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dejameflorecer · 20 days ago

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give me a reason + four

authors note: after 298028 years of waiting, this story is finally off of hiatus. as i've mentioned several times, i'm seeing my joe stories to the end. don't like it. don't read. i've worked too hard on plotting these stories, especially this one.

as it's been sooooo long, i def recommend catching up and rereading. also, if you feel even more confused after reading this, then i've done my job.

lastly, shoutout to @psilovey0u for "playing" the character of shay in this one. 🥰

masterlist

words: 9k

warnings: some angst and fluff

Fall, 2010

In her almost 21 years of living, Mariella could probably count on one hand how often she’s experienced stage fright. A few times, sure, but nothing excessive. It’s always been so natural for her to perform and be on stage in front of a crowd.

But, this….this is not the type of crowd she’s ever wanted to stand before, and this is the one performance she deep down knew would one day occur but always prayed would never come this soon.

But, it has.

Clearing her throat, she drops her gaze to her closed toe black heels. Her “nice” heels. A fitting and appropriate match to her Sunday best black dress. Form fitting but concealing of her cleavage. She must have spent an hour trying to decide on what exactly to wear, eventually settling on what she could see her grandma smiling and providing a thumbs up as a cosign before shushing her away, so she could watch her stories.

Some of Mariella’s favorite memories. Memories that will never be added to again, because her grandma, one of Mariella’s favorite people on this whole earth, is now gone.

She’s gone.

Cleaning her throat, Mariella finally finds her voice just enough to speak after standing on the pulpit, silent with misty eyes for a good two minutes.

“I, ummm, I thought about this a lot.” So much. Maybe more than she’s ever thought about anything else in her life. “About what I wanted to sing. What…what she would have wanted my….my last song for her to be.”

Words that feel so strange considering less than a month ago, she was sitting on the floor of her grandma’s home playing her guitar, playing a few chords of the latest song she was working on.

Now, she’s in front of her grandma’s church congregation singing at her funeral.

Life.

Mariella adjusts the guitar, toying with the pick in her hand, clearing her throat, eyes watering once more seeing her mom cry into her dad’s shoulder.

“I hope this is okay, grandma.” A final whispered, broken statement followed by the strum of her guitar, signifying to the choir and musicians that she’s ready.

As ready as one can be in that moment.

All the colors of the rainbow

All the voices of the wind

Every dream that reaches out

That reaches out to find where love begins

Every word of every story

Every star in every sky

Every corner of creation

Lives to testify

Eyes closed, emotion filling her voice, coursing through her fingers as she plays her guitar, sings one of her grandma’s favorite songs, Mariella powers through. Through the sadness. Through the grief. Through the way she’d rather be doing anything but this, and not because she hates the singing, hates the song. She hates the reason.

Hates the why of it all.

Hates it with everything in her.

For as long as I shall live

I will testify to love

I'll be a witness in the silences

When words are not enough

With every breath I take

I will give thanks to God above

For as long as I shall live

I will testify to love

She tries to hold it together, having to ignore the heartbroken expressions of her family, the way her father—as he always has—is the pillar of strength for her mother. Tamia keeping a hold on Byron’s arm. Olivia and Everly sitting side by side, Everly’s boyfriend, Ellis, to the right of her. Iris and Promise Rose in the pew ahead of them. Her family. Her friends. The people she loves the most.

It all stirs up the emotions that have been maximized and intensified since the moment her sweet grandmother took her last breath. However, even with all of that, the sea of grieving individuals before her, none of that brings her to the brink of her emotions until she lays eyes on him.

Is in the midst of the bridge of the song when she spots him the minute he walks into the church. Hair pulled back. Dressed in a black suit. The way he lifts his sunglasses from off the bridge of his nose and rests them atop his head. How he offers a small smile and handshake to the usher who starts to guide him to an available seat.

Only then, as he’s being guided down the aisle do their eyes lock.

That’s when the damn breaks.

Seeing how much empathy and comfort is conveyed in one expression.

Seeing him.

How she holds it together long enough to finish the song is beyond her, though her voice breaks and cracks more and more towards the tail end. She holds it together. Long enough to step back from the microphone, hand over her guitar to a choir member, leave the chancel, bypassing her family where she she was previously sitting, making a beeline straight for him.

Naturally and so easily, she presses her body into his, accepting his embrace, allowing herself to fully engrain herself in his comfort.

Because that’s exactly what it is in this moment.

“You wanna get out of here?”

And that is precisely why he’s her comfort. He knows her so well. Better than most people. Knows how much she hates death, hates funerals. Hid out in the back of the church during her other deceased grandparents funerals. She hates this and wants nothing more than to be gone, hence her nodding into his chest.

His lips are pressed into the top of her head, her hair slick and pulled back into a neat bun. Similair to his.

Joe’s hand slides down to hers. A gentle squeeze and guidance out of the church, away from the weight of it all. They don’t go far. To a local park up the street where she used to sit on the swings and talking with her best friends about dreams of her future, hopes and aspirations, as the boys played a game of tackle football.

Right now though, the future feels numb.

“She’d probably tell me to stop crying.” It’s the first thing to leave her mouth after they sit next to each other on the bench. Her grip still on his muscular arm, head leaned into him. “Or to keep the noise down.”

A quiet chuckle from the man she’s leaning on. More than just physically. “Yeah, probably.” Mariella’s grandmother was the best and funniest person she ever met. At 11am, she’d be perched in front of her TV, deeply devoted in the span of soap operas she’d watched religiously as long as Mariella could remember, and by 6pm, she’d be on the front pew at church, bible in her lap, dressed in her Sunday best for evening service. She was equally firm as she was loving, and it’s a dynamic Mariella always loved.

And will miss greatly.

“How….how’s it going with the team?” Talking about death is uncomfortable for anyone, but especially her. Hence her wanting and needing to almost talk about something different. Anything.

Except, Joe’s silence is more telling than any verbal reply. It makes the frown on her face deepen and a sense of guilt overcome her.

She knows his NFL career hasn’t exactly gone the way—or anyone else—could have predicted. The complete opposite of BJ who’s excelled since being the nbumber one pick in the draft.

Joe wasn’t even drafted.

Bounced around to now two, maybe three different teams, never making it far enough to actually see the gridiron beyond the preseason. It’s been rough for him, to say the least, and hearing that that might be the case yet again with another team is difficult.

She tightens her grip on his arm, murmuring, “it’ll work out….you’ll see.”

He still says nothing, and she just knows her words are bouncing off his thick, dense layer of defense. Joe has always been the type to compartmentalize emotions, not the best with being open about them, the opposite of herself, someone who has always worn her heart on her sleeve.

Glass half empty vs glass half full.

“Thank you for coming.” A bit of redirection. An emotional murmur, tears brewing in her eyes. For every rough thing she’s ever experienced in her life, Joe has always been there. He might be BJ’s best friend, but he’s always been more than that for her.

Much more.

A heavy sigh, her eyes shutting feeling his mouth press a kiss to the top of her head.

“I’ll always be here for you, Ri.” An oath, a vow, a promise. “Always.”

——————

Seeing Mariella in person for the first time in two, almost three weeks, is an experience. A strange experience. Joe doesn’t get nervous, not really, but there’s something anxiety inducing about the whole thing. About waiting in the FBO for her jet to land, for her to touch down in the same city where he is, for her to stay in said city so long as he is present only to continue the continuation by going on the road with him.

That also invokes anxiety. Once upon a time, neither thought twice about it. Ri tagging along with him for a few shows before she got back to her own career, either touring, promoting, or recording. But, that was then, and this is now. Things are different.

Much much different.

He truly has no idea how this is going to go. He wants her with him, has missed her, longer than just for the 2 to 3 weeks she’s been with her family. He’s missed her for years. But, them “reuniting” in this sort of capacity is something he could have never anticipated.

Ever.

The anxiety lingers and flows as her jet lands, as he waits, leaning against the SUV, arms crossed. Jumps at least five different levels as the steps lower, only to boom another ten levels when she appears at the top of said steps.

Looking around, clearly taken back by it all, Joe’s stomach tightens when her gaze lands on him. Brown locking onto brown. The smallest smile on her face as she descends. He can’t take his eyes off her, memorizing every little detail of her, from the way she has her twists down and free, the way she always prefers protective styles. The way she briefly looks down to count and focus on the steps, a must given her tendency to fall, faceplant, and everything else in between when it comes to non-flat surface.

Even the way her hips sway in those black tights to the way her breast sit nice and perched in her plain, short sleeved, gray top.

He just takes in her.

“Hey,” she says, Joe realizing in all his staring that he’d completely missed when she reached close proximity. She crosses her arms, lifting one hand to shield from the beam of the strong lighting fixtures around them. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“Of course.” There was no way he wasn’t going to meet her. “Hey.”

While he feels a bit silly and like a damn teenager repeating what was already stated, she chuckles and gestures to the jet with her thumb. “Guess I was definitely right about the rich thing, huh?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, something like that.”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, something, okay.” The way her smile grows makes his appear as well. It’s probably the most he’s smiled in some time. A long time. “You still haven’t really explained all that to me.”

“I will,” he promises. The story of her, of him, of them, is something he won’t keep from her. Some….parts, perhaps, but nothing as important as how they went from their lights getting cut off to owning several properties is certainly a tale worth telling. “You don’t expect me to do it now, do you?”

“No, smartass.” Another eyes roll as she lazily shrugs. “But, while I’m here with you…yeah?”

The softness and hope in her voice, the flash of something in her eyes, it’s impossible to say anything other than—

“Yes.”

Her smile deepens. “Cool beans.” Joe is the one to chuckle, noticing how she shivers, crossing her arms over her body.

“Shit,” he curses quietly, not hesitating to lift his hoodie over his head.

“No, that’s—” Her apology is interrupted by him offering her the hoodie, facial expression verbalizing what he doesn’t even need to say. Take it. She presses her lips together, silently accepting and sliding it over her head. Something stirs within him as she tries her best to adjust it given how it drapes over her body. He’s reminded. Reminded of all the times she’s taken his merch, worn it sometimes before he even gets a chance to, “borrowing” it as she would always say.

He’d never get it back.

Not really.

