Chapter Five #3
“Then leave bruh!” His voice rose, echoing throughout the house. “If I’m such an asshole, then get the fuck out. Go home! I’ll pay for your flight. But fuckin’ torturin’ the both of us by pretending this is something that it ain’t! You know what the fuck goin’ on bruh!”
Heavy, suffocating silence lingered through the air.
Then the sound of heels stomping down the hallway. A door slamming.
I sat on my bed, frozen, my heart racing.
A few minutes later, there was a soft knock on my door.
“Synthia? You woke?”
Mimi’s whisper.
My eyes darted open, but I didn’t move. She inched further in the room, her shoes slapping against the marble tile.
“You okay?” She asked me.
“Yeah,” I sighed. “I’m sort of tipsy. I drunk up all the wine.”
“I should’ve stayed here with you, with all the fun,” she teased as she plopped down on the bed with me.
“We would’ve had fun,” I giggled. “You know how we get down. It don’t take much.”
“Just like the good ‘ole days.” She released a giggle of her own. “Did you at least leave enough wine for me?”
“I’m sure it’s some Don Julio in there. After the night you had you deserve the get fucked up.”
“They argued the whole time in the sprinter,” she whispered. “I don’t how much more of this shit I can take.”
“Me either,” I mumbled.
Mimi sighed, while studying me for a moment. “Synthia, just be ready for the blow up. Because it’s coming.”
I didn’t respond and neither did she. There was unspoken silence between us, before she gave me a hug and exited the room, closing the door after her.
The storm was coming and here I am, in the middle of it.
2:47 AM
That’s what the time read on my phone.
I couldn’t sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, they popped open again.
I rolled over in the bed, the cool sheets felt smooth against my bare legs. The room was dark, except for the light illuminating from the television. The waves crashing against the shore was soothing, but only made me feel more restless.
The silence had been deafening. Then the sound of a door slamming. Then footsteps, then more silence. Still, hours later, sleep wouldn’t come.
I threw the covers back and sat up. My feet touching the cool marble floor.
I figured maybe a shower would help. Something to wash away all the tension, the restless sleep, the guilt and the confusing mess of emotions tangled up inside me.
I grabbed my towel and padded quietly into the attached bathroom, closing the door softly behind me.
The bathroom was huge and luxuries. The kind I’d never experienced before. The kind that reminded me just how different Romelo’s world was from mine.
I turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature until he steam began to fill the room.
The hot water felt like heaven against my skin as I stepped under the shower head and closed my eyes, letting the water wash over me.
I stood there for a long time, my mind going blank, my body beginning to relax.
Until I heard the bathroom door open.
My eyes snapped open, my heart leaping into my throat. “Mimi?”
“It’s me.”
Romelo’s voice. His deep baritone sent chills down my spine. I froze, my hands covering my breasts, even though the frost was covering the shower door. As if he hadn’t seen the most intimate parts on my body.
“Why are you in here?” I asked my voice coming out harsh.
I couldn’t sleep,” he said simply. “I can stop thinkin’ ‘bout you.”
Through the frosted glass, I could see his silhouette. Tall. Lanky. Unmoving.
“So you thought you could just walk into my bathroom?”
He shrugged. “You left the bedroom door unlocked.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“I needed to see you,” he interrupted, his voice low rough. “I couldn’t wait Juicy. You stopped responding to me.”
My chest tightened. “I’m not obligated to respond to you.”
“You are.” His voice rumbled. “Juicy, don’t act like that towards me.”
The nickname sent a shiver down my spine again.
“Romelo, you need to leave,” I said my lacked with conviction.
“For what?”
“Because Trecee is right down the hall.” I uttered barely above a whisper over the running water.
“And because you’re scared.”
I didn’t respond. Couldn’t respond. But he was right.
I heard movement. Footsteps on the tile.
And then the shower door opened. Steam billowed out and through it.
Fully clothed still—the white Dior monographic collar shirt and Dior shorts.
The white Alexander McQueen shoes were still laced on his feet too.
The Van Cleef necklace around his neck was glistening too, like the few on his left wrist.
“Romelo,” I gasped, feeling the cool air rush in.
“Tell me to leave,” he said with his eyes locked on mine. “Tell me you don’t want me here and I’ll go.”
My mouth opened, then closed. The words wouldn’t come.
Because I wanted him here. I wanted him near me.
