CHAPTER SIX

"Say Something" by A Great Big World and Christina Aguilera

I eased myself into the warm bath, the water gently embracing my body, and surprisingly, I found peace in each drop. 

Slowly, I picked up a bar of soap, its fragrance filling the air as I delicately lathered my skin. While doing so, I couldn't help but notice a faint bruise on my wrist, not a result of ties but rather a reminder of his powerful grip. I hadn't even realized the strength with which he had held me, but my body certainly did.

Behind the closed bathroom door, an unsettling silence hung in the air, sending shivers down my spine. My anxiety intensified as I suddenly heard the door unlocking. 

My heart raced, threatening to break free from my chest, and I felt as though I might suffer a heart attack right then and there.

With a creak, the door swung open, revealing him standing on the threshold, a key in hand. 

He was shirtless, his breath heavy, resembling a beast that had just completed an intense morning run.

"Belle," he growled, shutting the door firmly behind him, "do you have any idea how difficult it was to find this damn key?"

He moved closer, his voice filled with menace. 

"I want to snap your little neck like this," he demonstrated with his hands, "but my entire body won't let me."

I let out a relieved sigh. 

"Oh, good," I said with a smile. 

"For a moment there, I was worried you might."

He dipped his hand into the bathwater and playfully splashed it towards me, droplets sprinkling my face. 

"You find this amusing?" he asked, a hint of irritation in his voice.

I couldn't help but burst into laughter, retaliating by flicking water back at him. 

"No, you didn't," I teased.

Drawing nearer, he leaned in close, his tone growing darker. 

"You're making me soft, and I don't like it." 

I responded by gently kissing his lips. 

"Oh, I wouldn't want a big, bad mafia boss to turn into a softie," I quipped.

His hand found the back of my neck, and he drew me closer to his mouth, plunging his tongue inside my mouth. 

"That mouth of yours," he murmured.

With effortless strength, he scooped me out of the bath, cradling me in his arms, and carried me into the bedroom. Despite being damp from the bathwater, he delicately laid me down on the silk sheets. He didn't mind.

"I've probably ruined your sheets," I confessed.

He chuckled darkly; his eyes filled with desire. 

"The sheets are ours, and the least of your concerns right now," he replied, parting my legs with a determination in his eyes.

I felt the gentle warmth of his palm against my stomach as he guided my body onto the smooth silk sheets. A subtle arch formed in my back; the bare expanse of my skin adorned with lingering droplets. Moving closer, he positioned his knee delicately between mine, gently parting them. A hint of a smile played on his lips, and with a subtle motion, his pants gracefully descended his thighs.

Leaning in, he pressed my body against his, his fingers entwining in my hair with a firm yet tender grip. Lifting my face, a soft moan escaped my lips. His face found its place against my neck, his lips moving slowly, igniting a fiery red hue on my skin. He traced a path down to my breasts, cupping them with his palms. Bringing them closer to his tongue, he circled my nipples like a predator. 

At that moment, I became his prey.

My palms pressed firmly against the sheets, my nails digging into the mattress as he sent electrifying shivers down my spine. 

His right hand claimed residence on my left breast, maintaining its hold as he continued to explore my body with a trail of kisses. When his tongue slid down inside me, an involuntary jump surged through me.

My palm slapping the mattress before my fingers tangled in his hair, scratching his scalp with a fervor that lingered even after they were gone.

Engaging in a daring dance with his tongue, he coaxed forth nothing but moans that slipped through my parted lips. Rolling my eyes, I found my teeth biting down on my lip in sheer pleasure. He glanced up, a silent acknowledgment of his prowess. In response, I arched my back, and his hand slid down.

Lifting both legs, I placed them gently on his shoulders, inviting him further inside. His fingers, one by one, slid inside me, a gradual count that reached three. Gently, he delved deeper, his thrusts gaining power, causing my entire body to tremble. Unable to contain the pleasure, I pulled at his hair, prompting his head to withdraw from my body. My legs drew together, orchestrating a graceful turn of my body.

He momentarily stepped back, a brief pause that hinted at a tease, only to swiftly pull me back into his embrace the very next second. 

My back now faced him, elegantly arched, and my palms instinctively met the sheets, anticipating the firm grip that awaited. As he parted my legs, lifting my hips in a seamless motion, a sudden, unexpected slap of pleasure accompanied his decisive thrust inside me.

I had been prepared, eager for the rhythmic dance of his every thrust. 

The hunger between us was undeniable, a connection that had been slowly intensifying every second in the past twenty-four hours.

He continued to deepen his thrusts, leaning onto me, his chest pressed firmly against my back. The rhythm of his heartbeat, the warmth of his breath on my neck, intensified my moans, resonating louder with each passionate thrust. 

My palms clung desperately to the sheets until his hands enveloped mine. His fingers wove through, and I could feel the slow, deliberate arching between our intertwined hands, my own fingers still digging into the fabric of the sheets.

As I tightened around him, his tempo accelerated, breaths growing more audible, causing tremors to ripple through my body. The sheets bore witness to our passion, leaving a trail of evidence on my knees from the weight of his body upon mine. Collapsing onto the sheets, I couldn't help but moan his name, "Apollo," and I sensed his smile against my neck as he lingered.

Spreading my fingers, the peak of pleasure approached, but abruptly, he lifted himself, withdrawing.

"I want you to beg for more," he said, almost breathless, droplets of sweat forming on his forehead, an invitation hanging in the air, awaiting my response.

"I don't need more; I'm already pleased," I teased, lifting my bottom close to his hips and sensually sliding up and down as his hands attempted to reach my hips.

"Then I'll stop," he declared, taking a step back.