And, he didn’t really care then.

Still doesn’t now.

“Thanks,” she looks down, reading the wording. “So....Roman….he seems like a bit of an ass.”

Joe smiles. “Something like that.”

“Something like that,” she mimics his words, tone slightly mocking, eyes locking on his. “Thanks for letting me come.”

“Of course,” he murmurs. Mariella wanting to come see him, spend time with him, on her own volition feels foreign and almost wrong in some instances.

“I want a divorce.”

Her sentence from that night, before it all went to hell, before her accident, returning to the forefront of his mind, weighing down his smile and joy at having her back with him. It’s a shift noticed by her.

She frowns. “Everything alright?”

Joe has always been quick with most things, hence his ease with playing it off. “Yeah.” He clears his throat, motioning behind her. “Flight alright?”

She shrugs, making that face she always does when wanting to say something but opting for an alternative. “Yeah….boring.”

He chuckles. Initially, the plan was for Everly to fly out with Ri, but she apparently had a prior engagement that didn’t allow her to do so. Thus, Joe offering to fly out to fly back with her. Something Ri rejected at the time but might just be regretting.

He can’t help pointing it out. Some element of I told you so. “Should have let me fly with you.”

She rolls her eyes, mouth moving as if mimicking him. His smile deepens.

God, he’s missed her.

It’s only when she lifts her arms, stretching that he realizes them standing outside the jet at almost 10 o’clock at night can’t be high up on her list of things she was looking forward to during this visit. What exactly she is looking forward to, though, is something he’s curious about.

Joe recognizes that a part of her, maybe most, just wanted to get away. That she felt somewhat suffocated by her family’s attempts to help her regain her memories. That being out here with him, of all people, seemed….easier.

Free.

He just hopes that that ends up being the case.

After getting her bags, nothing more than a single suitcase and stuffed backpack, he loads them in the back of the SUV and holds the door open for her to climb in ahead of him.

She snorts, commenting, “at least you have manners.”

He rolls his eyes, starting to slap her ass as she climbs in but ultimately and smartly decides against it. A difficult thing given how….easy it all feels right now. And easy is the last word he’d used to describe anything regarding his relationship with his wife the past few years.

The very last.

“So…..” He looks over at her, seeing her phone in hand, fingers moving rapidly. Text to her family to let them know she made it, he’d guess. And then she hits the lock button, looking back over at him. “Good ole’ Dallas Texas is where we’re kicking stuff off, huh?” She turns, looking out the window, for what, he’s not sure considering how late it is and that she doesn’t bother rolling it down. “Should I have brought like….Western shit?”

He smiles, head leaned back against the seat. “I mean, if you want to. Don’t think it’s a requirement.”

Joe can hear the shift, opening his eyes to see she’s angled her body towards him. She looks down at the hoodie, clearly reading, “Dallas, acknowledge me.” She reads aloud, borderline dramatic. Her eyes dart back up to him. “You really do play an insufferable narcissist, huh?”

For a second, he’s taken back. Pulled from this moment. The sight of her, lip curled upwards, eyes wet and red, nothing but venom, “you really are a fucking narcissist.”

He can still recall the sound of the door slamming as he walked out, leaving her alone to rage—and cry—on her own.

“Joe.”

Once more, she has to pull him from unpleasant thoughts from the past. But, relevant. Always relevant.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, running his hand over his face. “Roman is what the people like, so I give it to them.”

A weak answer, but the best he can do with the lingering feelings of his flashback still present and felt.

She says nothing, lips pressed together as she suddenly asks, practically blurting out, “are you hungry?”

His attention briefly darts to and focuses on her mouth. “Are you?”

Ri opens and closes her mouth, shaking her head, looking away. “No….no.” He waits for it. Waits for it. Waits—“I mean, unless you are.”

“Mariella.” He cuts her off, jumping straight to the point. “You’re hungry, aren’t you?”

“Starving,” she answers almost immediately, whining and dropping her hand to her stomach. “I didn’t even get my complimentary peanuts. What flight doesn’t offer complimentary peanuts?”

“Did you ask for them?”

“Well, no, not exactly—”

“What is exactly?”

“I don’t know,” she scowls, shrugging and answering almost defensively. “I was kind of busy.”

“Doing what?”

Another roll of her pretty eyes, as she grumbles, “do you always ask this many questions?”

Joe doesn’t miss a beat with his response. “Only when they’re warranted.” She doesn’t say anything, her scowl deepening as he chuckles and explains, “you could have just asked for something. It’s a private jet, Ri. Not commercial. Sometimes they ask, but I guess they figured since it’s so late, you were fine.”

“I wasn’t fine. I was hungry and thirsty.” The almost childlike tone of her voice, the pout of her full lips, and the overall nature of the conversation. It’s all so appreciated. More than she could possibly ever realize.

This….this is his Ri.

“Well, what do you want to eat?”

“Pizza!” He laughs at her almost desperate answer. “I saw a commercial for Pizza Hunt at the terminal, and they have stuf—”

“Stuffed crust?” He finishes for her, noticing the way her eyebrows shift from visible confusion. “It’s your favorite.”

Always has been. Even back when they were all kids, her parents hosting parties during the summer for the them and their friends, usually ordering a bunch of pizzas, a separate stuffed crust one just for Mariella.

She makes a sound, pulling out her phone, typing while sharing aloud, “fave food….pizza.”

This time, he makes a sound, catching her attention. “What?”

“Your favorite pizza is pepperoni, stuffed crust, but your favorite food is Greek.”

“Greek?”

“Greek.”

She makes a face, just as confused. “Okay…what exa—”

“Gyros. Greek salads, too, but you have to have them both together. According to you, just one on its own just doesn’t taste right.” Her expression drops into something neutral and unreadable. Naturally, he frowns. “What?”

A bit of hesitation as she shakes her head, explaining, “nothing.” She clears her throat, asking, distracted almost, “so, umm, can we—can we get pizza?”

He, too, is distracted at first, curious of what’s going on in that head of hers but not wanting to push. “Yeah. Yeah….Of course.”

This is sure to be an interesting couple of weeks.

————

“This is so good. Oh my God.”

Joe’s smile has more or less remained on his face from the minute his wife stepped off the jet, sometimes disappearing for a brief period, but never longer than a few minutes, at most.

Mariella makes a sound, reaching over for a napkin with one hand, her half eaten slice of pizza in the other. “Dude.” She starts, pausing to wipe the remnants of marinara sauce sitting right near her cupid’s bow. “You sure you don’t want any?”

He glances over at the box that sits closed on the table. Halfway confused. “Naw, I’m good.”

She then makes a face, asking, “wait, can you?”

“Watchu’ mean?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. You’re all…..fit and muscly—” He mouths the word muscly as she takes another bite, waiting until she’s done chewing before continuing. “Seems like it wouldn’t be in your diet or whatever.”

“Well, you’re not wrong about that. It’s not. Not really, anyway.” That doesn’t mean he doesn’t divest from objectively strict dietary restrictions from time to time. But, eating stuffed crust pizza close to 11 at night is a cheat he just can’t allow himself.

Her eyes suddenly widen right as she’s about to take another bite. “Wait, can I have this?”

And before he can follow up with a clarifying question, she’s gesturing down to her outfit. Some shorts and his hoodie. She put it right back on as soon as she got out of the shower.

He tries not to think too much about that.

“Aren’t I like…..this big singer or something?

“Or something.”

She glares, tossing an unopened packet of red peppers from where he’s laid across the end of the bed, her sitting up against the headboard, enjoying probably the latest dinner they’ve ever shared. “You eat what you want. Do what you want. That’s always been your thing. Especially with your career.”

She smiles craftily, taking another bite, scoffing, “guess I’m kinda of like Roman in that aspect, huh?”

He briefly wonders if he should tell her that she helped him and Paul come up with the specifics regarding the revamp of his character. That she not only created and produced his new theme song but that of his cousins as well. Ultimately, he decides against it. This is for her. Not him.

“So…..”

“So......”

She rolls her eyes, asking while moving her palm up her thigh, plate of half eaten pizza balanced somehow on her other thigh. “We grew up together, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Like….from what age?”

Joe picks up a packet of red peppers, moving it back and forth in between his index finger and thumb. “Forever.” Her confused expression is expected, as he explains, “I’ve been best friends with BJ since we were little kids.”

At that, her jaw drops. “Wait, seriously?” He nods. “So, that’s why my family loves you so much.”

You used to as well.

Mari grabs a napkin and wipes the crumbs from her mouth. “Well, everyone except Olivia.” He already know the follow-up question, preparing for how he wants to answer and how much he wants to disclose. “Why does she dislike you so much?”

Joe would consider it more hate than anything, but that’s neither here nor there.

“I was….” Answering it in real time is a different experience, somewhat difficult as he quickly works through what should and should not be shared. What’s germane and what is not. Even if he’s not necessarily the right person to determine what she’s told and what she’s not. Especially when she’s asking for the truth.

And, he gives it to her.

Just with…..some omissions.

“I got around in high school—”

“—Oh no.”

Continuing to flip the packet in hand, it’s difficult to contain his small smile. “What?”

She looks visibly distraught, mouth turned up in disgust. “Don’t tell me I married that school hoe.”

At that, Joe shakes his head, retorting casually. “Naw, that would have been BJ. He was the real dog.”

“And what were you, the puppy?”

He laughs, shaking his head.

God, he’s missed this so much.

“So, not only did I marry my big brother’s best friend, but the school’s second biggest hoe?” It’s the way she says it, straight face and all that has him sighing and running his hand over his face.

“Something like that.”

Another almost random question that just makes sense for her. “How much older than me are you?”

“Four years,” he answers. “We didn’t get together until you were in your early twenties.”

Ri makes a sound, shrugging and reaching for a breadstick, talking while chewing. “At least you didn’t rob the cradle.”

He rolls his eyes. “That’s not me.”

She snorts. “Well, it’s not like I’d remember anything anyway.” She points to her head while swallowing the remnants of the food in her mouth. “Bad car accident, remember?”

He does remember. No matter how hard he tries not to.

Specifically, the reason she was even on the road that night in the first place.

“Joe.”

