grateful to be awoken in the middle of the night. To be disturbed from a sleep so deep that she can't recall the last time she'd felt as such. Drowsiness so heavy that it's felt in her limbs and weighs down her eyes. She's grateful, however, because it's not just an interruption.
It's a rescue.
It's a rescue because she awakes not in her bed, clutching onto her pillow, either on her side or back. She awakes in a bed, yes, but she's not alone and instead of the soft, fluffy pillow cushioning her body, it's the hard, defined lines of a broad, muscular chest she's laid on top of. Inked arm wrapped around her body, the familiar sound of soft snoring and thin sheets pulled up over their connected bodies.
There's a few seconds of horror and shock that render her paralyzed as the realization of what she's done settle in, but the minute it does, she's carefully prying her body away from his. It's a miracle that he doesn't awake from her movement, but he doesn't, thus allowing her to quietly step out of the room, close the door, and make her way over to Gabriel's nursery.
His crying snags and captures her attention so that she can focus solely on her son instead of the massive…massive mistake she just made. However, it's short term release when a greater dilemma is encountered.
Though her first child, Gabriel feels like the easiest baby in the world. He has such a calm about him that she's always found to be so soothing and comforting. Except there's nothing calm about the way he continues to scream and cry, face red, tears streaming out his pretty eyes.
She initially thought it was because of his hunger, but a quick glance at the clock revealed it's earlier than typical for his nightly feeding. It didn't stop her from trying though, only for Gabe to scrunch his nose, wiggle his little body and use his closed fist to push at her breast as he refused to latch. Laying his wiggly, worming body on the changing table revealed what she already knew to be the case.
A clean, dry diaper, free of number one or two.
Process of elimination left her in front of the attention door, as she figured he probably just wants to be held, rocked, bounced, or something. But it seems for all her efforts, nothing is working.
He won't stop crying.
And she's not too far behind when she turns to see her own 6'3, almost 300lbs dilemma standing in the doorway with a frown on his face. It's worsened when he steps into the nursery, Ally quickly diverting her eyes as she continued to pace across the floor, gentle rubs and pats to Gabriel's back.
"What's—"
"He's fine." Her interruption is sharp and quick. She shakes her head and offers an almost muttered, "he's just cranky."
"He's upset." Roman's own response, to her surprise, matches her tone. A level of unwavering assertiveness that makes her look over at him. His jaw ticks, something flashing in his eyes that tells her exactly what he's about to ask even before he can do so. "Can I—"
"No." Another immediate rejection as Gabriel's screaming continues, prompting her to stop and lift her hand to his forehead once more. He doesn't feel warm. Doesn't appear to have a fever. But something is obviously wrong. Just as wrong as Roman's offer.
She doesn't need his help.
She can soothe her baby all on her own.
To her dismay though, she's once again reminded that Roman Reigns has always been a persistent bastard.
He continues to inch closer, running his hand through his hair, irritation mingling in with concern reflected in his eyes. Eyes she realizes are so similar to Gab—
"Ally—"
"I said he's fine, Roman!" The sound slices through the room like a tidal wave against an unsuspecting surface. Roman is that surface, the shock in his face matched only by the surge of guilt that rushes through her. Uncomfortable and unsettling. She shakes her head, continuing to focus on her son, focusing on the motions that typically work to soothe him. Ignoring the way they're clearly not working now. "You're just—you're just throwing off his routine."
That has to be it. This is atypical behavior for her baby boy. They've had some rough nights, sure, but nothing like this. It has to be Roman's presence. That and perhaps the combination of the storm outside.
Or the one inside.
Ally ignores Roman, attempting to switch her son from one shoulder to the other when a glance turns into a stare she can't break.
And it's seeing Gabriel's face, red and flustered, his eyes clenched shut, his little mouth open as he wails continuously without any sign of stopping or any indication her holding and rocking him is providing any sort of comfort that she concedes. Realizes this isn't about her and her feelings.
It's about her son.
Alamea swallows and turns around. Walks towards Roman who instantly has his arms ready and waiting, ensuring to cradle the back of their son's head during the transfer.
