"Unconditionally" by Katy Perry
If I had ever entertained the notion of cuddling a woman to sleep, I would have scoffed at the idea. Yet, here I was, cradling her in her most vulnerable state, my fingers tracing every curve of her body. Tenderly slipping my fingers through her hair, kissing her forehead, and holding her close, I felt like a teenager who had just laid eyes on a woman for the first time, desperate to keep her forever, with no room for anyone else.
And damn it, I didn't want anyone else.
She had cast some kind of spell over me, and in just one night, I was irrevocably hers.
Forgive me, dear Lord, for my sins, but I wanted to sin with her every minute of the day.
As I sensed that she had slipped into an even deeper sleep, I gently moved her hand from my chest and rose, stepping outside for a smoke. I flicked on the lighter and ignited a cigar, allowing its smoky tendrils to infiltrate my senses.
I watched as New York gradually succumbed to sleep, some lights flickering out while others began to twinkle.
Sometimes, I pondered my luck at being alive, at being here.
I wore my scars like a story, but I had never shared that story with anyone.
The bedroom light suddenly illuminated, and I saw her searching for me. She stepped out and wrapped her arms around me, planting a tender kiss on the back of my shoulder.
"I'm sorry if I'm the one keeping you awake," she said.
"Bellissima," I responded, snuffing out the cigar against the wall.
I cupped her face. "If you knew what's in my head, I'd probably scare you away."
"I've heard stories, and I'm not afraid," she replied with a smile.
There was something genuine in her smile, and I found myself appreciating that about her.
"Like what?" I asked, genuinely amused.
"I don't want to hurt your feelings," she confessed, resting her head on my chest.
"Belle, I've grown so numb to people's opinions that I hardly care what they say about me," I began, "But for some reason, your opinion matters to me. So please, amuse me."
"In the bar where I used to work, my colleague Becca had an obsession with the mafia," she explained.
"She often told us stories about the underworld. One story she shared was about a boy who grew up on the streets, taken in by the mafia. This child never spoke; he only growled, and they called him the 'Beast of New York.'"
"Is that why you referred to me as 'Beast' in your vows?" I asked, amused.
"Apollo, if somehow this was triggering for you and I hurt you, I want you to know that I'm sorry. I didn't know you... I still don't fully... but I think you're a good person," she said, struggling to find the right words.
"The story is true, Belle, but I'm not ready to talk about it," I replied. "And for what it's worth, your vows were indeed touching."
She smiled.
"So, by 'touching,' you weren't being sarcastic?"
I chuckled.
"Not everything I say is sarcastic, Belle."
"I'm sorry," she apologized.
"No, Belle, you don't have to apologize for anything in your life ever again," I told her.
"I want you to own your past. I need you to be powerful because from now on, you'll be by my side at every event I attend, and I need you to promise me that you'll stay strong."
"I am strong," she affirmed.
"You are, but the people you'll meet will try to make you doubt yourself. They'll want to eat you alive. But don't let them," I explained, my words drawn from years of enduring people who were like family, even though they weren't related to me.
I had to keep my composure all those years just so I wouldn't appear weak in their eyes.
"I promise," she assured me.
I cupped her face and leaned in for a kiss.
"The mafia shapes boys into men, but it's the men who decide what shape they take. The one you like the most, are the worst."
"Don't you trust them?" She asked.
"Only few," I said looking away.
Belle
I could see the hurt in his eyes, and I understood that trust didn't come easily for him. I knew that firsthand because I, too, had trouble trusting anyone.
"You can trust me," I assured him.
He smiled, "I had a feeling I would, especially after I noticed you still had the frying pan in your suitcase."
I smiled back.
"I swear, if I hadn't forgotten it was there, I would've hit Sabrina with it."
"I've never seen anyone sexier holding a pan, Belle," he said, amused.
"Is that so?" I asked.
"You're adorable," he said, leaning in to kiss me again.
"Can I ask you for a favor?" I inquired.
"I want to check on Rose and make sure she's doing okay," I explained. "And I also need to quit my former job."
"Regarding your job, Jimmy took care of it, and for Rose... how about you visit her three times a week while I handle some work affairs?" he suggested.
I couldn't contain my excitement and jumped into his arms, wrapping my hands around him.
"That's perfect, thank you so much."
He cradled me in his arms, lifting me from the chilly floor. With my head nestled against his chest, he carried me to the bedroom, where he lowered me gently onto the bed.
A spark ignited in his eyes, prompting a smile to grace my lips. As he drew nearer, I leaned in eagerly for a kiss. His breath, warm and tinged with the lingering scent of cigar and mint, enveloped me, but I welcomed it as his tongue danced across my lips, inviting me into a deeper embrace. I had never wanted a man as much as I wanted him in that moment.
He had done something to me, and in a single night, I had gone from not wanting anything to do with him to wanting to fulfill his every wish.
"Belle, it won't be easy to love me," he warned. "We may start with gentle, tender passion, but I have my demons."
"Let them play, Apollo," I replied, unknowingly falling under his spell.
He arched an eyebrow; his movements deliberate as he reached for something in the nearby drawer. Without saying a word, he clasped the cold metal of handcuffs around my wrists, securing me to the bedframe.
"I won't be gentle this time, Belle," he declared, his voice low and commanding, as he retrieved a small whip from another drawer.