He shakes his head, realizing he’d tuned out once more. “Sorry.” Clearing his throat, he tosses the packet near the rest. “What were you saying?”

Instead of responding, he watches the way she turns and leans over the mattress to get a better look at the clock on the nightstand. “Holy crap, I didn’t realize it was this late.” Joe follows her line of vision, also slightly surprised to see 12:45am staring back at him in bright LED lights. “Don’t you have work tomorrow?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, but I don’t really have to be at the arena until 5ish.”

Her full lips turn into a small smirk as she leans forward, hands in between her spread legs, plate now beside her, pushing down on the material of the hoodie. “Courtesy of being the big dog now, yeah?” He’s not really sure how he plans to respond to that, but it’s a moot point, as he sees the way she looks away, frown forming that causes him to redirect his focus.

“What’s wrong?”

There’s a moment of delay, as she stammers with her reply. “That….that’s what they called you at one point.” He sits up, back straightening, observing the way her frown gradually shifts into a small smile. “Like….your performance name or whatever?” Joe nods, unsure just what about this sudden remembrance has him feeling whatever it is the fuck he’s feeling. “You weren’t the biggest fan.”

“I wasn’t a fan of a lot of things they were doing with me at that time.”

And, he used to talk about it with and to her freely. Openly. All the time. More than just his wife and confidant. His best friend.

She was his best friend at one point in his life. For a long time. On some level, their friendship went deeper than that of his with BJ, whom he’ll always consider his brother no matter what.

But, Ri….that’s special.

It was, at least.

It’d been some time since Joe had felt so heavy, so empty, so devastated. And never had or could any of those words be used even in the same vicinity about the woman before him. But, they were. God, they were.

“You’ve done and said some shit these past few months but this?” There’s an increase in his intonation, strongly influenced by the emotions he’s having a hard time containing and controlling. He feels so many things all at once, the strongest one being rage. Or, maybe hurt. It’s hard to tell. “But, this shit right here? How the fuck do you expect me to get over this, Mariella? For us to get past this?”

And just like that, there’s a shift. Not on her part. On his. The enjoyment and lighthearted tone that had consumed and swam around them from the minute she stepped off the plane is all but gone. Stomped out by the scars and memories of a past she can’t remember and he can’t forget.

Joe moves on the bed. “It is late though.” He can feel her gaze on him, a mixture of disappointment and confusion, both evident in her voice.

“Yeah….” Mariella clears her throat and goes to stand up from the bed, gesturing to the half eaten food. “Thanks for, umm, taking me to get something to eat.” He doesn’t say anything, just nods and stuff his hands in the pocket of his sweats. “Are you st—”

“I got a separate room for myself.”

He’s not entirely certain, but he swears he sees something like disappointment flash across her face. It would track with the way she starts to mess with the wedding ring on her finger. The ring she normally only wears for public outings and rids herself of the minute they’re in the privacy of their own home or away from speculating eyes.

“Oh.”

Another almost awkward nod. “Yeah.”

Joe briefly considered just asking for an upgrade to a bigger suite but ultimately decided that her having her own room was for the better. At the time, he didn’t like it but felt it was for the best.

Currently, he’s not sure he still feels the same.

“Well—”

“I’ll come meet you in the morning,” he supplies, the desire to be away from her such a stark contrast from everything he’s felt over the past few hours. But, it’s an impossible feeling to shake. An undeniable thing he can’t turn a blind eye to.

Much how like they were before the accident.

“Okay,” she agrees, crossing her arms, asking almost tentatively. “I’m still meeting the twins and Trinity, yeah?”

“Yes.” That was one of the things he mentioned to her in the car on the way to pick up her food. His cousins and Trin wanting to see her. They hadn’t since….shit, Joe can’t really remember the last time they were all around each other. With her in award season following her world tour and them all in Mania season, it’s been hectic, to say the least.

“Good.” Her smile returns at that, though it’s still not as bright as it was before the shift. And, it’s not until she walks him to the door, his hand on the knob that she offers a quiet, “goodnight.”

Once more, difficulty not only responding but even looking at her. Mental flashes of her cold, unfeeling expression, the only sign of emotion being the tears that ran down her flushed face.

“Goodnight.”

It’s not until Joe is back in his room, sitting on the edge of his bed that he realizes this might be harder than he thought for reasons he hadn’t really considered or thought about since she was still in the hospital.

How can I forgive her for what she doesn’t even remember doing?

—————

“Naw, see, this why I don’t like doing this shit with ya’ll, cause ya’ll some cheaters!”

“How you mad cause you losing?”

“Only reason I’m losing is cause ya’ll cheating!”

“You wasn’t saying that when you was winning ten minutes ago!”

“Cause ya’ll wasn’t cheating then!”

Joe rolls his eyes, small smile on his face as he casts a lazy glance to Ri who isn’t even attempting to hide her smile and laughter. The both of which make his deepen a little bit more. She looks over at Trinity who simply shakes her head at her bickering husband and his cousin.

“Would ya’ll both shut the hell up?” She rolls her eyes, gesturing to him. “Ya’ll know Joe gon' end up winning anyway. He does every time.”

At that, Ri turns to look at him, lightly leaning closer and bumping into him as they sit next to her at the table on his bus. “Maybe you’re the one who’s cheating.”

Jon scoffs loudly. “Well, we been knew that.”

Ignoring his cousin, Joe shakes his head, responding smoothly, “never that. Told you. I’m just good at this shit.”

Josh makes a face, mocking him, “yeah, alright, good at cheating.”

“Okay, but wait,” Ri shifts on the seat where she’s got her shapely legs crossed, smooth melanin glowing from the window behind them that shines the bright Dallas sun into their little corner. “Is it true he’s never lost to any of us? Like ever?”

A collective reply and variations of “no.”

Ri turns to look at him, expression completely neutral, silent and watching, followed by a simple. “Oh hell naw, this nigga cheating.”

Another round of loud agreement.

“I told you!”

“He need to be investigated!”

“I always said that shit was weird.”

As Joe holds back laughter, he turns to his wife, asking almost with offense, “you really just gon’ agree with them like that? Over me?”

Ri sucks her teeth, turning up her nose as she angles away from him, clearly trying to hide the cards she’s holding, spread out. “The facts is the facts.”

“And what are the facts?”

Ri sucks her teeth once more, raising her voice and rolling her eyes. “That you cheating! Cause ain’t no goddamn way yo’ ass ain’t ever lost. That just don’t make no sense.”

Trinity makes a “humph” sound, lifting her hand. “Thank you, sis! I been saying the same thing for years.” The two women high five as Joe simply relegates to the fact that he’s outnumbered.

“Whatever.”

As they settle back into more of the gameplay and less of the mudslinging and accusations, Joe also takes in the scene before him.

On some level, there was some concern. Maybe a lot of concern. While his cousins and Trinity don’t know the extent of his marital woes, they know enough. Have seen enough of Joe’s frustrated expressions following blowup phone calls with his wife. Know that the majority of what they sell to their fans has become nothing but a farce intended to keep their images squeaky clean.

And, while he knows they’re the type to never intentionally act strange around her, there was some concern regarding how this interaction would go. Concern that was clearly uncalled for given the almost instant rekindling of the connection they all had. Five minutes of awkwardness that has eased into the comfort and norm Joe had once known.

This was once his norm. Surrounded by the people he loves and cherishes the most.

It’s nice and has been so deeply missed.

It also doesn’t miss him how he also went into this this morning, meeting Ri at her hotel room early this morning, holding a cup of coffee, unsure of what the day would bring. And while sleeping off his many thoughts helped, it was really seeing her smiling face and the way she lit up at the gift in hand that washed it away almost entirely.

As much as she wanted this, wanted to get away for a bit, he’s starting to wonder if he needed it just as much.

If not more.

“Now see,” Josh starts, sitting back in his chair, gesturing to Ri. “I thought we was on the same side, but I see you may be more like your man than you want to admit.”

Ri’s jaw drops as she motions to herself. “How you getting mad at me cause I got a good hand? The Uno rules say you can—”

Jon snickers to himself, mumbling to Trin, “she don’t remember nothing about who she is but she remember the damn rules of Uno.”

“Jon!”

Joe sighs. “Come on, man.”

His cousin points to himself, looking as if he has no idea with what he said wrong. Meanwhile, Ri is just laughing, shaking her head.

“Someone’s mad cause I’m just good at this shit.”

Another round of bickering and arguing as Trinity pulls out here phone and makes a face before working to gather everyone’s attention. “Ya’ll. B just text me. A group of them are heading over to this restaurant bar place that’s supposed to be super popular around here.” Her eyes move side to side, as she’s clearly reading said text. “Apparently, it’s been rented out for us.” Lifting her gaze from the phone to the group, she bounces back and forth between each person. “Ya’ll down?”

And before Joe can protest, can point out how he’s/they’re trying to ease Ri into being exposed and reintroduced to stuff, his wife already has her hand up. “I’m game.”

He looks at her, not hiding his surprise at her ease in accepting. “You sure?”

“Of course, she’s sure. She about to win anyway, so what’s the point—ow!”

Jon grunts, holding his arm as Trinity rolls her eyes and places a gentle hand on Ri’s forearm. “It really is up to you, girl.”

“No, I—” Joe catches his wife’s eye as she offers him a small, reassuring smile. “I wanna go.”

There’s hesitation and reluctance on his part. Being around his cousins is one thing. Being around his coworkers, some she knows, other’s she doesn’t, is another. Not to mention it’ll be her first official public outing since the accident, and while he values the privacy they’ll be allotted from it being rented out, there’s still employees. She might get approached. Autographs. Photos. The usual. Things she’s usually used to but not now. Not after what happened.

Joe ends up expressing his discomfort. “I don’t know.”

But, then she places her hand on his sleeved forearm, her smile shifting to something almost pleading. “Please?”

And just like that, his discomfort and feelings suddenly don’t matter. It’s the hopefulness and excitement in her gaze that has him completely swayed to the other side of the fence.

It’s what she wants, so who is he to deny or deprive her?

“Alright.”