She watches him. Watches how he mimics her gentle bouncing motions. Lowers his voice just enough to avoid startling their already fussy, irritated son but loud enough for it to overpower Gabriel's crying. "Hey, hey, what's wrong, buddy?"
Most importantly, she watches and listens at how with each seemingly comforting word that leaves Roman's mouth, Gabriel's wailing subsides into crying which eventually collapses into soft cooing sounds. How it ultimately leads to a still silence that's only broken by Roman's gentle voice as he carries Gabriel over to the window. Identification of certain terms like rain, thunder, and lightning as if Gabriel possesses the ability to understand.
And maybe….maybe he does.
But the absence of her son in her arms mean that the conflicting emotions that sat on her chest have returned with a vengeance.
She slept with Roman.
She had sex with the man she swore she would never let touch her ever again. But she did. She has. And now he's standing in her son's nursery, small smile on his face as he looks down at Gabe who has his hand wrapped firmly around Roman's index finger. Gabriel's soft babbles deepening Roman's smile and increasing Alamea's panic.
And for a moment, for just that fleeting moment, an idea crosses her mind. A vision of sorts. One where this isn't an anomaly. Where instead of them both being in the room, it's only him. Roman taking his turn to tend to their son as she lays in bed and tries to get as much sleep as she can before her next shift/feeding. Before Roman returns to said bed and they go back to sleep. Together. Her in his arms.
Just like they us—
Ally shuts her eyes.
This is wrong. All so so wrong. Letting Roman spend the night was a mistake. Having sex with him was a mistake, and allowing him to act like everything is fine and copasetic with them, that he has the right to act like father and partner of the year, is damn sure a mistake.
One she won't make again.
Clearing her throat, she crosses her arms and presses her lips together. Roman looks over in her direction. She forces herself to ignore the tug Gabriel gives to Roman's hand, as if disliking the absence of his dad's attention.
"You need to be gone in the morning."
She also forces herself to ignore the 180 in Roman's disposition. Smile wiped, replaced with a frown, the pang of hurt that flashes in his gaze, and the attempt to walk towards her. "Ala—"
But she can't. She won't. She shakes her head, gradually backing away to recreate the distance she should have never shattered in the first place. "Like I said, he has a routine." Even as that weight atop her chest suddenly feels significantly heavier. Even more so than before. "And you're not a part of it."
---------
a/n: i'm biased because i'm the writer, but ally pissed me the clean fuck off at the end. like i didn't write the shit. i feel she was wrong, but i also get she's very hurt, too. idk.
author’s note: this might be the most taboo, wildest shit i've ever written. and it's actually the tamer version of my initial idea....there is no saving me atp, idk.
pairing: roman reigns x black!oc
warnings: smut. vaginal penetration. multiple positions. age gap (17 years). strong themes of infidelity. taboo pairing. angst. themes regarding death, abandonment, and neglect. morally gray characters.
words: 5k
credit: title graphic and solid pink divider by me // photos from pinterest // black and white gif's from google // roman gif by @fabxpunk // mdni and sexual content banners by anitalenia
masterlist + taglist request form
I know I shouldn't be here. Know that I should have never even opened his text. Should have never unblocked him. Should have never sat still, feet planted in the ground as they made the final boarding announcement. It was my out. The perfect opportunity to try to untangle this massive web of lies, deception, and confusion that I've found myself drowning in the past few months.
All I had to do was board the plane. Get on the plane and allow it to carry me as far away from them, from him, as possible. A one way ticket to a fresh, new start. It made sense. It was the most logical thing to do. The right thing to do.
But I couldn't.
It felt like weights sat on top of my chest and feet, anchoring me to the ground, keeping me bound to the seat I sat in for over twenty-five minutes even after that last, final round of boarding. Pressure that remained and throbbed as I reversed the steps taken to heal. To walk away from all of the confounding, stressful, maddening pieces of a puzzle I thought I'd figured out before the game even began.
Truth be told, I'm not even sure what fucking game it even is anymore.
If it's a game at all.
