Page 33 of In Too Deep

Why did that turn you on?

In another realm, I’d call him a creep for invading my privacy, but I was intrigued, and something unusual ignited a fire within me, sparking a flame.

I was turned on, envisioning Romelo in front of me, seated on the leather couch, with his legs gaped open, looking at me with low and cherry red eyes, with the aroma of weed lingering heavy in the air.

He was taking control of my body, leaving me captivated, sending signals from my mind down to my pussy.

It felt good, with him guiding me, talking me through a gut wrenching orgasm, one that I badly needed.

I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a man as I bad as I craved him.

Romelo Jones was no good for me, but I couldn’t push him to the back of my mind.

I felt trapped, like a caged bird. This shit was so intense.

Daily, since I’ve been here, he was the first person I thought about when I opened my eyes, and it wasn’t theatrical.

I was happy with him because I could be myself, peeling back new layers of me, unveiling myself, living and not just existing anymore.

I no longer wanted him to release the shackles.

The more reality sank in was the moment I allowed the truth to settle over my burning agony. I was enjoying this shit.

Fully dressed now, the loose cotton crop top and shorts felt good against my moisturized skin.

I was in the dark, on top of the covers, facing the ceiling.

I didn’t flinch when I heard the door open, but my breathing remained steady.

Hearing his heavy footsteps felt like a pounding in my ear.

I could smell him too. His woodsy cologne filled my nostrils, heavy with his signature scent.

It had become my favorite one over the course of time.

Without glancing over at the door, I knew he was standing in the doorway, his eyes dancing over my body, taking me all in, noticing my flaws.

Neither of us spoke, but the room felt small.

I could feel his energy pouring into me.

He looked stressed, unlike the chippy fellow who busted a nut, eyeing me through a camera.

Something else was on his mind—something deep and heavy.

Here I was thinking money is the root of all my problems, and he was millions of dollars richer than me, with shit heavy, pulling him down like the weight of an anchor.

“Juicy.” His deep and raspy voice sent shivers down my spine when he called me by that nickname.

The ceiling no longer had my attention captivated. I blinked, then turned my head to face him, our eyes meeting. He uttered, “I need you.”

“You need me,” I spoke barely above a whisper.

“I need you, baby. I been feenin’ for you all day, baby,” his voice reeked of desperation. “I can’t shake this shit.”

“Where did you go?”

“To eat with at my parents’ house with Trecee?—”

I cut him off, releasing a scoff and snatched my attention away from him, darting my eyes back to the ceiling.

“And it wasn’t shit like that. All while I was there, I was thinking ‘bout you, Synthia,” he defended himself.

Adjusting my posture, I sat up on my feet and rested my hands on top of my thighs. I had to straighten my crop top to keep my breasts from spilling out.

“Am I a fantasy to you or something?”

He frowned, then twisted his head, still leaning against the door. “The fuck are you getting at?”

“You’re enjoying having your cake and eating it too.

I gave you back the phones, plus the money from the cuts.

This isn’t about a ransom anymore. This is you feeding into your power because you know I have nothing.

You’re trapping me here, like I’m some fucking prisoner.

Then whenever you’re ready, you’re eating my ass and pussy, and then you dip back out and come back, starting the cycle over.

To hell with this shit and to hell with you.

This is messy no matter how you slice it.

I paid my debt. This is deep, Romelo. We’re in too deep now,” I stated in a hushed tone as if people could hear us.

“See,” he pointed at me. “That’s where you're wrong. You ain’t a fantasy for me.

I told you it should’ve been you. It always should’ve been you, but I settled for Trecee.

I can have any bitch prancing around this bitch, playing house.

You’re so fucking headstrong, and regardless of me paying you for the shit we been doing as a favor, you don’t need it, and you don’t need me.

You don’t lack integrity. Despite the shit that you go through, your head remains high.

I been seeing that shit. I talk about yo fine ass at night to my pillow with my head smashed against it, always wishing it was you.

“You were the only woman in my life I never knew how to approach. You don’t go around looking for handouts.

I trust that if I let you go, you’ll leave here broke because you know your value is worth more than a dollar.

If we talkin’ ‘bout a fantasy, the only sick shit ‘bout me was me laying next to your cousin thinkin’ ‘bout you. I don’t regret none of this because you’re mine, but the only thing I fear is me letting you leave and you not coming back. ”

“Then that might be a risk that you’ll have to take,” I sighed, taking a deep breath.

“Juicy, don’t fucking talk like that,” he warned me.

I stood up, trampled out of bed, and stomped towards him.

“Or what, nigga! Or fucking what!” I grimaced.

He removed the gun from his waistband, and with a taunting smirk on his face, he pulled the trigger. Only this time, he wasn’t so lucky, and fate ruled over, promising him death, with it knocking on his door because it had an invitation.

To Be Continued