——————

Out the corner of his eye, large smile on his face, Joe observes the way Ri blots at her eyes, saying something about regretting not wearing waterproof mascara. A comment he somewhat understands but something that somehow results in him taking in her outfit with appreciation and other NSFW thoughts. The short jean shorts that show off those beautiful thick thighs. One of his merch shirts, two to three sizes too large, tied into a knot in the back, revealing a space of skin on her stomach and lower back. The way her breast move and jiggle from her movements as she reacts almost theatrically to the albeit hilarious stories being shared at the table of family and friends.

“Wait, not ya’ll tryna do the Sister Sister switch and failing.”

Bianca laughs, shaking her head, hand raised, “no, cause ya’ll are literally so alike, and I seen pictures of when you were younger, you looked identical, so I don’t know how ya’ll weren’t able to pull it off.”

Josh sucks his teeth, lifting his beer to his mouth. “Man, cause we ain’t coordinate that shit properly.”

Pam snorts, elbows on the table, waiting for her recently ordered second beer. “How much do you have to coordinate switching places?”

“See, that’s where ya’ll wrong. It was a process.”

“Yup. A process ya’ll failed at!” Kenneth’s increased volume on the word ‘failed’ as well as his theatrical tone evoke another round of laughter from the table.

Ri latches onto Joe’s arm, holding on and leaning into him, giggling into the sleeve of his hoodie.

He takes that moment, a space that feels like it’s only the two of them to ask, “you having a good time?”

She peers up at him, those big, beautiful brown eyes of hers, always so filled with life and excitement. Emotions she hasn’t directed towards him in sometime. Something he’s missed so much.

The same way he’s missed her.

“Yeah,” she answers. “I am.”

It feels like a bit of an obvious thing. Her smile hasn’t left her face since they walked into the establishment a little over an hour ago. The way she took his hand and pointed to the decor, warm and brown, nostalgic furniture consisting of both booths and tables with a rustic, western aesthetic, including old Western posters on the wall as well as a set of juke boxes and two pool tables. The stage where another WWE employee is doing karaoke, some off pitch cover of a Taylor Swift song.

Ri seemed ecstatic from the beginning, a continuation of her elation, and something he appreciates deeply.

She most definitely needed this.

Their waitress, a young girl named Shay with a friendly smile and amazing bedside manners, arrives with Pam’s beer as well as some other requests from the guests.

“Thank you,” Ri smiles, accepting her refilled basket of fries. The girl loves her some damn French fries.

“Of course,” Shay returns the smile, but Joe catches the way she lingers a bit longer than what makes sense. Sees the same expression reappear that he noticed when she first approached their table and realized she was serving a bunch of “celebrities” including, arguably, the most famous/successful singer of this decade.

It wasn’t hard to pick up on the fact that she’s clearly a fan.

“I—“ She starts, clearing her throat, stammering when Ri looks up from the glass in her hand. “I’m really sorry to ask this, and I—I know I shouldn’t, but….” She stops, pulling out her notepad with a hopeful countenance. “I love your music so much. You’re literally my favorite singer ever, and I know you had the—the—”

“It’s okay,” Ri finishes, Joe looking over at his wife, not sure what to expect her to say or how she would reply. “You…you want an autograph, I guess?”

It’s asked tentatively but gentle, Shay’s voice quieting.

“If….if that’s okay.” She then shakes her head, frowning as if scolding herself. “I know I shouldn’t be asking you when you’re trying to have priv—”

Ri’s response is to reach past him for the notepad. “Please...I’d love to.”

The biggest sight of relief as Shay provides Ri with the notepad and pen. Joe watches his wife, sees the way she bites on her bottom lip, clearly trying to figure out what to say and maybe even how to sign it.

He figures as much is true when she turns to him, leaning and whispering, “how do I sign—”

“Mari,” he answers.

She nods and mouths a thank you before moving to write a short but sweet message he sees out the corner of his eye before she hands it back to the young woman.

Keep being beautiful. Inside and out. -Mari <3

“Thank you so much.” The girl looks like she’s just won a million dollars after taxes.

Ri giggles, “of course.” Gasping quietly, she offers, “if you want, before we leave, we can take a picture together.”

Shay’s jaw drops. “Are you serious? I might just die.”

“Well, don’t die, girl. You gotta get your picture first,” Trinity laughs. She also offers. “I don’t know if you like wrestling or even know who the rest of us—”

“I feel the glow!” Shay spouts out, clearly without thinking about it, slapping her hand over her mouth. “I did not just say that. Oh my God.”

Except, it just makes Trinity and the few of the others laugh harder as it’s decided she’ll get the rest of their autographs and photos before they all leave.

A few minutes later, the conversation amongst them is interrupted once more but by one of them, Bianca, Pam, and Trinity all standing and motioning for Ri. “Come on, girl. We gotta at least do one song together.”

Pam smirks, voice teasing, “even if you are gonna show up all of us.”

At that, Ri’s jaw drops a bit as she looks between himself and them. “Oh, I don’t—I can’t—”

“Ella, you got like 85 Grammy’s and two Oscars. Stop playing.”

While Josh is slightly exaggerating Ri’s accolades, he’s not wrong. She most certainly can.

And, he reminds her of such.

“It’s kind of your thing.”

She rolls her eyes, lowering her voice, body angled towards him. “Yeah, a thing I can’t really remember right now, in case you forgot.”

Never.

As long as he lives, Joe is almost certain he’ll never be able to forget that night.

“Music is your passion, Ri. It’s who you are.” His voice is softer, his finger unintentionally tracing a heart on her thigh. “Just try.”

He’s not entirely sue why, but it seems that his words of encouragement, albeit short and simple, seem to do the trick. He watches how she takes a deep, nervous breath. “Okay.” Never takes his eyes off her, as she links arms with Trinity and the women make their way over to the stage. Trying to decide and agree upon a song.

His focus remains on her, the small, trepidatious telltale signs of her biting down on her bottom lip, the way she blows out a breath and fanning herself, as if trying not to panic. All of it done as the women talk amongst themselves, clearly trying to land on a song.

Eventually, they settle on one, a classic, one of her favorite songs.

It makes him wonder if she just remembered that.

Trinity starts off, singing off key while laughing during the opening lines of Since U Been Gone by Kelly Clarkson. Bianca and Pam follow, with Ri only joining in for the chorus but not before she sends him a nervous thumbs up. Right before naturally and expectedly blowing it out the fucking park, surprising only a few, including herself, but not him. As she smiles while singing so easily and freely, he sits and observes, watches how she eases into it, into the performance of it all. Apprehension replaced with relaxation, nervous smiles swapped for giggles in between singing.

It’s all so familiar and reminiscent from once upon a time where she would often frequent the local restaurant back home. Every visit included a karaoke session. Practice, she would call it.

“Just you wait and see.” The awe in her voice was only matched by the way she leaned onto the counter, chin in hand, eyes dazed and dreamy as they all sat at a table together. “I’m gonna be a big star someday.”

And, she was right. She was always right.

If only she knew what the success and fame would cost her.

Cost them.

It’s a fun, entertaining thing, a free concert for the employees. Joe catches a person or two recording and starts to confront them on it but ultimately decides against it, because the reality is that Mari is a superstar. She can’t go anywhere without being spotted, photos being snapped, videos being recorded. This sort of setting where it’s just coworkers, friends, and employees is the best he’ll get to achieving utmost privacy.

It was only a matter of time before the fame she can’t even remember or comprehend catches up to her. No matter how hard he may want to stop it.

Some things….some things are just unavoidable.

The ladies finish the song, earring whoops, hollers, claps, standing ovations as well as a request for an encore.

Trinity playfully flips her hair. “Well, if you insist.”

“Girl, wasn’t nobody talking about you,” Jon dismisses, his wife’s jaw dropping from faux offense. “Ain’t nobody coming to see you, Otis. We want Mari.”

“Alright, I’mma remember that tonight.”

“Now, wait a minute. Let’s not be irrational.”

As Jon works to complete damage control, Joe locks eyes with his wife who points to herself and lifts her hands in an “I don’t know” gesture.

He chuckles quietly, offering a small nod of encouragement, because he can see it. See the joy that fills her at doing something she doesn’t even realize she was born to.

Mariella always knew she was going to be a star because she is one.

Always has been.

And his encouragement, once more, seems to work as she gives him a salute and turns to speak with the DJ, Pam, and Bianca, still around the booth, most likely helping her select a song. This time around, it doesn’t take as long and instead of it being a group performance, it’s a solo. A solo to an unexpected song but one that makes him smile and shake his head, especially as she sways and pats her hips to the opening drumming and guitar riffs.

Midnight, gettin' uptight, where are you?

You said you'd meet me, now it's quarter to two

I know I'm hangin' but I'm still wantin' you

Ri grabbing the cowboy hat off the DJ who laughs as she winks and places it on her head while moving across the makeshift stage is the icing on the cake. The way she entertains them all, operates and conducts herself the way she always does in her element is….. comforting in ways Joe can’t describe.

Familiar in the best sort of ways.

“Hey.” Josh voice drags Joe’s eyes from his wife and onto the face of his cousin who moves closer, clearly wanting some privacy. “Ya’ll seem good right now.”

It’s such a surface level simple statement with anything but behind it. Joe isn’t entirely sure what word he would use to describe the current nature of dynamics between himself and his legal wife. Good? Sure. Maybe. However, it’s all under the umbrella of kayfabe almost. It’s a bit of a facade. They’re only good right now because she can’t remember that they haven’t been anything remotely close to that for some time now.

Because of a lot of reasons.

Because of him.

Because of her.

Because of it.

And, on some level, right now, in this moment, Joe can get past all of that. Himself. Her. But, what he can’t and has never really been able to get past is that.

He’s not sure he ever will.

How anyone can, really.

The sound of singing pulls him from his heavy thoughts, Joe sitting on the lyrics, a fitting selection, one his wife sings so freely and easily.

I hate myself for loving you

Can't break free from the the things that you do

I wanna walk but I run back to you

That's why I hate myself for loving you

The fucking irony.

But, while she seems deep in fun, laughter, and enjoyment, Joe experiences anything but, those similar feelings from last night returning as he excuses himself and steps outside, out back, away from all the noise of it all.