My hands smooth up and down his chest, defined muscles firm against my soft palms. My head is back, ends of my hair—freed from the hair tie when my dark strands were wrapped around his big hand as he fucked my face— brushing the top of my ass. My heavy breasts pressed together and moving in tandem with each slow, sensual gyration of my hips. His stomach is wet and sticky from the trail of my essence that I dragged along his toned body when he easily slid me off his face and onto his erect dick that'd sprung back to life after he'd come all over my chest, and I, all over his face.
His recently dyed beard and pronounced lips reflecting with the remnants of my pussy as patches of his dried cum stick to my dark areolas.
Every so often, our eyes meet, and with every occurrence, that twisting in my stomach tightens. His fingers dig into my hips where he holds me steady as I rock against and on top of him. I do my best to keep my eyes shut—out of sight, out of mind—leaning into the carnal pleasure and bliss that stems from him being buried deep inside my slick wet.
I gasp when Roman's left hand lifts from my hip to the back of my head. My eyes opening just as he yanks on my hair, forcing me to bend down where I meet his mouth for a steamy, sensual kiss.
I hate the way I moan into him. How my movements still as I drown in the inevitability that is Roman Reigns.
He breaks our kiss, minty breath fanning my face as he nips on my bottom lip. "Did I tell you to stop?" My eyes flutter once more as he tightens his fist in my hair, voice gruff. "Keep riding me, sweetheart."
For someone who's never done well with people telling me what to do, the inner feminist in me mourns at the ease in which I obey. Easing back into the motion of grinding up and down, back and forth, and slow circles. All the while he thrusts his tongue back into my mouth, allowing me to taste myself as his hand squeezes at my breast.
Rough pad of his thumb grazing over my puckered nipples as I force myself to ignore the burning in my thighs and growing tension in my legs. I'm not sure how long he's had me on top, but I also know it's better for me to remain in charge vs him.
The minute he gets me on my back, side, or stomach, it's a wrap. Despite months of him beating my shit the fuck up, I still struggle with recovery. Still have to ignore the borderline painful throbbing between my legs and the tiny hiss that leaves my mouth every time he uses the rag to clean up the mess he's made of me.
A few days out from Main Eventing his 11th WrestleMania would make most think he'd be taking it easy, be focused on only traditional forms of training. But that's not Roman Reigns.
At least not who he is with me.
Not even my ex who seemed to want to fuck for breakfast, lunch, and dinner had as high a sex drive as the man almost 17 years my senior who, nine times out of ten, makes me tapout quicker than any man ever has.
It's fucking insane.
His hand locked in my hair finally releases to glide down my slick back, squeezing, slapping, and jiggling my ass before he starts to lazily guide me up and down. My own hands cage the side of his head as we continue to tongue each other down when he starts fucking up into me again.
"Mmmm, so good."
"Yeah?"
I nod with a ridiculous and embarrassing amount of vigor that's rivaled only by the pace in which he's fucking me. Or I'm fucking him. Us fucking each other.
But my valiant efforts must fall short because one minute we're grinding against each other, slick body to body, and the next, my cheek is pressed into the mattress, my round ass hoisted up in the air and my body nothing more than a rag doll from the intense, deep, back-to-back backshots he's giving me.
"F—f—-fuck, R—r—r—"
"What took you so long to get here?"
My brows cave together as my hands continue to fist at the sheets, the sound of his heavy balls slapping against my dripping cunt distracting to the point where I leave his strange, weirdly timed question unanswered.
Big mistake.
The sting from slapping my ass makes me jump, the impact strong enough to the point where I'm certain that with the lights on, you can clearly see the outline of his big ass hand print.
But Roman is equally caring as he can be cruel, leaning over and using that same hand to gently knead my ass as he continues to dig me out. "I asked you a question, Jaleila." My eyes shut once more as he pushes my hair to the side, warm lips grazing the back of my neck. "Been waiting for you…"
That twisting in my stomach intensifies once more. He shouldn't be saying things like that. He shouldn't have been waiting for me in the first place. If there was anyone he should have flown out early to keep him company over the next several days while he works heavily to promote Mania, it should be Shayna.
It should be his wife.
