R O M E S S A.
I'm in Control
(slightly smutty)
B I L L I E | E I L I S H - My Boy
"If you want me to be yours,
then you've gotta be mine,
And if you want a good girl, then goodbye."
—
Romessa never got nervous—or so she thought. But as she sat on her bed and watched Marco stand near her window in order to light a cigarette, she found herself questioning her aforementioned beliefs. He'd removed the black jacket of his well-fitted suit and rolled up the sleeves of the fancy white shirt he'd worn underneath it, causing him to look ridiculously handsome as he exposed his tattooed forearms. The cigarette he was smoking had previously been sitting in the back pocket of his tailored slacks, waiting to be lit—Romessa knew he was saving it for a moment when he'd need it. Now was that moment.
They'd arrived to her apartment ten minutes ago, both attempting to seem more composed than the other, trying not to give way to their carnal urges. But it'd been two entire years since they'd felt one another, and as Romessa gazed lustfully at the German in her bedroom, that fact made itself more evident than ever. Romessa had always seen past Marco's good looks—it wasn't his physical appearance which drew her to him. It was his demeanor and his personality; his way of exuding confidence and nonchalance even in moments of crisis. Romessa bit her lip as Marco's eyes met hers, then drew in a breath. Is this a moment of crisis?
Marco's eyes found hers from across the room, where he'd chosen to light his cigarette so that he could blow the smoke out of the window. She wondered if he was thinking about all the bad decisions they were about to make—she knew she was. "You can come closer, you know." A sly smile found her lips as she broke their silence, holding her second glass of wine in hand. "I won't bite."
Marco smirked as he neared her, still taking sophisticated drags from his cigarette, puffing the smoke out through a tight O formed with his lips. "How can I be so sure?"
Romessa sat on the edge of her bed, still wearing her striking white evening dress. With her sitting and Marco standing, her lips were mere inches away from the belt of his pants. Marco used the fingers on his free hand to tilt her head up towards his, his eyes only leaving hers once he needed to turn his head to let out another soft stream of smoke. "Do you know what I think?"
"What do you think?" Romessa bit her lip, gazing up at Marco as per his unspoken command. She watched as he smirked softly, his hand suddenly finding her neck—and enclosing itself around it.
"I think that you showed up two weeks ago with a mask on your face," he began. "I think that mask makes you feel powerful. It makes you think you're in control. But really, you aren't." Slowly, his hand tightened around her neck, causing Romessa to draw in a breath of arousal as he pressed his knee into the mattress, resting it in between her legs. "I'm in control. Look at the way you react to me," he murmured. His voice was husky, like silk over gravel. "You crave me. I can see it in your eyes every time I come near you. They shine and they plead, just like they did when you were a girl."
"I wasn't a girl," hissed Romessa, despite feeling the heat of lust spread throughout her body. "Don't be ridiculous. I was eighteen."
"You were young. You didn't know what you were doing," responded Marco. "You still don't."
Romessa didn't respond as the German put his cigarette out in her wine glass, which wasn't yet empty. When she opened her mouth to object to him, Marco pressed a finger against her lips, effectively quieting her. "Have you ever been fucked by a man that used to love you?" his voice was so low that he almost sounded angry.
Romessa slowly shook her head, feeling her cheeks warm. Don't blush, she thought. Please don't blush. You can't afford to. But she was blushing, and Marco could tell. He smirked, his hand only caressing her cheek for a moment before it was back around her neck. He was exerting his dominance, and he certainly didn't feel the need to ask for permission. "It's a dangerous thing," he stated, slowly pushing her onto the bed. He moved to hover over her, placing his lips on her ear as he continued to whisper. "The lust is confused for the love you once had. It feels thrilling, nostalgic. It feels complete." His lips found the skin of her neck, where he left a soft kiss. His eyes found hers again. They were dark and somehow unforgiving, which stood out to Romessa the most—but of what?
"And every time it's over," Marco continued, "You'll start to feel incomplete. And you'll crave more and more. But the question is whether or not you crave the love, or the lust. I hope that you won't make the mistake of thinking the two are interchangeable..." He paused. "I hope you know that this won't be like before."