He blows out a deep breath, leaning back against the brick of the establishment, sounding out the new type of noise. Outside. Cars beeping. Faint voices of people in the distance. Sounds of nature. All preferred over everything else happening internally.

It’s no secret nor can Joe deny that this isn’t nice, that it hasn’t been nice in the less than 24hrs that he’s been reunited with his wife. He didn’t think twice when she asked to go on the road with him, but now, in the midst of it, at the very beginning of it, he’s not sure if it was the best thing. For her, sure. For him? Not so much.

He’s missed her.

But, he’s angry with her.

He enjoys having her around.

But, she’s also a constant reminder.

He once thought he hated her.

But, God, does he love her.

It’s all such contradictory, confusing things that he doesn’t know how to sort through. Ideally, it would be done through communication, but that’s not an option. Even before the accident. The few times they’ve tried to talk about it, about all of it, has always ended horrifically bad, with days—sometimes longer—passing before they spoke again, and usually because of a shared event. Not because they wanted to.

The accident though, her memory loss, has created a new barrier.

On one hand, he wants to make new memories, see this as a sort of fresh start for both of them.

But, what good, sustainable thing can come from a lie?

It’s part of the reason he’s in this shitshow in the first place.

“Hey.”

Once again ripped from all consuming thoughts, Joe is partially taken back by the view of his frowning wife standing before him. Her arms are crossed as she steps closer, asking gently, “are you alright?”

No. Far from it. Nothing is alright, and it hasn’t been for a while.

“Yeah,” he lies. Such an easy thing these days, even though it eats him up on the inside. “Just…tired.”

Her frown deepening, his lie clearly working. “Guess it didn’t help that I kept you up, huh?”

Joe chuckles quietly, answering while looking down at his Nike’s. “I’ve been tired for a while now, Ri.”

Not a lie.

Not a lie at all.

She takes a deep breath. “Well, tonight after your show, I’ll make sure you get some rest.”

Slightly curious by her plan, he asks, brow lifted, “oh? And just how do you plan to do that?”

She answers it so easily, without thought. “I’ll just drug you.” Joe just stares at her, eyes widening just a bit, thus her eyes as wide as saucers. “Wait. Not….not like that.”

At that point, he’s laughing and shaking his head. “Then what do you mean, sweetheart?”

“Like…..like I’ll give you one of my Benadryls that my mom insisted that I take with me. You pop one in, and bam, you’ll be out like a light.”

“And, if I get randomly drug tested?”

Her eyes, somehow, widen even more. “Shit, I didn’t even think about that. Damn. Can’t have you going to WWE jail.” He chuckles. “I’m sor—”

“Relax,” he advises, stepping closer to her, pushing one of her twists over her shoulders. “I’m just fucking with you.”

She glares, shoving him on his arm. “Asshole.”

Ri’s hands somehow move to his chest, his to her hips, the closeness of them a stark contrast to the distance he felt and wanted not even minutes prior.

Her smile is small, her head craned back, the urge to do something not done genuinely in so long has never been so strong.

“I’m glad I came,” she murmurs, fingers grasping at his hoodie the same way her words grasp at him.

Joe swallows, unable to resist reciprocating her sentiments that are very much mutual, even with all his inner turmoil. “So am I.”

Because he is. Because behind all the mess and webs that have covered their relationship, their marriage, he is happy to have her back with him. To have some sense of how the way things used to be restored. He’s not sure for how long, if it will continue to play out the way it is so far, if any of this will even mean anything once her memories return, but in this moment, none of that matters. When her hand slides down to clasp and connect with his, her fingers intertwined, her smile soft as she holds onto his arm while he guides them back into the restaurant, it doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter at all.

Especially what with Joe ignoring the buzz of his phone in his pocket, texts that lay out an uncomfortable truth.

A warning.

164 notes · View notes

dejameflorecer · 1 month ago

Text

p*$$y fairy (otw)

authors note: you already know how this works. man shows up for his quarterly appearance, and i get a lil' inspired.

these characters are the main protagonists from my 'looking through your eyes' series, but this can 1000% be read as a standalone.

however, if you are/have reading/read ltye, then for context, this is how lina and leya were conceived.

word count: 7k (w/ change)

song inspo: p*$$y fairy (otw) by jhene aiko // harleys in hawaii by katy perry

warnings: smut. married, established couple. age gap (10 years). oral sex (female receiving). vaginal penetration. digital penetration. dirty talk (mostly roman, cause, duh). unprotected sex (condoms are against roman's religion when it comes to his wife). multiple positions. man's is obsessed with his wife and sex, so putting those two together is a recipe for carnal overload.

credits: story graphic made by me. heart, mdni, and 18+ dividers created by @anitalenia . gif credit goes to the original creator (you'll see).

Seeing Solana is always the highlight of Roman's week.

Hands down.

Especially on those stressful days.

And without someone who’s quickly and almost easily become his best friend and confidant, those especially difficult days are even harder to manage. He has Jey. Has Jimmy. Even Dwayne, regardless of the distance, but there’s something none of them provide him that Solana does.

Peace.

She provides him with a sense of peace, and as someone who’s gone so long without it, intermittent visits to Fetu only providing so much, Roman cherishes that deeply.

Hence why he never misses out on any opportunity to go see her and to stay as long as he can or as long as she needs him to.

It’s a necessity.

Seeing and being around her.

And, each time he arrives, there’s a small piece of him that wonders. Wonders if something changed in the three hours it takes him to drive to the residential facility, if the latest report he received regarding her progress has done a 180.

That only makes his desire to see her that much stronger and feel like a sort of requirement, because the fact of the matter is that the only reason she's not home with him currently is because he wasn’t there when she needed him the most.

It’s a mistake he’ll never make again.

“No issues to report, sir,” Bautista advises as Roman signs his name on the check-in sheet, the guard he’s had assigned with Solana since her initial hospitalization continuing to prove his effectiveness and usefulness.

Not to mention Solana has expressed her like of the man who offers few words while excelling in all his duties.

“Good,” is Roman’s rough reply as he rolls his shoulders, readying to inquire about a new addition to Solana's security detail when he catches something flash out the corner of his eye.

Down the hall that leads to the residential wing of the building, Building A, where Solana is placed, it’s that same woman he locks eyes with, his wife having just darted down the hallway, most likely aware of his arrival.

Roman’s eyes quickly roam over her figure, the way her pajama shorts cut off mid thigh, revealing those thick he legs he adores feeling wrapped around his waist. Her thin sleeved tank top allotting him the perfect view of her cleavage. But, it’s her smile, really, that soothes the worries that’d started to grow.

Fine.

She’s fine.

The sweetest sounding laugh followed by her completing her race towards him, Roman easily catching her as she jumps into his arms, her legs secured around his waist.

His eyes shut as he allows himself to fully immerse into the joy and comfort that stems from having her in his arms again. The feel of her lips against his temple, the way her arms are secured around his neck.

Heavy yet quiet footsteps as Bautista departs, offering the couple the privacy they require, Roman’s hand on the small of her back, shifting down to her ass.

“Come on,” he speaks, easily shifting her so that she’s over his shoulder.

“Roman!” She shouts, giggling when he slaps her ass, palm lingering just long enough to enjoy the motion against him. “Put me down,” she orders, but it’s lost within the humor and lightness of her voice as he walks them down the same hall she just ventured down.

Naturally, of course, as soon as they’re in the privacy of Solana’s room, light flicked on with Roman’s free hand, door shut and locked, he lets her back down.

She's staring up at him, her smile wide and bright as she flattens her palms against his chest. “I missed you.”

His hands remain on her hips, fingers pressing against the fabric of her shorts. “Missed you, too, baby.”

Almost a week and a half has passed since his last visit, Roman being swamped with work and other tasks that required his handling and attention, thus leaving little time for him to make his way to come see her. Something she reiterated several times that she understood, but it’s always the way she holds onto him, the way their embrace lingers a little longer than usual that he knows not being able to see him for that amount of time is just as hard for her as it is for him.

Solana makes a face, a slight sort of pout. “No Dulce?”

He shakes his head. “Not this time.” Roman has….plans for his wife. Plans that really are not….appropriate for their puppy. Reaching to grab his phone out the pocket of his own black sweats, he navigates to the text he received from his cousin on the way there. “She’s fine though.”

Handing the phone to his wife, Solana’s smile is instantly revived at the sight of the photo. “Look at her….”

“He’s gonna have her even more spoiled than you do.”

Solana makes a sound, lightly pressing against his chest, still staring at the photo of Dulce laid up in bed, a blanket covering her body, a small pillow under her head.

That’s part of the reason Roman hates asking Jimmy to keep Dulce. He treats that damn dog like she’s human, and then when she gets back to the house, she’s staring up at Roman as he climbs in his bed thinking that it’s suddenly her bed as well.

The hell it is.

“You got beds all over this damn house." He can vividly recall his response the first time he realized she was waiting to be picked up to join him. “Go pick one.”

And, she did.

The one on the side of the bed where Solana usually sleeps.

Solana eventually hands the phone back to him, murmuring a quiet 'thank you.' Pocketing the phone, Roman’s hand is suddenly grabbed by Solana, that frown returning as she inspects his scraped knuckles. Her eyes lift to his. “You fought tonight?”

“Last night,” he lies. Not his favorite, but he also knows his wife well enough to know that she’ll be upset and/or feel bad that he drove “all those hours” to come see her after such a long day. Something he doesn’t really give two shits about.

He needed to see his wife.

Solana’s frown remains as she lifts her hand to his chin, subtly tilting his head back and forth, then side to side. Assessing. “No cuts….”

Roman sighs. “Sol—“

But, she’s not listening, instead reaching for the bottom of his shirt, lifting it upward until he meets her halfway, helping her pull it over his head. Tossed onto the bed, her palms are on him, small and warm, moving across the span of his chest.

His eyes shut.

God, he’s missed her touch.

But, while he tries to control the urges he’ll most certainly be acting on before all is said and done, she’s all medical. Feeling and lightly grazing over the bruise on his side, moving behind him, a quiet gasp at the one on his back.

“It’s worse than it looks, babe.”

It really is. Roman has such a high pain tolerance that really the “injuries” he typically sustains after competing are more aesthetically unappealing than anything else. Rarely, is he ever in true pain.