It should be his wife and kids.
Not me.
And yet…
That doesn't mean, however, I can't at least try to retain some of my dignity. Even as he grinds his pelvis against my ass, forever using that big ass dick of his to make me putty. "Wasn't—fuck—wasn't sure if I wanted to—to come."
His deep chuckle is nestled in between the consistent, loud sound of skin slapping skin. "You always come for me, Leila." I hate how I don't hate the way he autonomously decided to start using my nickname one day without permission or request. I especially hate how I've never corrected him on it, either. "Where else were you gonna go?"
Home. I was going to go home. The place I should have never left in the first place.
Would have saved myself a shit ton of stress.
And heartache.
Or heartbreak.
"Naw…" My hands glide down the bed, the crumpled, damp sheets soft against my palms but not nearly as soft as the sensation of his full lips along the shell of my ear. "Mine." He's practically sprawled on top of me at this rate, pace sporadic and rushed, indication of the burning desire to find his release. I can feel it in how he forces my head up and to the side just enough for him to kiss me once more. Can taste his need and desperation.
It's nothing more than a mirror of my own.
He finishes inside of me, ropes of cum dripping from my swollen, tender pussy. Smeared all over his cock, the bed, and sheets that need to be burned at this point. I shouldn't let him. Feel guilty about it as he leaves to grab a towel to at least clean up some of our mess. Mentally berate myself for not making him pull out, but then I remember.
It wouldn't have made a difference.
But as amazing as the sex is, as he feels, it doesn't stop the way my brain swirls with ideas and thoughts that betray.
What if I stayed?
What if we could make it work?
What if—
Nothing but dead ends to the same outcome that was always determined from the moment I landed at Miami International with a smile on my face and malice in my heart. This was all so much easier from the outside looking in. Seemed so much simpler when I decided to accept the most unexpected offer from the least expected person.
I can still recall the moment I answered the phone, scowl on my face as I worked to fix dinner even though I wanted nothing more than to jump in bed and bury myself under the blankets until my irksome alarm reminded me that work isn't just a once a week thing. It's a 5x a week thing.
The way I almost hung up the phone when she said her name. I thought it was some sort of joke only to realize I'm not nearly important enough for anyone to want to prank me. I still don't know how she got my number. We hadn't spoken in years. She stopped sending Christmas cards before I even graduated high school. We were virtual strangers.
Perhaps it should have stayed that way. Perhaps I should have just cussed her out, told her to never contact me again, blocked her, and moved on with my life. I've spent so long without her that the "loss" would be nothing more than a continuation of the norm.
But I didn't.
I told her I'd think about it when she suggested I come spend some time with her so we could "bond" and "catch up." I almost threw up the minute it left her mouth, the delivery overtly sugary and deceptively sweet, a voice synonymous to nails on a chalkboard. Disingenuous. The type we use during the interview and drop when we land the job. A performance. It felt like she was auditioning for something.
For me.
And I couldn't understand why, just how I couldn't understand why I didn't immediately shut her down.
Why I twisted and turned in bed that night until I leaned over to hit the lamp on my nightstand. Grabbed my iPad with the cracked screen and bad camera to google what I hadn't in years. Nothing had changed outside of additional photos, videos, and a People Magazine article that made my jaw dropped and suddenly turned a boring, lazy scanning into an unexpected plot twist.
WWE Superstar Roman Reigns and wife call off divorce.
I read it from line to line, all the way down to the comments that led me to deep dive, discovering information that wasn't available when I'd last looked her up a few years prior. Learned that despite her perfectly curated Instagram page which boasted overtly edited photos of her and her equally perfect little family was nothing more than a facade.
That I was once again reminded things aren't always what they seem.
It was also in that moment I started to put together the pieces that would eventually become my master plan. The reason I called her the next morning and accepted the offer. Not to bond. Not to catch up. Not to connect.
But to kickstart the one and only opportunity to do what I'd never thought I'd be able to do.
To hurt her the way she hurt me.
To ruin and fuck with her mental the way she messed with mine.
