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Dusty and Steve escorted Triple H and Stephanie out, leaving the arena floor for the hotel, their minds already turning over the new endorsement. Sandro didn't linger. He gave a final nod to Steve, a silent thank you for the smooth arrangements, and headed straight for the exit. He knew exactly where he was going and who was waiting.
When he reached the parking lot, the silence was a welcome change. The late Florida air was thick and warm. He spotted her immediately. April was leaning against the sleek, dark form of his BMW, a picture of casual elegance and coiled energy. Her eyes, those beautiful, intense eyes, immediately locked onto him. The practiced restraint she'd shown backstage completely vanished.
She straightened up with an audible exhale of relief, a soft, intimate smile blossoming on her face. As he approached, she tossed a small, shiny object toward him. It was his car key, which he deftly snagged out of the air.
"Thought you might need this, big shot," she teased, her voice a low, throaty purr that sent an instant jolt of anticipation through him.
He grinned, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten, and unlocked the car. They both climbed into the luxurious interior. Sandro settled into the driver's seat, the leather molding around his aching body, and started the engine. The powerful purr of the BMW was the only sound for a moment.
The second the car pulled onto the quiet street, April's reserve completely shattered. She was a whirlwind of unrestrained happiness and clinging affection.
She shifted in her seat, immediately turning her body toward him, the closeness of the car amplifying the intimacy.
"You have no idea," she whispered, her voice husky with feeling, "how much I missed you."
She acted like a baby, not in a needy way, but in a way that showcased their private history, their comfort level. She put her hand on his thigh, a casual, familiar possessiveness. Then, she leaned in, her hair falling over his shoulder, and gave him a series of quick, soft kisses on his cheek and the edge of his jaw, each one a little more insistent than the last.
"You were incredible," she murmured against his skin. "You scared me a few times, but you were incredible. Nic looked phenomenal, too. You really put him over."
"It's what I do," Sandro replied, the low tenor of his voice deepened by a growing desire. He kept his eyes on the road, but his grip on the steering wheel tightened as her subtle, calculated teasing started to work its magic. She was a master of the slow burn, and every press of her body, every whispered compliment, was a calculated hit.
She took her hand from his thigh, only to slide it up to his shoulder, playing with the fabric of his shirt. "You look so tired, though," she observed, her voice suddenly laced with mock concern, then she added, a wicked glint in her eyes, "I guess a champion needs a good rub down when he gets home."
That was the last straw. The combination of the night's adrenaline, the physical exercise, the intoxicating blend of her affection and her suggestive teasing, sent a furious, hot wave of blood rushing through Sandro's veins.
The champion's discipline was starting to fray, replaced by the primal need for this woman, his longest standing confidante and lover. He felt his control slipping, his body responding with a raw, undeniable surge of desire with a pitched tent as evidence.
"You have no idea what you're doing to me, April," he ground out, his voice thick with suppressed need. He managed to accelerate, pushing the BMW a little faster than necessary down the empty stretch of road toward his place.
It felt like an eternity before Sandro steered the car into the underground parking garage of his luxurious apartment complex. The high end complex was a fortress of privacy, an absolute necessity for a star of his magnitude. He killed the engine, and the sudden silence of the enclosed space was deafening, broken only by their heavy breathing.
Before he could even put the car in park, April was leaning across the center console, their lips meeting in a deep, explosive kiss, a kiss that finally shed all pretense of being a friendly reunion. It was a collision of longing and release.
Sandro didn't bother to open his door. He reached for her, his hands gripping her waist, pulling her over the console and onto his lap with a grunt of exertion. The adrenaline in his body was fueling his thoughts even further. Combined with the immediate, fierce need for her.
"Inside," he muttered against her mouth, a simple, non negotiable command.
They stumbled out of the car, their hands already working at each other's clothes, a frenzy of unleashed anticipation. They didn't speak. They didn't need to. Every touch, every breath, communicated the history and the passion that bound them.
They entered the apartment and Sandro's control finally snapped. He grabbed April, his hands settling possessively on the curve of her hips, and in one swift, powerful motion, picked her up.
She let out a surprised, delighted gasp, wrapping her legs around his waist, clinging to him like a lifeline. He didn't break stride, ignoring the protesting aches in his ribs and shoulder.
He carried her through the vast, open plan living room, not stopping until he reached the entrance to the master bathroom. The room was cavernous, tiled in cool marble, with a huge glass enclosed shower and a soaking tub. He backed her against the sleek, mirrored wall.
The kiss resumed, deeper and hungrier now. April's hands were everywhere, in his hair, tearing at the zipper of his leather jacket, pulling it down his arms and letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud.
Sandro pulled back just long enough to look at her, his eyes dark with unbridled passion. "You drive me crazy," he growled, the words almost a curse.
"Good," she breathed back, a challenging, thrilling fire in her own eyes. "I know."
He took a step, carrying her fully now, moving them closer to the massive glass shower enclosure. Their bodies ground together, a friction of denim and skin that only heightened the urgency. Her shirt came off in a single, rough movement, tossed onto the vanity.