“You have to be careful…” Her quiet voice sounds from behind him as he turns around and tugs her into him, hating see that lil' pout of her lips. The concern.

“I’m fine, Solana,” he reassures, lips lingering against her hairline as she sighs into him. “Promise.”

Even better now that he’s with her again.

"Are you—"

"I'm fine." The smallest of smile on his face at her obviously mocking tone that, regardless, cements his conclusion from earlier.

She's fine.

Solana remains pressed against him for a good minute, finally pulling back only for her to stare up at him with that same small, budding smile. “I….I have a surprise for you.”

His brow lifts, curiosity triggered. “Yeah?”

She nods, lips pressed together as she guides him over to the bed, pushing on his shoulders, prompting him to sit on the edge. “Just….wait here.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Not now.

Not ever.

Solana’s smile emerges as she turns and walks over to the other side of the room, to the connected bathroom, closing the door behind her. He considers making a comment about said closure. There’s no part of his wife he hasn’t seen, tasted, and explored to the fullest extent. All things he plans to do before the night ends, but he ultimately opts to remain quiet.

Roman takes the time to observe her bedroom, sizable for most, but still smaller than their master bedroom back home.

Various items cover her dresser. Makeup. Body care products, but also a stack of notebooks and sketchbooks. The thought crosses his mind to go through her art book, not in search of anything in particular but rather to see what she’s created. To see what stories they tell.

Roman has learned a lot can be learned from Solana’s art. Almost as much as her words. They’re her preferred ways of communicating what she sometimes cannot verbally. And though his last check in with Trish and Gail reported continued, consistent progress—the same that Solana has reported—a small part of him wonders.

Wonders if maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance.

A chance that words spoken do not match feelings felt.

Again, he has to push past it, remind himself that he has to trust her. Trust Solana. Trust that she’ll be honest with him, that she is being honest with him.

No matter how difficult it may be.

“Okay, you have to close your eyes!” Her voice sounds from the other end of the door, evoking a small chuckle from the Tribal Chief.

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” she almost whines, confirming her stipulation. “I’m not coming out unless you do it.”

Roman wonders if she knows he will 1000% break down that damn door if it tries to be a barrier between the two of them. Regardless, he chooses to acquiesce. “Alright.” Eyes shut, he confirms, “they’re closed.”

“You promise?”

Roman’s smile deepens. “Yes, Solana. I promise.”

A second of delay before the sound of the knob turning, Solana’s feet padding slowly against the carpet. Even without the aid of his vision, he can visualize the sight of her reluctance, the feel of it in her slow movements and footsteps. The hesitation. The smell of her perfume hitting his nostrils, revealing her presence in front of him.

It’s all so tempting.

“Okay…” She trails off, her nervousness audible. “You—you can open.”

Roman doesn’t need to be told twice, but he does have to brace himself after doing so.

Mouth drying, jaw clenching, and an instant tightening in his pants.

“Sol….”

It’s impossible to rip his eyes from off her, not that he would ever want to. No sane person would.

His wife stands before him in a light pink, short, skimpy dress. Lingerie. Thin straps that he hasn’t the slightest clue as to how are able to hold up her breast, large, heavy, pressed together and in his face because of the open, low, and exposed neckline. Small, pastel flowers across the the chest area and left side of the gown that transitions to transparent material outside of the floral decor that exposes the side of her body.

It also reveals the fact that nothing is underneath said gown.

She’s completely bare.

He motions with his index finger. “C’mere.”

Solana’s unsure expression remains as she steps closer, standing in between his legs. Roman takes her hand, guiding her to turn around, a low groan escaping seeing the cutout on her upper back but especially the way her ass has the dress raised so much that it’s peeking through, tempting him.

She looks over shoulder, the nervousness maximized as she asks, “do—you do like it?”

It feels like the most ridiculous question in the history of questions. “I love it,” he answers, tugging her into him, Solana perched on his lap, her hands resting atop his forearms as her smile begins to reappear. Peppering his mouth across her exposed shoulder, he murmurs against her smooth skin, “But, you know what I love more?”

He can practically picture the way her eyes flutter, her nails pressing into his arms. “Wh—what?”

His answer is to shift his hands to her breast, squeezing just enough to earn him a quiet moan. “These.” A quick maneuver to the space between them allows him right hand to sneak under her dress, a light squeeze to her ass. “This.”

“Roman…”

Traveling to the front of her, forcing those deliciously thick thighs to spread apart, his fingertips tease her lips. “This…”

Her hand shoots out to grip restrain his wrist. “Dios.”

And lastly, the final destination as he grips her chin, his lips hover over hers. “You.”

Solana’s eyes flutter once before she closes the distance between them, kissing with the same intensity and desire that fills him. That has him moving his hand back between her legs, bypassing the tease of his fingers and moving straight into entering her.

Solana whimpers into his mouth at the same time his index and middle finger enter her slick, wet folds, the sound of his slow and steady pumping filling the quiet of her room.

“So wet….” Her mutters against his mouth, her free hand on his thigh, squeezing in the same way her cunt clenches against his digits. “Fuck, Sol.”

The kiss is maintained as he ups the pace and adds another finger, stretching and filling her, preparing her to take him, Roman’s erection underneath her bountiful ass growing with each passing second filled with the tantalizing sound of her heavy breathing and writhing body atop his lap.

“Roman...” It’s more of a groan, her restlessness an indication of her wanting the exact same thing as him. A shared desire and readiness. One that doesn’t need to be communicated more than once.

Roman retracts his hand from her wetness, tempted for a taste of her essence, but the knowing he’ll indulge himself before the night is over helps him bypass that. He lifts her only slightly, just enough to free his dick from the suffocating confines of his boxers and sweats, both stained with the evidence of his desire.

Hot, hard, heavy, the thick mushroom tip already glistening, Roman eases her back down onto him, both releasing an elongated sigh as he stretches and enters her, inch by inch.

Solana’s hands grip down on his thighs, her body angled forward from the feel of it all, Roman’s arm going around her front to keep her atop him, to pace and hold her through it.

“That’s it, pretty girl.” His other hand stays on her hip, ready to guide her. “Breathe…”

Heavy pants follow as Roman waits until he’s filled her to the hilt, starting to move her back and forth atop him. His own resolve struggling, jaw clench at the feel of her tight, warm cunt around his dick. “You always feel so good, baby.”

The best.

No one has ever even come close to this, to matching the euphoria he experiences at being inside his wife. An addiction.

He’s addicted to her in every sort of way.

Solana is soon back against him, her head resting back on his shoulder, hands on his as he moves her back and forth, a steady, more sensual pace allowing his dick to drag against and inside her in a way that has her eyes closing and tight ass pussy fluttering around him.

“You feel that, baby?” His mouth is in her ear, his breath fanning her face, fingers digging into her side. “Feel me inside you?”

“Y—yes,” a stuttered answer as her nails scrape against his skin. “God, yes.”

He’s careful and watchful, forever an attentive man, but even more so in this space with her. Knowing and aware of all her telltales, the way her toes curl, her fingers grasping almost desperately at him, the louder, more frequent sounds that leave her mouth. Roman always know when she’s about to come.

He growls, slowing down yet deepening his reach with how he angles their pressed bodies back just enough to see the way her stomach caves inward. “You trust me, baby?”

“Yes.” An instant almost desperate, breathy answer followed by another for an entirely different reason. “Yes.”

Roman waits until that moment where he feels it, feels the mess she’s made all over his lap, the way her body convulses slightly from the intensity of her orgasm. He waits until she’s settled enough, still enough for him to remove his still hard and erect cock from her warm hole. She’s naturally whining from the departure, Roman keeping her in his arms as he moves to lay her onto the bed.

His sharp, burning gaze never leaves her. Thick, pink tongue gliding over his bottom lip as he allows his boxers and sweats to fall to the floor. The bed creaks under his weight when he climbs on and hovers over her, Solana’s fluttering gaze falling onto him.

Her confusion matched only by her discombobulation. She’s always so easily undone by him.

“What—” She’s silenced by the way his big hand grips her, angling her onto her side. Solana naturally turns to look up at him, confusion deepening as he grabs her legs, pressing them together and angling them so his right thigh is placed against the back of her thighs. “Rom—ohh.” She’s silenced at the same time her enters her, almost from behind, angled, deep. “Fuck…”

He continues to stare down at her, searching for any sign of displeasure, finding nothing but the opposite. Solana’s hand reaches out to brace against his shoulder as her body jerks back and forth, her fingernails once more imprinting into his skin.

Roman growls, light sheen of sweat on his forehead as he grabs her hand, putting her fingers in his mouth, sucking them off, feeling the way the act makes her clench around him once more. She yanks her hand back from the erotic of it all, reaching for the headboard as Roman fucks into her with increased pace and intensity.

“That’s it. Squeeze the hell out my dick.” He goads, hand to her exposed ass, slapping and squeezing the meat of it, mesmerized almost by the way it bounces against him, the sight of her cream coating his dick as it moves in and out of her. “Shit, you always fit me just right.”

“Roman.” His name seems to be the only thing she’s capable of saying. That along with a few curse words, some utterances in Spanish, and the rest incoherent results of how fucked out he has her.

And even with that, he continues to watch her, studying and making sure she’s not in any pain, that she’s not tolerating something she’s uncomfortable with but unwilling to express as such.

The more their sex live grows and develops, the more Roman finds himself trying to help her explore her interests. The things she likes and doesn’t like, including trying out different positions, something she’s previously indicated being okay with outside of….that one.

He’s not sure she’ll ever be okay or even ready for that, something he’s fully accepted and is thoroughly okay with.

Truth be told, he’s not sure how she ever could be.

Roman continues to fuck her. Thorough and deep. Just how she likes. Up until he can feel it happening again. “Baby, I—”

Once more, it’s felt before she even has a chance to muster up the words. The way her cunt grasp and grips him, the fluttering and pulsing, the scrunched up expression on her face as she’s more or less a rag doll with how her body thrashes.

And, yet again, he watches and feels the flood of her release, his own dick throbbing and aching with a higher level of desire. For release, but something else. Something more.