Romessa let out a small breath before Marco crashed his lips upon hers, stealing a kiss so passionate that she emitted a small noise of pleasure and surprise. She quickly pulled her lips away from his, however, and spoke, her arched eyebrows seductively risen. "You're right that it won't be like before," she stated, as Marco balled the hem of her dress into his fist before roughly pulling it up her thighs. She wasn't wearing underwear—the delight and surprise of such a seemingly promiscuous act only further stimulated Marco. His bright eyes were dark when they met hers, and Romessa continued to speak, a mischievous glint in her own orbs. "You may be the first man to have ever fucked me, but you weren't the last. So let me show you how I've changed," she declared, her hands finding the zipper of his black pants. "Let me show you what I've learned."
The thought of anyone else touching Romessa in the ways Marco had two summers ago felt infuriating and somehow arousing to the German, who only sneered in response. "Were you expecting me?" He grinned as his fingers found the wetness between her thighs, slowly moving to stimulate her folds and feeling them dampen, watching as Romessa bit her lip and closed her eyes. He roughly moved her hand from his undone pants, pushing them down his waist on his own. "Is that why you didn't wear any underwear?"
"Don't flatter yourself," muttered Romessa, opening her eyes before staring at Marco. "I don't remember you being so talkative."
"There must be a lot of things you don't remember about me," growled Marco. "Lets see if you remember this." Romessa let out a loud moan of surprise and satisfaction as she felt Marco enter her without warning, pinning her hands above her head with one of his own hands and using the other to maintain a controlling hold around her neck. Instinctually, Romessa wanted to use her hands—she wanted to grab Marco, to touch his warm flesh. But he only smirked at her futile attempts to escape his hold, steadily making this thrusts harder and faster, listening as her moans increased in pace and volume. "You're mine now," he whispered, his lips against her ear as he continued to stroke himself inside of her. "Don't try to get out. I won't let you go."
Romessa knew he was talking about more than the torrid indiscretion that they were engaging themselves in, undeniably good as it felt. He was talking about her presence—her re-entrance to his life, for better or worse as it was. Romessa relinquished herself to his control then, closing her eyes and tilting her head back as unstoppable moans continued to escape her parted lips. She felt exhilarated by Marco's sudden roughness—it was, admittedly, something she hadn't been expecting from the German. He's got me, she thought, as she found it increasingly difficult to withstand a premature climax. Marco continued to move himself in and out of her, smirking as his eyes hardly left her face, as he refused to moan himself. He's in control now, thought Romessa. Can you really act surprised?
Marco bit his lip as he used his other free hand to grip her thighs; the part which he could access given the fact that he'd been too eager to remove her dress. It was the feeling of his seemingly protective hand on her thigh and the utterance of a dirty German phrase which caused Romessa to tremble and cower; to shake with the overwhelming sensation of a raw orgasm. It was the most powerful she'd had in years—since her first time with Marco. Only he could give her that much pleasure, tantalizing as it was. There was no love or gentleness in their sex—only eagerness and impatience, rapture and relief. Marco came not long after the Moroccan, whose eyes were closed as she felt him finish on her thigh, desperate to relieve himself anywhere but inside of her.
Marco then stood up, muttered a profanity that Romessa hadn't yet learned, and disappeared into her en-suite bathroom—as though they hadn't done something quick and dirty, damning and sinful. Romessa ran a hand through her lightened hair, catching a glimpse of herself in her mirror. God, she thought, staring at her red cheeks and her smeared lipstick. What have I done?
Just as she was prepared to clean up the mess that Marco had made on her and of her, the German returned from her en-suite, another cigarette lit, a few strands of his blonde hair having escaped its perfectly done comb-over due to the rapid movements he'd been making. As he grabbed his jacket and raked an organizing hand over his blonde hair, he spoke. "I'll see you on Monday, then?"
Romessa bit her lip. This is what you wanted, isn't it? No strings. "Yeah," she finally responded, watching as Marco put on his jacket. Before finding his own way out of her apartment, Romessa spoke again, no hint of emotion in her voice as she did so. "See you Monday."
—
@romessa: back to brunette & back to work. at 3:30 i'll be live-streaming from @signalidunapark09 with @julianbrandt to answer your questions about Athleta and more, so tune in!
likes: 43,970 • liked by @belladlatorre
@dortmundboys: will @marchinho11 be joining you? :)
@bvb09: @dortmundboys Marco is focusing on his recovery and will be in training at the time.
@belladlatorre: i wanna see you, but not ugly @julianbrandt!! can you kick him off?