He stepped closer to me, still fully clothed, immediately soaking his shirt, plastering it to his body.
The thin fabric became transparent, revealing every ridge of muscle, and every tattoo etched into his skin.
“You’re getting wet,” I said stupidly.
“I don’t care.” He moved closer to me. The water cascading over the both of us now. “I only care about you. I don’t give a fuck ‘bout nothin’ else.”
His hand came up to cup my face, his thumb brushing across my cheek. Water dripped from his waves, running down his face. His touch was gentle, like I was something precious.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, his face inches away from mine.
I parted my mouth to speak, but words didn’t escape. My heart thumped so loudly through my chest—so loud that I thought he could hear it. I was desperate for him—yearning for this. Yearning for his touch.
He knew it too. He knew me. He didn’t suffice either, so when he leaned in and kissed me I didn’t pull away.
The kiss was nasty. Desperate like me—longing too. Like we were both drowning and each other was the only source of air.
His hands slid down to my waist, pulling me flush against him.
I could feel every ridge of muscle through his wet shirt.
The hardness of his body was solid against my softness.
His dick was already hard, pressing against my stomach.
His hands hungrily touching my body, glued to my skin.
He broke the kiss long enough to pull his shirt over his head and toss it out the shower, with a wet slap against the tile.
Then his mouth met mine again, kissing me sloppy, as if we were on a timer, waiting for it to go off, counting down the seconds.
He was dominating it, making me knees grow weak.
“Romelo,” I gasped against his wet lips, drenched in my shower water and my spit. “We can’t.”
“We can,” he gripped my ass, then his hands firmly caressing my love handles, groping me. “We are. We will.”
His hands began to mesmerize every curve. His fingers dug possessively and I knew there would be bruises tomorrow. The gesture made me wetter. My body being wet casted a difference between the juice swarming down my thighs.
“What about—”
“Fuck ha,” he growled, then slithered his tongue down my neck, where he began to suck hard enough to draw blood. I gasped at the sharp pain, sending jolts of pleasure throughout my body. “Fuck everybody,” he whispered into my ear. “Right now, there’s only you…only us.”
Romelo released my neck, then gently pushed me back until my back hit the cool marble wall of the shower.
The contrast between between the cold stone and his hot body was making my pussy throb.
My nipples hardened into small pebbles and his eyes dropped to them, with an undisguised hunger, like a baby waiting to be breast fed.
“I want you,” she spoke.
For a split second, I glanced into his eyes. They were filled with an intense hunger that made my stomach clench. “All I want is you. I’ve always wanted you and I’m gonna have you in every way I can think of.”
He craned his neck then latched onto my right nipple, sucking hard while his hand squeezed and kneaded my left breast. I moaned loud and unashamed, as if we were alone. When he bit down gently on my right nipple, I cried out, my fingers becoming tangled in his wet waves.
“I love the way your body tastes.” His voice muffled against my wet flesh.
“Hmmm Hmm,” I whimpered.
Greedily, he showed the same attention to my left nipple—sucking it, licking it—biting it, while his hand, slid down my stomach, over my belly then lowered his fingers to my freshly waxed pussy.
“Spread your legs for me Juicy,” he commanded.
I obeyed, immediately, widening my stance.
His fingers slid between my folds and he groaned, with his head tossed back in astonishment before leaning his head forward. His brows were knitted but movements between my thighs never stopped. “Fuuuuck, you’re so wet. All this good shit for me baby?”
“Yes,” uttered, then gasped again when his fingers circled my sensitive bud with slight pressure. “A-all f-for you,” I struggled to say.”
“Good girl,” he praised me. “You’re such a good fuckin’ girl.” He uttered again once more. His words sent a praise through me.
I bent down my neck as I bit down on my bottom lip, trying to conceal my loud moans, but Romelo was making it hard. My eyes closed shut then flapped open, glancing at my creamy cum swarming down his knuckles, coating his wrist, then touching the shower floor. I was making a mess.
“Ooooooh fuuuuck,” I moaned on the verge of tears.
He worked my clit expertly, building me up slowly until I was panting and grinding against his hand shamelessly.
“Romelo,” I whispered desperately. “P-please,” I pleaded with a stutter.
“Please what baby?” He asked, then proceed to stick two fingers inside of me. He was skilled, because he never stopped circling my clit with his thumb. God created a monster when he curated this nasty ass nigga. “Tell me what you want baby.” His voice was low and deep, swooning me under.