“We’re not done, pretty girl,” he informs, Solana panting and whining through her closed mouth. Roman hisses, temporarily pulling himself from his wife’s addictive ass pussy. “Not even close.”

————

Items on the bathroom go flying to the floor, rolling near the ajar door that leads to the bedroom, the sound of impact possible indication something was just broken. If only it mattered to her in that moment.

It doesn’t.

It really, truly doesn’t.

Solana’s hand reaches for the mirror, using and needing it to brace her, the edge of the granite counter pressing into her pelvis. A constant, consistent banging of sorts, the hands on her hips guiding and steering as Roman fucks into her from behind.

“Ro….”

He is a prayer only her lips have the blessing of uttering. The way he drives into her, a glance at his expression in the mirror revealing nothing but determination and dedication.

It makes her moan once more.

Forever respectful of her boundaries, not once has he ever questioned or pushed her regarding her inability for them to try doggy style. Her reason for that being off-limits, in a sense, has always been something understood without needing to be explained.

And, she’s appreciated and loved him immensely for that respect.

That doesn’t, however, meant she’s been opposed or unwilling to try….other things.

Like him carrying her into the bathroom and letting her see everything happening, to be aware at all times, to watch every move from subtle to overt. Something that grants her a tremendous amount of comfort but even more than that, it feels heavenly.

Her pink lingerie set that she’d been both nervous and hopeful he would like was discarded at some point, leaving her completely naked, heavy breast flopping from the way he fucks into her. His hips slamming into her from behind, his eyes briefly and occasionally falling to her ass, watching with adoration the jiggle of her backside.

A perfect distraction of sorts for him, while she struggles to remain on her feet, her knees starting to buckle.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by her husband.

Not in the slightest.

Roman’s pace decreases as Solana feels his hand come snake around her front, thumb and index finger grasping and lifting her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze through the mirror.

“Look how fucking gorgeous you are,” he breathes, her eyes struggling to remain open with how the feel of him lingering inside of her longer than usual has her scratching at the counter. “The prettiest fucking thing in the world and mine.” He lowers his head, leaning over enough to collect their lips, tongues dancing, spit swapping. “Mine.”

Solana moans into his mouth when he lifts her left leg, applying enough pressure on the small of her back to bend her over at the same time he knee bends, inner thigh resting on the counter, spreading her even wider.

Roman growls, focus returning to the sight of his dick moving in and out of her. “Fucking perfect ass pussy.” Solana is borderline crying and internally screaming as he resumes his previous pace, all the while singing her praises. “Take me so fucking well, pretty girl...”

She looks up through teary, blurry eyes to meet that same determined, focused gaze, forehead glistening with the sweat that matches her own, testament of the exertion on both ends. But, the slap of his hand down on her ass is more or less confirmation that he meant what he said earlier.

They’re not even close to being done.

—————

When Roman said he missed her, Solana believed him. But, it wasn’t until he had her on her back that she realized just how much he missed her.

And this was after he fucked her on the edge of the bed, flipped and had her on her side, fucking her from this new position and angle that had tears brewing. Carried her to the bathroom where he had her practically screaming from how he dug into her, all the while giving her a full, unobscured view of the nastiness of it all, courtesy of the mirror he had them positioned in front of.

Now, somehow they’ve transitioned to yet another spot, this time the nearest clear wall outside of the photos a few inches from her head that she’s almost certain he’s about knock clear off.

Her nails dig into his shoulders, thighs tightening around his waist as he drives into her. Solana’s head bangs back against the wall from the intensity and depth of his thrusts.

“Roman,” she moans, doing her best to keep quiet, to keep her voice at an acceptable level given her neighbors nearby are sleeping peacefully while she’s doing anything but.

But, it’s nearly impossible with the way he’s driving into her.

With how undone she comes with each deep, delicious thrust.

And especially with how she's certain her inability to control her volume from any of the other several positions he's put her in alerted at least some nearby that anything but sleep is currently taking place in her room.

“Missed this,” he murmurs into her neck, one hand on the meat of her hip, the other massaging her breast, rolling her erect nipple between his fingers. “Missed this pussy….”

Filthy, dirty words that have her cheeks reddened for reasons other than the feel of his massive dick inside her, reaching, touching, claiming every bit of her.

God, he always feels so deep.

Roman growls, catching the way her eyes almost roll into the back of her head, the feel of her cunt fluttering around his cock making him aim even deeper, even if not possible. “You miss me, baby?”

“Always,” she murmurs, head nodding forward only for his lips to capture hers, Solana moaning into his mouth once more.

The cruelest smirk on his handsome face as he angles her body, changing the reach of his strokes and intensifying her pleasure. “How much?” The perfect union of a moan and a whimper as her fingers drag along his taut skin. “Tell me how much you missed papi.”

She could have came right then and there.

Solana can’t feel anything other than pleasure and sexual bliss from the way he fucks into her. Exhausted and tired, neither of those things manage to prevent or stop her from enjoying and soaking it all in. Just how, she hasn’t the slightest clue. The same way she has zero clue just how he’s managed to make her come two times now but has yet to find his own orgasmic bliss.

A part of her feels bad, feels it unfair for him to escort her to heaven yet never allow himself the pleasure of entering those pearly gates.

But, it’s the look in his eyes, determined and beyond satisfied, that reminds her that’s not his goal in this. That his release is better served after completely depriving and depleting her of any and all energy.

Something they’re nearing and nearing soon.

“Love to make my girl feel good.” He pants in her ear, big hands squeezing the top of her thighs as he controls the movement of his hips slamming into hers. Words in Samoan that have her wondering but not for long, because once again, there’s a transition. Roman had her hiked up on his wait, dick still confined deep within her, brushing against her cervix it almost feels like, before he lays her down on the edge of the bed.

He looks almost angelic, hovered above her, hair tie long gone, his beautiful locs free and having, framing his face. But, as quickly as she’s admiring her face, Solana’s hands are grasping at the wet, messy sheets.

Words of Spanish tumbling out her mouth as he lifts his hands to the back of her thighs, pressing down, spreading her legs and pushing so her knees are almost juxtaposed to the sided of her breast.

“Right there,” she gasps, completely overtaken by the feel of it, the feel of him, of everything good and wonderful that he causes her to experience, in and out of the bedroom. "Oh my God, yes, right there, baby."

"Yeah?" He pants, eyes shutting, visibly and fully immersed in the throes of it. "You love that shit, baby?"

A desperate, wanton, "yes, yes, so much."

"I love it, too," he grunts, a groan tipping over the edge of his mouth, seeing the white, milky coating that covers almost the entirely dick. "Fuck, Sol, you milking the shit out of my dick, sweetheart." Another slam of his hips that grants him a scream. "Gotta fuck you like this more often, pretty girl."

The quiet "yes, please, papi" almost escapes the confines of her mind.

Almost.

Head back and pushed into the mattress the same way he presses into her, Solana has to keep herself from screaming when Roman applies more of his weight atop her, pushing her legs back farther, spreading her beyond what seems physically possible.

It’s the best sort of sensation, one that has a new set of tears cascading down her face the same way her nectar coats the entirely of his long, girthy dick as well as her—and his—entire bottom half.

They’re had sex before, have tried different things that push her slightly beyond the limits of her comfort zone in a way that allows for growth—not regression. But, something about this feels different. Something about the way he’s fucking her, the way she’s taking him, the amount of time that lapses as he moves her all around this room, twisting and turning her body whichever way he pleases feels different.

Not bad.

Never that.

Just different. She can’t put her finger on how or the specifics as to why, just something she feels.

An inkling.

An intuition.

Like….like something’s about to happen.

Like something already has.

—————

To say Solana missed her husband would be an understatement. A severe downplay of how difficult it is to be away from him as long as she has, even with the logical part of her that knows and understands why.

It’s just when the emotions and…..other things kick in that have her craving and yearning for him in more ways than one that it gets.....unbearable, almost.

Especially when she gets to experience him like this. Gets to indulge in the sensual and sexual side of their relationship. Of their marriage.

Something that’s been front and center for what feels like the past 8 hours. An exaggeration, of course, but not entirely.

Because her husband and that dangerous member that hangs between his massive, muscular legs have finally brought her to the point of surrender. Solana not even needing to tell Roman she was too sore to continue for another round, something that felt virtually impossible despite the fact that even after he finally climaxed, she could have sworn he was still semi erect.

It was an acceptable ending following a phenomenal performance.

Except it wasn’t an ending.

It was only a respite.

Her feet press into his shoulder blades following another deliciously slow, languid lick of his tongue up her cunt. His hand on her abdomen, applying just enough pressure to keep her clitoris exposed and available to him to do as he pleases.

As she pleases as well.

Whining and writhing, she does her best not to disturb the pillow under her hips that keeps her bottom half elevated just enough for him to do exactly what he’s doing now.

Eating her out within an inch of her life and sanity.

“Baby….” Solana’s moan is eclipsed by his tongue and lips focusing back on her clit, the slurping sound of him sucking on her with precision and hunger making her stomach coil. “Too much….”

Roman lifts his head only for a second to observe her, to make sure it really isn’t too much.

It’s not.

Eyes never leaving the breathtaking sight of her head thrown back, those big beautiful breast of hers moving and jiggling from all her movement.

“No,” he finally comments, fingers swirling around the absolute mess she’s made all over these nice ass sheets. “You can handle it, baby, can’t you?”

Her mixture of a moan and a reply has him wanting to stroke his erect dick, pre-cum spilling down his shaft. Eating her out always serves as the best foreplay. Her enjoyment and his have to be about what and what.

“I have to take care of my sweet girl.” Solana fists the sheets and hisses when he blows his minty breath across her. “Don’t you want me to take care of you, baby?”

Another whine and wiggle. “Y—yes.”

A pleased sound from between her legs. “Then let finish eating my pussy.”

A bold, possessive statement followed by him submerging his face between that sacred, dripping space between her legs. It’s a combination of both their moans and carnal sounds of pleasure that have them each struggling.

Roman’s tongue swirls around her, lapping and loving the taste of her. “Fuck, baby. You have any idea how much I love this shit?” He presses a kiss to her lips. “How much I love eating this pussy?” A rhetorical question that still has her fighting the burning need to come all over his face. “Goddamn, you stay so sweet. Just for me. Always and forever mine.”