My perfect "cousin" who spent her days doing hot yoga with her girlfriends, making cooking videos for her Instagram page that boasted half a million followers, and showcasing her beautiful children and handsome husband. It was all perfectly and intentionally curated to depict and convey the life she'd worked so hard to achieve, no matter who was hurt and discarded along the way.
I would know.
No one was hurt and cast aside like trash that served no purpose more than me. Because I didn't.
She did away with me.
She left.
It's been a recurring theme of my life.
Because Shayna has only ever cared about things and people so long as they're useful to her. If it or you don't benefit or fit into the cookie cutter life she's finessed for herself, then she dismisses and flicks you away like that pesky gnat that buzzes in your ear, driving you mad until you silence it for good.
And once you're silent, you no longer exist in her world.
Therein lies the privilege of it all. The people who hurt and traumatize go on and live their lives carefree without the scars, pain, and trauma left behind in the wake of their crimes.
They flourish while you drown.
And I've been grasping for life vests for as far back as I can remember.
"I got a busy day tomorrow so you'll have to keep yourself occupied until I'm done." His deep voice alerts me to the fact that he's now lying on the bed next to me, on his back, one hand behind his head as he scrolls on his phone with his left.
I'm still on my stomach, my own arms underneath the pillow that my left cheek is pressed into. I stare at him, the lighting of a city that never sleeps reflected off his side profile and phone in his hand illuminating his face and hazel specks in his eyes. I don't realize that I'm reaching out, stroking his beard, still damp and glistening from the evidence of our transgressions, until it's too late. "We're in the city of sin, aren't we?" His eyes temporarily flick over to me, a small smirk on his face. "I think I'll find something to do." A beat. "Or someone."
The corners of my mouth lift into a small smile as something dark flashes in his gaze.
"Jaleila…."
"Relax, big boy." I roll my eyes, body moving on its own accord as I close the uncomfortable gap between us. Head on his shoulder, arm across his stomach, my right leg hiked over his, the warmth of his now flaccid penis brushing against my inner thigh. I chuckle, kissing his shoulder. He tugs me into him, tapping the top of my ass and kissing my temple. My eyes shut, voice softening as the exhaustion from all our festivities starts to catch up to me. "You've ruined that for me with anyone else, I fear…."
He's ruined a lot of things for me, actually.
It's fucked up.
All of it.
This wasn't supposed to happen. None of it. I had the perfect plan. Simple but effective.
Come. Destroy. Leave.
In that order and with very specific objectives, but where we are now compared to where I thought I'd be couldn't be anymore different.
I shouldn't be laying up with this man. Not like this. The goal always was to fuck him, to see if those whispers and rumors on gossip forums about his "wandering eye" being one of the main reasons for Shayna filing for divorce were true.
They were.
And despite my knowing that he truly has no idea how sick, twisted all of this is and how much of a fucking pathological liar his wife is, it didn't change the fact that I almost hated him as much as I hate her. This man I'd never met prior to a few months ago but was the sole reason my life ended up on a trajectory that only led to hurt, rejection, and dysfunction.
From the clips I'd pulled up of him online, interviews of him pompous and cocky, I expected to have to work hard to swallow my pride and butter up an arrogant egomaniac. To set aside my own reservations to get shit done.
I was wrong.
For a man who plays a narcissist disgustingly well, I'm not sure I've ever met someone so kind. He has his moments, sure. I've seen them firsthand, but when the cameras all go away, and it's just him. Him and his kids, especially, he's a completely different person. Kind, thoughtful, charismatic, funny in that dad humor sort of way. It's hard to get a read on him at first because he's initially and naturally on the introverted side of the spectrum, the complete opposite of my extroverted soul. But once he gets to talking, there's no stopping him.
His family means everything to him, and I can see why his kids seem to adore him so much.
He's a good dad, and I believe once upon a time he was also a good husband. Perhaps fame and success changed him, too. In a different way it did his wife who seems almost obsessed with maintaining a "perfect" image.
Maybe it made him realize settling down so young before he truly had time to explore the playing field was a mistake. He's not the first, and he won't be the last.
Just like I probably won't be the last.