@julianbrandt: @belladlatorre 😚
—
"The results are finally here." Romessa stood before Marco and their team of trainers—Nadia, Matthew, and Damien—with a small stack of stapled papers in hand. "I spent the entire weekend supervising the program while it analyzed your physical data. Everything went smoothly. Here they are." She dropped the file on the table in front of Marco, who'd been staring at her with smug eyes ever since she walked into the room. His complacent gaze caused her body to feel warm with the recollection of the indiscretions they'd committed on Friday night—and Saturday, and Sunday. Sure, she'd spent the weekend working and grading—but she'd also spent it indulging herself in what was quickly becoming a strictly sexual affair. "I don't think they'll read themselves," she sassily stated, crossing her arms.
Marco finally stopped smirking up at her as he picked up the report and opened it, scanning it with eager eyes. "Oh my God," he muttered, standing up. "Is this true?"
"What does it say?" Nadia stood and neared Marco, taking the papers into her hand to review the results for herself. Her eyes widened as she read the same words Marco had expressed disbelief at. As she carefully scrutinized the results, the routines, and the diets that Romessa's program had generated for Marco, Damien and Matthew gathered around as well, both equally astonished. "I think it's true," Nadia confirmed, handing the paper back to Marco. "I'll have to do some more research before sending a letter of confirmation to the league. But by my prior knowledge, if you follow this routine, you should be at least 90% recovered within a month and a half. That was the recovery amount Favre agreed to in order to put you on the pitch for at least part of a match. In two to three months, if you follow these routines, you'll likely reach full recovery." Nadia smiled up at Romessa, her eyes shining in admiration. "Well done."
"Can I talk to you in private?" Marco turned to Romessa, his eyes and his mouth conveying two separate emotions.
"Sure," Romessa rose an eyebrow. "It's noon—we should break for lunch, anyways. I'm heading to the kitchens."
"I'll join you." Marco and Romessa fell into step as they exited the training room, both waiting until they were out of earshot from the others to say anything. "This is amazing," he finally stated, holding up the report. "I thought I'd miss the entire season."
"It's best if you don't broadcast the results. Anything could go wrong, and we don't want to make things seem bigger than they are. Management is making me to do a livestream in a few hours—your supporters are getting restless, constantly commenting on my photos about the program and your recovery. I'll handle it." Unfazed by his happiness, Romessa turned to face the German. "And you're welcome," she declared.
Marco bit his lip, glancing around the empty hallway. Despite the fact that it was empty, they didn't have much privacy—there were open-windowed rooms all around them, and just next to them, some players were doing exercises in the weight room. "I'll thank you once I'm back on the pitch," he finally stated, with a playful smile.
Romessa cleared her throat. "You left a shirt at my apartment," she spoke, her voice low.
"And?"
"And, don't do it again." She pouted. "I don't need any reminders of you lying around to distract me."
"You used to love my shirts," teased Marco. "Just keep it. I'm sure I'll need it next time." Romessa remained quiet, relegated to silence by Marco's statement. You used to love my shirts. Suddenly she thought of all the nights spent together, the love made, and the true feelings they'd held for one another when she was eighteen—when he was just Manuela Reus's son to her and not Marco Reus, the best athlete Germany had to offer. Well, before his injury. When they'd cook breakfast on weekend mornings, and she'd run around in nothing but his old oversized shirts. But she was quickly shaken out of those flashbacks by Marco, who spoke again. "Lunch, then?"
Romessa suddenly scoffed, her eyes glancing at the gold wedding band on Marco's finger. "Let's get one thing straight," she declared, stepping closer to the German. "I'll fuck you, because it feels good. I'll help you recover, because it's in my best interest. But I will not be your friend, and I will not eat lunch with you."
Marco smirked. "Still playing hard to get, are you?" He, too, stepped closer to the Moroccan. He wasn't as phased by her confident demeanor, now that he'd gotten used to it—and she wasn't the only one capable of being so self-assured. "I'll have you screaming my name tonight. You'll beg me for more, just like you have been for the past three days. We'll see how tough you are then, won't we?"
Romessa opened her mouth to speak, but she was interrupted by Mats, who knocked against the glass window and waved. She plastered a smile on her face and waved back. Reminded of the fact that they were in public, she stepped away from Marco—but not after getting the last word, and a sassy one at that. "Yeah," she declared. "I guess we will."
—
AUTHOR'S NOTE/QUESTION:
who is your favorite musical artist? I think mine is the band The Neighborhood or the singer Lana Del Rey :)