Using the whip, he lifted my chin with a feather-light touch, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine.
"Use 'Red' if you want me to stop," he instructed his words hanging in the air with a weighty promise.
A subtle nod escaped me, my heart echoing with anticipation. This time, I was prepared for whatever awaited. I abandoned the urge to resist, instead, I craved the feel of the cuffs, yearning to surrender completely to him.
He trailed the whip from my chin, a shiver racing down my spine as its touch grazed over my chest, teasingly circling my nipples.
Without a warning, he stroked my breast, leaving behind a crimson trail in its wake. The sensation stung, igniting a sharp gasp, yet my excitement overshadowed any hint of pain.
Repeatedly, he touched my breasts, the leather whip dancing between them, each stroke drawing forth a gasp or a whimper.
My skin prickled with goosebumps, a physical manifestation of the arousal coursing through me. As his eyes darkened and a smirk played upon his lips, he traced the whip lower, gliding over my stomach until it reached the threshold of my lower lips. With a swift strike, a scream tore from my throat as agony and pleasure intertwined.
"Should I stop?" he inquired, his voice laced with concern.
I shook my head fervently, desire gleaming in my eyes, craving more of his touch.
I bit my lip, arching my back towards him as he continued, striking me harder and harder. I screamed with each hit, my body craving more despite the pain. I longed to wrap myself around him, to ride him with abandon, but I remained cuffed to the bed.
He desired control, and he knew it wasn't something that came easily to me. So, he punished me for it, pushing my boundaries as I willingly surrendered to his dominance.
He observed my body's plea for respite, and in response, he unbuckled his belt, allowing pants to slide down his thighs. With a knee sinking into the mattress, he crawled over to me until there was barely a millimeter between us.
His hand gripped my jaw, pulling me toward him for a kiss that made my eyes shut closed. As he entered me, our hips locked, and he delved deeper with each thrust.
The bed danced with our passion, my hands slamming the top with each forceful movement. Each thrust making me gasp for air.
Leaning back, his face turned towards the ceiling as he moaned in tandem with me, still maintaining a rapid pace.
Every muscle moved in synchrony, and my thighs shook along with them. He turned back to me, his thumb exploring my contours as he deepened his movements.
"Apollo, please," I moaned, "Please uncuff me."
He raised a brow amusingly, "Not yet."
His thrusts intensified, pounding against me, causing my wetness to drip onto the silk sheets below us. My inner flesh tightened around him, my lips opened, and my eyes closed in pleasure. I gasped for air, moaning for more.
While still inside me, he leaned in, uncuffing me hand by hand until my arms wrapped around his neck. With a swift motion, he turned me around, placing me on top of him.
"Ride me," he commanded.
I moved with the rhythm, making myself tighter around him. As I arched my back, he placed his hands on my hips.
"Touch yourself," he instructed.
I placed my fingers down and tingled pleasure against myself.
My thighs quivered, locked in place, trembling for him, aching for him. With each deep thrust, I screamed his name, feeling him fill me with the last motion.
Collapsing onto his chest, a smile played on my lips as I whispered his name, "Apollo."
"I can't get enough of you," he confessed, his words washing over me like a warm embrace.
Leaning to the side, I lay down, my fingers tracing patterns on his chest. Another smile graced my lips as I settled against him, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me closer.
Just as I was about to close my eyes, the door swung open. A woman burst in, tall and buxom, her face etched with wrinkles, betraying her age. Yet, she exuded a striking beauty, with full lips painted cherry red, a sharp nose, thick eyebrows, and long eyelashes framing sparkling brown eyes.
From head to toe, she was adorned in designer clothes, her elegance contrasting sharply with the anger and shock lacing her voice.
"How could my son get married without inviting a single family member?" she demanded, her tone cutting through the air like a knife.
Apollo responded with a calm, albeit strained, "Hello, mother."
In a frantic bid to shield our modesty, I seized a sheet and draped it around us. Yet, the woman, unfazed by our state, marched over to the window and flung it open.
"Did you know your father is in a crucial meeting with the Coletti tonight? Sabrina came to him, weeping," she declared, her nose crinkling in disdain.
"This room reeks of sin, fornication, and immorality."
Apollo's typically composed voice carried a trace of exasperation.
"Elena, please, calm down. You know I would never marry Sabrina. And Leo is well aware of that."
His mother's scorn hung heavy in the air. "But to marry a stripper?"
I couldn't suppress my anger.
"With all due respect, I am not a stripper."
She sneered. "Then you're just after his money. Don't pretend this is about love."
That was the final straw for Apollo. Rising from the bed, his dignity untouched by his nakedness, he confronted.
"Enough. Leave, now."
Her nose elevated even higher, wounded by his words, and she turned away after casting a scrutinizing glance at my face before storming out of the room, the door slamming shut behind her.
"Apollo..." I began, my eyes cast downward, brimming with a mix of emotions.
His voice carried a mix of protectiveness and defiance as he turned to address me.
"Belle, this isn't your fight. I'll take care of it."
Approaching me, he pressed a tender kiss to my forehead, a stark contrast to the harshness of the situation.
"I won't let anyone treat my wife this way, not even the woman who claims to be my mother."
"Apollo, please," I whispered, the weight of the confrontation settling heavily upon us both.