Solana can only groan, completely baffled at how she can be so exhausted yet eager and desiring for his mouth to never leave the sacredness between her legs.

He always knows how to push her beyond her limitations in only the best and right ways.

He groans once more from where she’s starting to think she’ll eventually have to physically pull him away from. “You taste better and better every fucking time.” She bites down on her bottom lip at the same time his mouth hovers over her sensitive, swollen bud. “Sweetest fucking thing….”

Having been to the mountain top at least three or four times in the past two hours, Solana is no stranger to what paradise looks and feels like courtesy of the man between her legs.

However, there’s something….different about this pending arrival.

Something deeper.

Much deeper.

“Roman….” She pants, finger scraping against the sheets, unsurprised to find them damp and sticky. She hasn’t the slightest clue how they’re going to sleep tonight. If he’ll even allow it, perhaps being the better question.

He’s insatiable.

Naturally, he ignores her, continuing to suck on her clit, ravaged and needy.

Solana finds it in her to clear her throat, confused as to why this feels so different. Good, amazing, fantastic, but different.

“Roman.”

It’s a feeling of pressure, she realizes, another one arriving right after that has her feelings of pleasure shifting into something else.

“Ro, I don’t—I can’t—” Because it’s with gradually growing horror, Solana recognizes that the sensation budding below is vastly similar to what one experiences right before they’re about to urinate.

She feels like she’s about to pee.

Her cheeks reddened long before this, but the situation only deepens the ruddiness. “Roman, please—”

Attempting to push him—as always—is a waste of time. He only tugs her closer, Solana’s ability to retain what she cannot control a quickly losing battle.

Tears prick her eyes. This cannot be happening.

The confusion remains abundant, just as high as the pleasure, compounded by the pressure.

Her eyes clench shut, voice firmer than it’s been all night, “Roman, you have to—have to—ahh!”

It all happens at once, one minute she’s damn near begging for him to stop, the next minute, a release unlike any she’s experienced. Except, more.

Solana’s gasp is loud as she looks down following the release but also the feel of it. How it was released, the jet stream almost that shot upward, primarily in his face, all over the bed, splashing his face, mostly in his mouth. What was released.

A liquid.

Except, it’s not pee.

“Did….did I?” Trailing off and matching her husband’s wicked gaze, the small smile on his face as he licks his lips, beard dripping, are all the answer she needs. Reveals what happened was not a thing of nightmares and worst case scenarios.

Quite the opposite.

For him, it seems.

Because Solana seeing how soaked her lap, his face, beard, and the sheets are has her horrified for different reasons. She’s…heard of women being able to do….that, but never did she think that she could. That it could happen, but it did. It most clearly did, and what a mess it is.

“Oh my God,” she gasps, managing to sit up on her elbows, becoming more aware of how destroyed the bedding is.

There is no drying anything off.

They are done for.

“Roman!” Voice slightly panicked, Solana is somehow able to sit up all the way, much to the chagrin of her husband who she could have sworn was about to return right back to his spot that got them right where they are right now. “I can’t believe I—”

“Mmm, but you did, baby.” He sounds, uncaring of the way….she drips off his beard. “I knew you could.” His hand starts to journey between her legs. “Think you can do it for me ag—”

“Roman!” She repeats, eyes widened, clearly the only one of the two thinking straight. “I—Look at the bed! We ruined it.”

A single lazy glance to the sheets. “And?”

“Oh my gosh,” she breathes, hands covering her face. Never mind the fact that she’s fully and thoroughly exhausted, wanting nothing more to crawl into bed and sleep for the next three days straight. Not that she could. No thanks to him.

Or….technically her.

“I—I need new bedding.”

“Okay.”

“Roman,” she whines, reaching to pull the sheet to cover her chest, especially when recognizing that her husband’s eyes are glued to her breast. Ridiculous. “I’m serious.” The only one of them who seems to be in that headspace versus brain in the gutters. “You have…you have to get me some new bedding.”

At that, he asks, less uninterested. “You want me to go buy it or something?”

“No. You just have to request them.” She shakes her head, explaining, “there’s someone always at the front desk, remember?”

“Not really.” He answers, right as Solana rubs her temples. How he can go from making her cry from pleasure to frustrating her with his nonchalant disposition is beyond her. “So, I just….ask them for sheets?”

“Yes.” Solana bites on her lip, taking in the fact that the comforter is a bit….stained, too. However, that feels like….it feels like too much.

She’ll….she’ll tackle that another time.

“Alright,” he sighs, Solana turning her head, blushing as he stands up, completely uncaring of his nudity. As always.

Roman walks over to his dresser, pulling open the top drawer where he keeps a change of clothes. She looks back just in time to see him with a pair of sweats on, also apparently unbothered by the fact that his dick print is….noticeable.

She starts to point it out but decides against it, especially as he doesn’t even seem to see the purpose in putting on a shirt. “I’ll be back.”

Roman is fully aware of the fact that his wife is partially flustered at the sight of him half dressed, muscles on full, open display. A humorous thing considering everything they just did, including the reason he’s even moving down the hall of the residential facility.

A bit of an unnecessary task, considering he’d much rather see if they can have a repeat.

If not tonight, he’ll most definitely pursue part two at a later date.

Arriving at the front desk where he checks in at every visit. Sure enough, a woman sits there, looking down at her phone, the most bored expression.

Huh.

He never really noticed that shit. Then again, when he arrives, and even when he departs, his wife is the only thing on his mind.

Nothing and no one else matters.

Approaching said desk, his presence garners the woman’s attention. He sees the way her eyes widen, something he doesn’t give two shits about but also something that makes sense. He’s certain his hair is a fluffed mess, that the smell of sex and musk emanates off his half dressed body.

Again, not that he cares.

“I need a new set of sheets.”

Her mouth opens, her blue eyes raking over his chest, settling on the tatted side of his body. Roman is instantly irritated. Why the fuck isn’t she saying anything?

As if hearing his frustrated thoughts, she shakes her head, clearing her throat. “Umm, I—I’m sorry?”

Roman pushes past his urge to snap, changing up the wording. “My wife needs a new set of sheets for her bed.”

She remains with that stupid, irritating, confounded expression. “I don’t—sir, who are you exactly?" She looks at the watch on her wrist, informing him of what he already knows and doesn't care about. "Visiting hours ended—”

“Look, I made my wife squirt after fucking her for almost two—maybe three—hours straight, and now the sheets are all messed up, and she’s freaking out, so just get me a new set, alright?”

Roman tried. He tried for a good, solid three seconds to be cordial, but this incompetent girl pushed him to his already minimal limit, hence his snapping.

An effective thing given the way her cheeks flush red, similar to Solana, who’s probably waiting for him and wondering what’s taking so damn long.

He makes a note to report this annoying bitch.

She needs to be fired.

Unknown Girl #1 clears her throat and mumbles a quiet, “give me a few minutes,” before standing up and disappearing. Turning away and leaning back against the desk, Roman’s thoughts venture not necessarily towards the sex haze he’s been in the past couple hours. He’s instead thinking about after. After he helps his innocent ass wife calm down and realize them messing up the bed isn’t the end of the world. After he climbs into the made up bed with her and holds her until she falls asleep on his chest.

The morning where he’ll wake up before she does, ready to leave, as he either walks out her private bathroom to see her sitting on the bed to see him off or him having to wake her up to say goodbye, because him leaving without doing so is never an option.

He thinks about the drive home. Lonely. It’s a lonely experience, similar to how when he arrives home and walks into an empty house. Dulce returning home after Jimmy drops her off will be helpful, sure, but it won’t be the same as finding Solana in the kitchen, working on dinner. Or, sitting on the sofa with a book or sketchbook in hand. Earbuds in as she listens to music.

The little but important things he’s gotten used to.

The things he misses.

He misses a lot.

The girl returns, a new set of sheets in hand, along with that blush still painted across her pale skin.

“Here ya’ go.” She doesn’t meet his eyes, a preferred thing as Roman accepts the sheets, bypassing a ‘thank you’ as he turns on his heel to return to the residential area of the facility. Two knocks on the door to alert Solana that it’s him when he walks in the room, reminded of all the….festivities that took place.

Much like himself, the room still smells of sex, glimpses of his wife riding him, his mouth latched onto her breast forcing him to clear his throat.

Solana appears from the bathroom, wearing the shirt he’d arrived wearing, clearly not wanting to shower until the bedding situation is handled.

Her eyes light up with excitement that doesn’t make a lot of sense to him, especially as she darts across the room, accepting said sheets while asking, “they didn’t ask like….questions, did they?”

Not exactly.

But, Roman isn’t necessarily ready or wanting to tell his wife that he’d very explicitly shared the reason why she needed new bedding.

“Naw. She didn’t.”

Solana sighs with heavy relief, smiling and nodding, as she motions to the bed that Roman just realizes she’d already stripped down to the mattress. Soaked padding also sitting in a pile in the corner.

Damn.

“Help me?”

An easy answer. “Of course.”

Roman works to help his wife redo the bed, the only thing being salvaged from the before are the pillows, pillowcases, and the comforter. She moves a bit slower, the exhaustion from their sexscapade clearly taking a toll, as she yawns once they finish.

“Go shower,” he encourages after they're done and she stands in his arms, face buried in his chest. “It’s late.”

Beyond that.

The LED clock on her nightstand flashing a red 2:15am is confirmation of that.

She chuckles, pulling back, palms on his abs, muttering quietly, “now you care.”

“Hush,” he chides, as she leans up on her toes, smiling dropping as she stares at him, her eyes twinkling with something soft and gentle.

“I love you.”

His chest fills with the equivalent of what he sees in her gaze, what he feels as she presses a chaste kiss against his tatted bicep. Roman rides his hands up the sides of her body to her face, cupping her cheeks. Her eyes shut as he lowers his mouth to her forehead. “I love you, too.”

More than she could ever realize.

Roman brings his hand down to her ass, stealing a squeeze and slap as he turns her around, gently pushing her towards the shower. “Now get your fine ass in there before I prop you back on my dick.”

“Roman!”

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