I only planned to fuck him once. That was all that was needed to guarantee a front row seat to view the horrified look on her face when I told her, in graphic detail, how I'd fucked her husband in their bed. The overwhelming satisfaction that would forever satisfy me at seeing her hurt. Seeing her pain and knowing that I caused it.
The ability to close up a stinging chapter of my life that could only be achieved by ruining hers.
I was wrong.
I was wrong about everything.
Roman isn't an ugly man at all, so the attraction component of things was never a concern. I immediately thought him someone I'd fuck in a heartbeat just from the first photo I saw of him on Google a years back. What I didn't realize, however, is that physical and sexual attraction would end up being the least of things I've grown to feel about and towards this man.
I feel for him in a way I've never felt about anyone before. Desire his presence and attention in ways that scare me. I don't have to force. I just am. He's the easiest person I've ever had the pleasure of talking to, hence why pillow talk between us has been the norm since the first time we fucked.
And the sex….
Far too intimate for someone I hated with a fiery passion for so many years.
Almost as much as I hate her.
Or did.
Because she's yet another character who's undergone edits and revisions I didn't think were possible.
I'm 100% certain her being exactly as awful as I remember, believed her to be, would resulted in me not laying up on this man as he strokes my back and talks with me about his thoughts and concerns towards his career that's nearing its final run.
It would have fueled my dedication to sticking to the plan.
But she's not awful. Hasn't been. She's goal driven and image obsessed, but she also has asked genuine questions about me, spent time with me that's always felt wanted instead of forced. Cracked jokes and encouraged me to actually utilize my business degree and go for the jewelry business I've always wanted to open but never found the means or way to for XYZ reason.
Even hinted she'd invest.
That's not something a cold, heartless bitch would do.
Yet another example of me being confused and conflicted as fuck. For every not so great to horrible thing I know or believe about her, there's an antithesis. And for him, I can't seem to even find a fucking vice. Not one that'll stick.
He's a cheater?
Well, so are most men, and even so, what does that make me?
She's a liar? Again, pot meet kettle.
Both adjectives swarm around in my head as we go for round who knows what, this time with him on top, in between my legs. Missionary. That position that's supposed to be reserved for lovers, and in the physical sense, we are.
For him, at least. For me, it's physical and beyond. I love this man. I'm in love with this man, and I shouldn't be. I can't be.
It's not only wrong on a variety of levels, but it's a hopeless cause. A dead end to nothing and nowhere. He's married, and that's not changing. Shayna is never going to leave him. I still don't know what made her file for divorce only to change her mind, nor is it really any of my business, but if even after multiple affairs, filing, and dismissal, she's still not going anywhere….she never will.
And perhaps he was the one who fought for them to stay together. Unlikely. He wouldn't be fucking me like this, flying me out to spend the week in Vegas with him while she and the kids are back home, if he truly wanted to make his marriage work. They live as two strangers who stay together for the sake of image and family. Must believe that together is better for the kids.
I honestly haven't a fucking clue how I've allowed things to get this far. One minute I was plotting and scheming, the next I was smiling and laughing and loving. None of the latter being forced or disingenuous. I don't have to make anything be something it's not because it just is.
Organic and real.
What I feel for Roman is real. But it was all built upon a mountain of lies that began not with my arrival to Miami, but my arrival into the world.
Over 20 years ago
The day that I'll never forget and the one Shayna probably doesn't even remember. Or perhaps she does and just doesn't care.
My thoughts take on a darker, heavier turn as we lay in bed once more, hours later, the sound of his soft snoring in my ear as his arm anchors around my body, my back into his chest. He sleeps. I spiral.
The day where both titles and dynamics shifted. Where visits became more spread out until ending altogether. Phone calls that went unanswered. Hugs and kisses to my forehead never felt again. My questions always met with kind smiles and sweet words betrayed by the meaning of those words. I eventually stopped asking, stopped sitting on the sofa, looking out the window, waiting to see her pull up.
Later on, I would learn the hard way that Shayna met someone while away at college. Someone who she decided she wanted to do life with. That was a much better option than whoever my sperm donor was. That she saw as her chance to a better, different life.
