Chapter 288

Chapter 288
Rosalind

Walking through the front door of our estate felt like stepping back into a life I'd thought was lost forever. Everything was exactly as I remembered—the marble foyer gleaming in the afternoon light, the familiar scent of jasmine from the garden, the way the sunlight streamed through the tall windows.

Home. Finally, truly home.

"I'd almost forgotten how beautiful this place is," I said, running my fingers along the polished banister as we climbed the main staircase. "Living in exile makes you appreciate what you've lost."

"Exile?" Beckett raised an eyebrow with amusement. "Is that what we're calling your performance art career?"

I laughed despite myself. "God, pretending to hate you was exhausting. Do you have any idea how hard it was to stand in front of cameras and say those horrible things about you?"

"Actually," he said with a mischievous grin, "I have to admit there were moments when you seemed to be enjoying yourself. Particularly that speech about me being a 'controlling psychopath.' You delivered that line with real conviction."

I turned and swatted his arm playfully. "Beckett Montgomery! Are you actually bringing that up now?"

"I'm just saying," he continued, clearly enjoying my indignation, "for someone who claimed it was difficult, you certainly had a talent for creative insults."

I spun around to face him fully, hands on my hips. "You want to discuss my acting choices? Really? After everything we've been through?"

His arms came around me instantly, pulling me against his chest as his laughter rumbled through him.

"I'm sorry," he said, pressing his face into my hair. "I couldn't resist. But you're right—no more teasing about the past. What matters is that it's over."

The relief in his voice was profound, matching the emotion that had been building in my chest since the moment he'd appeared at the hotel.

"Really over?" I asked, allowing myself to truly believe it for the first time.

"Really over," he confirmed. "No more hiding, no more performances, no more separation. You can work again, socialize, live your life exactly the way you want to. We both can."

The freedom he was describing felt almost too good to be true after months of careful deception.

"What about Griffin?" I asked quietly. "Is there any chance he could still cause problems for us?"

Beckett's expression grew more serious. "Honestly? I suspect he might try to reach out to his European contacts or maybe even Xavier's remaining network. But if I were him, I'd stay exactly where he is."

"Why?"

"Because what he did to you..." Beckett's voice hardened in a way that made me remember exactly who I'd married. "If he ever got out, if he ever came near you again, I'm not sure I could trust myself to handle it through legal channels."

I studied his face, seeing the protective fury that lurked just beneath his composed surface. After everything Griffin had put me through, I found that darkness oddly comforting.

"Maybe prison is too good for him," I said thoughtfully.

Beckett blinked in surprise, then broke into a delighted grin. "My darling wife, I'm beginning to think you've developed a more ruthless streak than I have. I'm not sure whether to be proud or concerned."

"Why not both?" I suggested, taking his hand and leading him toward our bedroom.

The familiar space felt like a sanctuary after so many nights spent apart, wondering if we'd ever share it again. The afternoon light streamed through the tall windows, casting everything in golden warmth.

"I missed this," I said softly. "I missed us."

"So did I," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. "More than I can possibly tell you."

I turned to face him, drinking in the sight of my husband—really looking at him, not having to hide my feelings or calculate my responses. For the first time in months, I could simply be myself with the man I loved.

"Well," I said, reaching up to loosen his tie with deliberate slowness, "since we have all the time in the world now, let me show you exactly how much I missed you."

His breath caught as I pushed his jacket from his shoulders, my movements confident and purposeful. "Rosalind..."

"Shh," I whispered against his lips. "You've taken care of everything else. Now let me take care of you."

The words were a key turning a lock I hadn't realized was holding him so tightly wound. A ragged breath escaped him, and the carefully controlled composure in his eyes shattered, replaced by a raw, desperate hunger that had been starved for months.

I didn't give him a chance to reclaim the lead. My mouth crashed down on his, a demanding, possessive kiss that was less about tenderness and more about reclaiming what was mine. I plundered his mouth, my tongue tangling with his in a dance of dominance.

I pushed against his chest, urging him backward until the back of his knees hit the edge of our bed. His tall frame faltered, and he fell back onto the plush mattress, a look of stunned surrender on his face.

I moved over him, straddling his hips and pinning him beneath me. His gaze was a physical thing, a fire that seared my skin as he watched me. His hands fisted in the bedsheets on either side of him, the knuckles white, a testament to the restraint he was forcing upon himself.

"Look at me, Beckett," I commanded, my voice husky with my own arousal. I loved seeing him like this—undone, for me. I leaned down, my hair curtaining our faces, and licked a slow, deliberate path up the column of his throat, feeling his pulse hammer against my tongue. My hand, meanwhile, slid down the hard expanse of his abdomen, closing around the rigid length of him without hesitation.

His cock jumped in my palm, impossibly hot and hard.

"Rosalind…" A groan ripped from his throat, a sound of pure, agonized pleasure.

A smirk touched my lips. I circled the swollen head with my thumb, feeling the slick pre-cum bead against my fingertip. I wanted to savor this, to watch him unravel completely. The months of fear and loneliness had to be exorcised, and I would use our bodies to burn it all away.

With deliberate slowness, I shed my clothes, letting them fall to the floor until I was naked above him. His ravenous gaze drank me in, lingering on my breasts before dropping to the dark curls between my thighs.

"You're so beautiful," he rasped, his voice thick with need.

I didn't answer with words. I took his cock in hand, its impressive length throbbing with a life of its own, and guided the thick, blunt head to my entrance. I was already slick and aching for him, my own body's desperate welcome. Without any preamble, I lowered myself onto him.

"Ah—fuck."