Gently placing my hands down, I spread my legs, revealing exactly what he was missing. 

"Fuck me," I demanded, "And I am not begging."

He arched a brow and thrust himself back inside me with one commanding motion. I bit my lip in pleasure, and with each subsequent movement, I felt myself on the edge again, holding back, struggling not to give in. 

It had been years since I'd been with a man, and even those experiences paled in comparison to this — Apollo was more of a man, while others were merely boys.

"Belle," he moaned.

I sensed him growing wider and harder inside me, so I whispered, "Not yet Apollo."

He withdrew, and I took his hand, guiding him towards the mirror. 

"I want to see you do it," I declared.

"Fuck, Belle, I love the way you think," he smirked. 

"Go down."

Bending at the waist, I held my thighs close, arched my back, and gazed into the mirror. It revealed the sheer size and breadth of him.

Every muscle in Apollo's body was on display as he delicately maneuvered my lower lips and thrust himself inside me. 

His mouth opened, head arching back, while his hands on my hips guided the rhythmic motion. 

The pace quickened, and I watched my breasts bounce as I bit my lip, meeting his gaze in the mirror.

I parted my mouth, the building orgasm evident, and as I tightened around him, I felt him growing even larger for me. Just as the pleasure threatened to consume me, he filled me completely.

As he withdrew, I could feel the wetness and his tick essence sliding down my thighs. As I look up, he is watching, raising an eyebrow, and smirking. 

Cupping me, he led us back into the bathroom.

As the water cascaded over my body, I scrubbed away the remnants of his scent, but his presence lingered beside me, tenderly caressing my skin with soap. His lips found my neck, and then his hand trailed slowly down my spine. 

His fingers encountered a scar on my back, nestled between two ribs. 

This scar was the reason for my enduring lack of trust, the very reason I had taken Rose and fled from home. I had never shared my story with anyone, not even Rose. But with Apollo, he was the first man who had made me feel vulnerable as if I could lower my defenses.

It might sound foolish, especially given that I had known him for just a day, but I found myself trusting him more than anyone else. Was this foolishness, or was I finally allowing myself to fall for someone after all these years?

Unable to contain my emotions, tears mixed with the water streamed down my face.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked softly.

"No," I whispered, turning to face him, his presence a sudden, startling comfort.

His touch was different — gentle, yet profound, stirring emotions deep within me. It was the kind of touch that made you feel seen in a world where you've often felt invisible, vulnerable yet safe.

He drew me closer, his voice low and resonant. 

"I've got scars too, ones that still ache," he confessed. 

"I won't pry into your past, as I guard my own so fiercely, but something tells me you're ready to share."

A small smile broke on my lips as I leaned into his embrace. Shutting off the shower, I stepped out, wrapping myself in a towel and offering him one. Taking his hand, I led him to the bedroom, our steps in sync.

We lay down together, my head resting on his chest. And there, in the safety of his arms, I allowed myself to cry, to release the pent-up pain. It felt like a dam breaking, washing away years of unspoken hurt. 

Apollo

As her sobs filled the room, I was at a loss. 

What the fuck should I do? 

I wondered, feeling a tug at my heart. Typically, I'd distance myself when a woman cried, suspecting it to be a ploy for sympathy or attention. But this felt different, genuine.

Overcoming my usual instincts, I pulled her closer, wanting to offer some semblance of comfort. 

This was new for me — being someone's solace. 

I gently kissed her forehead, whispering, "I'm here for you."

She lifted her tear-stained face, meeting my gaze. Her reddened eyes spoke of real pain, the kind I recognized all too well. It resonated with my own hidden scars.

"Who did this to you?" I asked softly, my voice laced with concern.

She took a moment, trying to compose herself, then sat up. I moved to sit beside her, taking her hand in mine. 

With a gentle kiss on her hand, I repeated, "Who hurt you like this?" 

My tone was earnest, seeking to understand, to share the burden of her pain.

"On my eighteenth birthday, my father sold me to repay his gambling debt." She said, wiping her tears.

"But he sold me to a much older man, who didn't want marriage as you wanted with Rose, he wanted something else."

"Don't tell me he...?" I started but she interrupted.

"I remember one night falling asleep in the comfort of my own bed, nestled beside Rose, only to awaken later in a chilling, dimly lit room with a worn mattress on the floor," she said turning her gaze away from me, "The man was old, he smelled like alcohol. I swear I can still taste the bad whiskey on my tongue." 

Taking a deep breath she continued, "The first thing he did was slap me across my face, then tear apart my shirt." 

I could see tears falling down her face, "So I punched him in the face. Ice cold." 

She brushed the tears away with the flat of her palm before laying her head down in my lap, her face turned up towards mine. 

"He found a bottle and forcefully threw it onto the floor. He took an edge and stabbed me in the back as I tried to crawl away."

Her eyes were full of tears as she said, "I never was with any man before, Apollo, he took innocence from me."

I pulled her closer so strongly that I felt her heart next to mine.

"Then he called his buddies to enjoy 'the young meat' as he said." I could feel her tears on my chest. 

"Every thrust I promised myself I would never trust a man, ever before." 

"All of them at any moment could've stopped, but none of them did. And I hate myself I couldn't fight more." She said as she pulled away from me.

"Belle, you were assaulted." I barked, "I swear I will kill whoever did this to you."

"Apollo, who knows who this guy is. I just know I never wanted my sister to end up like me." 

Locking her eyes with mine she said, "I would rather the same thing happen to me than let her be the victim of the same crime."

I took her face between my palms, "I will never, ever let that happen to you or her." 

I kissed her gently.

Her tears continued as I felt her heartbeat quicken, mirroring my own. 

I vowed to myself, then and there, to be there for Belle, to make those