One that didn't include me.
I accepted what I couldn't fully grasp but understood enough to be filled with an insurmountable amount of grief for such a young child. Grief that would become a recurring theme of my life.
That catapulted one Saturday morning when I woke up and wasn't immediately hit with the smell of my grandma's favorite pancakes but instead found her dead on the bathroom floor with a toothbrush in her mouth.
Brain aneurysm.
I was seven.
Shayna never even said a word to me at the funeral.
Fast forward four years later, living with my great grandma, the sweetest, kindest woman I'd ever met. Getting off the bus and walking into the house that was far too quiet around the time she was always watching reruns of her favorite judge shows.
A silence that made sense once I made my way to her room and found her still in the bed. Sleeping. Eternally.
Heart attack.
I was 11.
Shayna didn't even come to the funeral.
Sustainability, however, came in the form of the grandfather I never knew and only met because no one wanted me, and it was either he take custody of me or I'd become a ward of the state. Thus, his reluctant acceptance.
He was a tall, big, burly man with a gray goatee, bald head, and a cane he really should have used more often than he did. Lived out in the middle of nowhere and was the textbook definition of that old, cranky neighborhood all the kids were afraid of.
I wasn't.
No, I quickly learned that I inherited my sassy and bold personality not just from life that'd forced me to grow up much sooner than anyone should but the grandparent who would end up becoming my best friend and favorite person.
As much as we bickered and argued, he was always the person who supported me the most. Showed up at all my events. Even signed an AMA to leave the hospital shortly after a nasty fall to see me walk across the stage at my college graduation.
"I'm proud of you, kid." He whispered, holding me tight as I cried silently into his chest, soaking up the love and support.
Three months later, he passed away.
And two years later, I'm still not over it. Still haven't decided what to do with his land or the almost seven figure inheritance from his life insurance policy that he left me.
Only me.
For two years, I've been in a state of limbo. Living in a crappy apartment, working as a bottle girl, trying to figure out what the fuck to do with my life.
At twenty four, I felt absolutely lost.
So when I randomly received Shayna's call and offer, I saw it as a way to right the many wrongs that'd been done to me and then try to figure out what to do and where to go from there.
But I feel even more lost now than I did then.
Until I don't.
Because it's not until days later, as I'm standing in the midst of a roaring crowd filled with thunderous applause and three letter chants, and watching them, that I understand. I watch how he greets them. First his sons, then his daughter, and finally her. See the wholesome interaction that finally forces to accept what I've refused to for far too long.
That that's his family. It's Shayna's family. That is the family that she chose. Lyla, kind and empathetic, the daughter that they'd conceived while they were still in college. The one she chose to acknowledge.
And keep.
Their twin sons, River and Rowan, almost ten and the sweetest, funniest set of kids I'v ever met.
That was the family.
Not me.
And certainly not the child in my stomach they could never find out about.
Regardless of how it all came to be, the manipulation and strings pulled that resulted in Shayna getting her happy ending, that's exactly what she'd found.
I couldn't ruin that. I can't. No matter how much my chest hurts and eyes water when he casts a quick glance to me before turning to climb back in the ring to celebrate his win. A quick look away and sniffle right as I see the boys lift their fingers to the sky to acknowledge him.
It's then that I know exactly what I need to do.
What I should have done a long time ago.
I have to leave.
There is no other option. The web of lies I've cast are far too great to walk back. There is no fixing what I've done. The truth will only hurt, only destroy, only ruin.
My feelings towards Shayna are still confusing and mixed, but there's no denying the love I've developed for the kids.
For Roman.
And for them, because of them, I can't.
I might have come out here a destroyer, but I hope to leave as a peace offering. It's the best outcome that can be found in any of this.
My sins are too great and unforgivable.
But even though Shayna started this, I can finish it. I can break the cycle.
I have to.
Not to mention…I'd only be bringing this child into another generation of dysfunction, thus doing the very same thing that I've hated Shayna for all these years.
It's a heartbreaking, devastating revelation, too. To see how even without her presence and role in my life, for majority of it at least, I'm nothing more than a reflection of her.