His hands were strong, possessive, moving down her body, feeling the familiar, athletic curves beneath his touch. He pushed her back gently until her back was pressed against the smooth, cold tile of the shower wall. The coolness was a stark contrast to the burning heat between them.
With a shared, primal urgency, they shed the last of their clothes, leaving them a discarded trail on the immaculate marble floor. The sound of running water filled the air as Sandro reached out, his hand instinctively turning the brass knob. The shower instantly hissed to life, sending a rush of hot, steamy water cascading down.
He stepped back, a fleeting moment of pure admiration in his eyes as he looked at her, his championship pride replaced by a raw, naked devotion to her beauty. Then he pulled her into the warm embrace of the water.
The heat of the spray hit their skin, a sensation both cleansing and inflaming. April pressed herself fully against him, her body slick and welcoming under the water. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his head down for a dizzying, waterlogged kiss.
The only sounds were the rush of the water, the low, guttural moans, and the ragged, desperate breathing of two people who had waited too long for this exact, private moment. In the luxurious, tiled confines of his apartment, the champion was stripped of his arrogance, becoming simply a man, a man undeniably loved, and just as fiercely desired.
The next day, soft chime of the alarm broke the silence of the morning.
Sandro's eyes opened slowly, the faint golden light of dawn spilling through the half drawn curtains of his apartment. For a moment, he simply lay there, his body heavy with fatigue, his mind still floating in that pleasant haze between rest and wakefulness.
The events of the night before played faintly at the back of his mind, not in vivid images, but in lingering warmth, in a memory that felt both grounding and dangerous.
He turned his head slightly. April was still asleep beside him, her breathing slow and even, her hair a tousled cascade across the pillow. The world outside felt miles away from the chaos of arenas and spotlights. Here, it was quiet, intimate, a small pocket of peace that didn't often exist in his line of work.
Sandro leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Sleep," he murmured softly, his voice barely a whisper.
He slipped out of bed carefully, padding across the cool floor toward the kitchen. The clock on the wall read a little past seven. He had a long day ahead, the signing, the meetings, the press, all of it part of the next big step for FCW and WWE. But for now, his mind was focused on something smaller, something simple and that is a breakfast.
The champion wasn't much of a cook, but he knew his way around the basics. Within minutes, the smell of toasted bread and sizzling eggs filled the air. He brewed a pot of strong coffee, the steam curling lazily upward as he leaned against the counter, letting the routine settle his thoughts. There was something therapeutic about it, normalcy after the chaos of constant performance.
When he was done, he plated two servings neatly and left one on the table, covered with a small lid to keep it warm.
Then, he showered, standing under the hot spray for longer than usual, feeling the tension in his muscles ease bit by bit. The bruises from the match still marked his ribs and shoulder, faint purples and reds like reminders of war wounds, each one telling its own story. He washed away the last of the fatigue, then stepped out and toweled off, steam clinging to his skin as he looked at his reflection.
The man staring back was composed, sharp eyed, but there was something deeper behind the calm expression. A fire that was burning for this business and this new life he was enjoying.
He put on his suit, dark grey, perfectly tailored, and fixed his tie with practiced precision. The look wasn't just about professionalism, it was armor. In the boardroom, just like in the ring, appearances mattered.
Before leaving, Sandro sat for a moment at the edge of the bed. April was still sound asleep, one arm draped across his side of the sheets. He reached over, brushed a strand of hair from her face, and placed a folded note beside her phone.
"Morning, beautiful. Breakfast's ready on the table. Got an early meeting at FCW HQ, big day today. Rest up, and I'll call when I'm done. — S."
He left another kiss on her forehead, softer this time, lingering, then straightened his jacket and walked out the door.
The Florida air was already warm by the time he stepped into the parking garage. The city around him was waking up, the hum of engines, the distant echo of birds, the early rush of commuters. Sandro's BMW sat gleaming under the overhead lights, the same car that had carried him through the chaos of the night before. He climbed in, the leather cool against his palms, and started the engine.
As he drove, his mind shifted from personal to professional. Today wasn't just another day. The acquisition signing between FCW and WWE was a milestone, not just for the company, but for the future of professional wrestling itself.
When he arrived at FCW Headquarters, the usually quiet building buzzed with activity. Cars lined the parking lot, camera crews were setting up near the entrance, and production assistants hurried around with clipboards in hand. Sandro parked and stepped out, adjusting his suit jacket before heading inside.
He made his way to the main conference room, where the signing would take place. Inside, the atmosphere was organized chaos, staff adjusting lights, sound technicians testing microphones, and PR people going over seating arrangements. Everything had to look flawless.
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Name: Alessandro Zhang
Age: 20 (2010)
Birthplace: Orlando, Florida, USA
Brand: WWE - RAW
Wrestling Style: Mixed Of All Styles
Faction: The Undisputed System
Championships History: 1x FCW Tag Team Champions, 1x FCW Florida Heavyweight Champion, 1x TNA World Heavyweight Champion, 1x TNA X Division Champion, & 1x WWE United States Champion
Other Achievements: 1x Andre the Giant Memorial Battle Royale Winner
Wrestlemania Record: 1 - 0